Although I give advice and direction to thousands of folks, sometimes I need a little advice or information myself. And sometimes I am given the wrong information. Let me tell y'all about it....
I get really teed off when folks who are supposed to be sophisticated and knowledgeable don't know their ass from a hole in the ground when it comes to geography.
Just last week, I was planning a road trip to Hawaii when it occurred to me that on the way I should perhaps stop in South Carolina to see Mount Rushmore and possibly Nebraska to visit Yosemite. I called the Triple A (AAA) to find out the distance between these two points and the guy there told me that Yosemite's in California. Man, was I pissed! I wasted money on long distance to hear that? Haven't these people at the Automobile Association of America taken Geography in school? You would think they would have, a kind of prerequisite for a career at the Triple A.
Another thing that really bites me in the ass is when somebody doesn't know his or her directions. Last year I was driving north headed for South America when I stopped at a gas station to find out where the nearest motel was as I needed to rest before continuing on. The guy in there pointed toward the setting sun and said, "Go west 1.2 miles and you'll run right into The Homestead Motel." I felt like punching that guy right in the noggin for trying to pull one over on me. Everybody knows that the sun sets in the east.
The next time, I won't bother asking the gas station attendant where the nearest motel is; I'll just follow my great instincts!
Sincerely,
R.J. Fico
And now a word from my Sponsor:
And Now a Public Service Announcement:
People who always say that they're leaving but never do remind me of those Farewell Tours we hear about every so often. . .You know: "Get your tickets now for The Eagles Farewell Concert."
You tell your girlfriend, "Baby, we better skip our nookie this morning because we better run to the Ticketmaster to get the tickets. This will be the last time we'll get to see The Eagles."
So, you run out and stand in line for fourteen hours because everybody and their grandmother cannot bear the thought of missing The Farewell Concert. You reach the ticket window, nearly dead of dehydration and you put down the five-hundred dollars for two tickets and go home, too exhausted to do anything but laze out on your rocker. The next day arrives and you have to forgo the trip to Utah because you're broke. "Hey," you tell your best buddies, "Farewell concerts ain't cheap."
Two months later, you're at The Eagles Farewell Concert. You feel like you're the luckiest person alive. When you get home, you call every person you'd ever known, "Ha Ha, I got to see The Eagles last concert. Ha, ha . . . and you didn't. . . nanya, nadya, nanya. . .
Three months later, you're driving down the road, listening to The Eagles on the Radio. . . "Desperado, why don't you come to your senses . . . After the song's over, the cheery radio announcer announces, "Coming to town, November 11, The Eagles Final Farewell Concert. . .
By Rick J. Fico
