Good Morning loyal Surf Report readers!! My life is fucked and in the gutter right now, so I didn’t write anything this week!! I did, however, send Jeff an excerpt from the soon-to-be-published novel entitled “Seven Pounds” by Noah Sinck as told to JRM and Mitchell M. Mitchell!!! Let me know what you think by commenting to metten0lycos.com or posting in the comments section. Thanks for your patience. Hopefully, we will return to regular JRM programming next week.

Love,

JRM

My first obstacle was this traffic jam that I found myself in on I-235. I decided that this hindrance was easily enough resolved – I was already in the far left lane, I would just drive through the grass median and merge onto I-235 going the other direction. If I got pulled over, I would just pay the ticket and go, because I would already be across the median. It had to be worth whatever the ticket cost. Pleased with my new plan, I looked at the tanker to make sure nothing was going to change in the near future that would let me through in the direction I was headed. Nothing. I cranked the wheel of the Taurus all the way to the left and pushed the gas pedal to the floor. The weird alignment of the wheels made it seem like the car was manufactured for this specific purpose. The driver-side tire remained stationary for a split second while the passenger side tire rolled over a couple of times before grabbing hold of the asphalt and spinning the Ford motorcar into the Interstate’s shoulder area. It was then that I saw a teal blob, heard the driver’s side rear quarter-panel of the Taurus crumple and felt the sensation of flying as the Taurus and I sailed into the grassy median.

We landed facing the direction opposite of the one I had embarked upon. I slowly began to realize what had happened. Another car, apparently a teal one, had been driving down the shoulder of the Interstate for whatever reason. I had decided to drive through the median for whatever reason of my own. And for both of those reasons, the teal mobile hit the Taurus and I’m sitting in the median. The Taurus was still running. It appeared that everybody was still working on the tanker several hundred yards away. I looked at the teal mobile. It was a huge boat of a car from the late seventies or something. The front of it was pretty well dented, but it looked like it was operational. The problem was that I couldn’t see anybody inside.

I hoped that nobody was hurt. I also knew that I couldn’t stop to make sure. All the years I had spent haggling with insurance companies taught me that if I stopped, I would be talking to insurance agents from behind my accountant’s desk for months. I figured that if I could save a whole clan and all I had to do was accidentally kill the kind of guy that would drive such a teal tank, I would have to take that deal.

The Taurus leapt forward at my command and dirt and grass could be seen flying in abundance from my rear-view mirror. Before I had finished my rationale for my actions, I was back on I-235 going the other direction. I didn’t hear any sirens, or see any lights other than the ones around the tanker, so I must be home free.

That statement couldn’t have been further from the truth. Just as I had begun to relax and let my adrenaline level drop a bit, the Taurus absorbed another teal mobile sponsored collision. For a split second I thought about the term “Taurus” being some sort of Greek reference to a bull or something. Until now, it hadn’t shown any bull-like tendencies; but even after a couple more hits from the teal tank, the Taurus held together. To tell you the truth, I couldn’t actually tell if it was wobbling or not anymore.

I looked into the rear view mirror to try to figure out who was piloting this monstrosity of a vehicle and why they insisted on forcing a coat of teal onto the Taurus’s white exterior. All I could see was eight chubby fingers clenched at ten and two on the steering wheel, a forehead, and blonde bangs that had been frozen with hair spray in some sort of poofy ball-shaped state.

Three things occurred to me simultaneously. First was the notion that this person was not sane and they really intended to hurt me. Second was the brilliant idea that the Taurus could, and should outrun the teal mobile. Finally, the person attempting to kill me was a dwarf and a woman. As I put the accelerator to the floor and pulled over onto the shoulder in order to avoid ramming into other innocent people like me, I began to feel guilty.

You see, this third thing was a bit troublesome. I had prided myself for my entire life on the fact that I treated everyone equally regardless of who they were or what they looked like. I had a great track record. Accountants and other mathematically-minded people tend to be especially good at this. Since there is no logic or mathematical justification for this kind of behavior – racism, sexism and just general bigotry tended to fall by the wayside as useless. It had become one of the few personal attributes that I possessed that I held with a sort of pride.

Now all that was gone. I watched this woman struggle to see over the steering wheel as she uncontrollably mouthed obscenities and nonsensicals while ramming into my rear bumper, and I laughed. She was doing everything in her power to do away with me and I could barely run away because I was laughing so hard. I could hardly stand myself.

Once again, Lan’s voice on the CD snapped me back to my mission. I couldn’t do anyone any good from underneath the tires of a teal, dwarf-powered hooptie. I dispensed with the laughter and employed evasive maneuvers. I swung in and out of lanes, passed people on the off ramps and drove in the median. Nothing seemed to shake her. She wasn’t gaining, but she wasn’t losing any ground either. I began to wonder what kind of engine she had in that thing.

This went on for what seemed like an eternity until I finally swerved onto the shoulder to pass a tractor-trailer and then jerked in front of the semi at the last moment before the engagement of what would have been a losing battle between the Taurus and a bridge. My teeth clenched as I considered the fate of the teal mobile. It was moving just as fast as I was, but there was no room between it and a different semi. The Taurus and I had gone over the bridge, swerved onto the grass median that reappeared on the other side of the river that mandated the bridge’s existence and slammed on the brakes just as the teal mobile chose its fate. Rather than slam into the semi or the bridge, the late seventies sedan chose to sail into the river. It wasn’t actually much of a drop, a couple dozen feet at the most, but it hit hard.

I timidly got out of the car and peeked behind me to see if she was alright. The driver-side door flew open and smacked into a large rock that had probably lain untouched for generations. The tiny woman lumbered out of the blue-green behemoth and surveyed the damage. She teetered back and forth as her legs accommodated her dimensions. I saw her full form for the first time and realized that this woman was about eight months pregnant. She was completely round and could barely move. Much to my disgust, I began to laugh again. She looked up, saw me and gave me the finger while she screamed,

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!!! DON’T YOU KNOW THAT THE FORD TAURUS GETS THE WORST GAS MILEAGE OF ANY PASSENGER VEHICLE ON THE ROAD?!”