What would a small town be without stories about pickup trucks? I think that there are more pickups in Weirden’s ten-mile radius then trees in the woods. A few are new trucks, but of course in true redneck style the majority are old, beat up and held together with duct tape. If you were to wash one of these trucks, they would fall apart, because the dirt and rust is the only thing that holds them together.
The bed of these pickup trucks are generally filled with junk car parts, beer cans, and a five gallon bucket that is being used as a make shift beer cooler. Of course the classic toolbox is there also, filled with fishing lures that won’t fit on their stained baseball caps that has seen better days and a few empty whiskey bottles rolling around. The muffler is usually tied on with a wire coat hanger and patched with a beer can, as so it’s not too loud when they have to take the truck to town. (Meaning other then the Weirden area) Other wise you might get pulled over by the cops. That’s a whole nother chapter ya see.
Fast food tacos are good. Paper sack soaked with grease and made out of some kinda mystery meat and processed cheese. Well, it’s one of those things after a belly full of whiskey and a few pinch hits off some good home grown that you crave when the munchies hit. The only option to get a hold of these greasy treasures is to head into the city several miles away from Weirden. So Cody had to brave the drive to get his taco fix.
Cody wanting the tacos braved the trip into town at 3 am with Elvis blaring from the stereo. All seemed good with the trip back to Weirden, until he decided that he was going to eat them while driving. With taco in hand, driving a stick shift and a brass pinch hitter hanging vicariously from his lower lip, he decided that the tacos needed some hot sauce.
Cody laid the tacos on his knee carefully opening the taco wrappers and began to tear open the hot sauce package with his teeth. While focusing on squirting the hot sauce on the tacos that lay open like a welcoming lover on his lap, he noticed something was amiss. The tacos were levitating off of his knees. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Cody knew he wasn’t that high. The next thing he knew was that he felt like a super hero in his magical truck and tacos were whizzing past his head. Cody was confused for a brief second, until he looked up and noticed that he was now airborne.
As the truck smashed through the electric fence and launched up a small hill, all Cody could think about is that he wouldn’t be able to eat the tacos dripping in grease and hot sauce and where the hell the pinch hitter flew too in the truck that now resembled Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Cows where now running through the field like greyhounds chasing a mechanical rabbit and had become black and white streaks out of the corner of his eye.
As the truck made it’s decent to the ground, all Cody could think was to prepare for impact and hope that he could drive away. Expecting a thud and a smashed cow as he landed, Cody was surprised to hear a huge splash. Water was now rushing into the pickup truck and he started to see fish float by him, giving Cody the “What the fuck?” look.
Cody quickly rolled down the truck window and started to swim to the shore of the small cow pond. The messed up thing, was that as he swam among the empty whiskey bottles floating like bobbers in the mossy water, he spied his bag of pot still floating on top of the water. He couldn’t let that good homegrown end up with Great Ulysses. So like any good redneck Cody snagged the baggy and swam to shore.
The amazing thing is that the farmer and his wife never heard any of the clamors and slept through the whole taco incident until the next morning when he discovered the truck still in the pond. I’m sure the farmer had the same “What the fuck?” look as the fish and cows that night.
Many months later Cody received a mask and snorkel for Christmas from the farmer and his wife.