The Trip to the Beach


I’m going on vacation in a few weeks.  We’re planning on making the long, long trip.  My wife is a real help driving too.  She falls asleep immediately.  It’s like that Lunesta Butterfly follows her into the passenger seat and sings her “Hush Little Baby.”  I’ll be driving for 6 hours and finally hit a bump, she’ll open her one eye, yawn, and say “Want me to drive for a bit?” then fall back asleep.

You get to sample all of the regional chain restaurants on your way down there.  West Virginia has Shoney’s.  If Disneyland is the happiest place on Earth, Shoney’s is the polar opposite.  There is always…ALWAYS…someone beating their child in a Shoney’s parking lot.  It’s like the fourth law of thermodynamics.  Entropy ceases at absolute zero and there’s some kid with a buzzed mohawk getting walloped at a Shoney’s.  Also, every time I’ve pulled into Shoney’s, a busload of high school marching band members has arrived right before me.

North Carolina has this place called Fat’s.  I’ve never been there before and when you go into one of these places you should play it safe.  Get a turkey club or a grilled cheese or something.  The first time I ventured into Fats, I decide I was going to roll the dice and got the Sante Fe Clam Bake.  The windows were down for the next 40 miles.


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