Just a little journey

All truck drivers have done this one work out before and they’ll probably do it again. I call it butting jacks. All you have to do is wake up really, REALLY having to go. You’re sitting there debating life choices staring at your pants wondering if you put them on one leg at a time is your butthole going to yield to the pressure. Every movement…. every noise….the opening of your eyelids, unplanned and unwanted. Painful nonetheless. The rumbling of that straight six diesel…. the vibrations are rattling your core and helping move things along. The gale force winds coming of the wings of a fly… oh and it’s the warmest of fronts. Beads of sweat start forming beckoning you to give in, but instead you clench. This is only the first rep, so don’t forget to breathe. You finally get dressed and you’re standing there breathing, sweating, and clenching through the waves of pressure traveling through the core of your being. You now realize you have to sit on a seat that’s vibrates at every conceivable frequency when you’re trying to sleep. If a brown note truly exists it’s coming from that chair. You time it right and you muster the strength for a big clench and take a step, but you clench too hard and you trip. You get lucky though your face broke the fall with the armrest. Yay double lucky because you had your glasses on they definitely helped cushion the blow, but now you lost one of your lenses. You start to look for it, but you quickly realize with everything half blurry and half clear it’s going to take a while and you got another big clench coming, so you pull out a play from the ole playbook and ditch the glasses, because if you don’t see the destination you won’t have to deal with that soul crushing increased urge to use the restroom just before you get there. You’re about to sit down and you catch a glimpse of your reflection. You get startled because for a second there you thought that was an 8-ft tall frog man outside your window, because of how hard you’re clenching if you had butt cheeks before you don’t have them now. You gracefully sit down on that seat, because you can’t afford to plop down with your buttcheeksless booty. You swing open that door knees weak, palms are sweaty if there’s ever a time to use three points of contact climbing down from your rig the time is now. A cool breeze provides some relief as you reach the pavement and you think obviously bears shit in the woods, but tonight a truck driver is about to because only 10 paces from your door is that beautiful treeline. Don’t give in to that mirage. You already made it out of your truck. You do have quite a hike though, because you decide to park furthest from the restrooms so you get exercise…go team you. The walk there takes long and goes quickly in the same instance. Time is just a memory to you now. Each stride causing you to fail in your ability to clench. So you pick up the pace, run frogman run. You make it to the restrooms, but without your glasses you can’t distinguish which is male and female. No time to think. Like biggie said kick in the door waving the four four. Except you’re 44 is in the form of 44 Oz of brown terror. Your pants fight you while you’re trying to get them off yet you still take them off quickly. Remember? Time. Memory. The force of your bowl painting ability is so boundless that you lose weight due to the thrust. It’s glorious. Sweat turns to tears of joy. It’s night time, but the sun is shining in that tootable cubicle. The walk back to your truck is effortless and pleasant. You climb back in and those vibrations that terrorized you rock you back to sleep. Good night drivers, and happy New Years.

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