On
The Road
This reverie was rudely interrupted when my motorcycle stalled behind a parade of stopped
trucks. When traffic resumed, I was left on a steep incline, punching the electric
starter to no avail, gripping the brake to prevent a backward slide and beating back an
emergent panic; all the while a conspicuous bullseye was spreading over my back. An 18wheeler came roaring up my hindquarters and I was struck with the sudden vision of an
Abstract Expressionist rendering of me, in red, on this very road. Instead, the truck
churned to a reluctant halt, reared back, and blasted a horn like a puckish fart from
Godzilla.
"
I’m not the most emotional person in the world. Once, I saw an old woman fall into
a manhole and for no reason at all I smiled. Still, there in the Andes, no one was more
surprised than me to discover my ears deafened and my rectum blown out the crack of my
ass. I’ve always believed that travel can confer an otherworldly expansion of one’s
comfort zone, but this was not originally what I had in mind. I pushed my motorcycle into
a narrow shoulder and allowed traffic to pass. The moment was ripe to bleat some choice
oaths and tuck the limp sausage casing that was my inside-out asshole back into my pants.
In any case, I was exceedingly grateful not to find a completo torpedo therein.
"
Despite the sonic colonoscopy, I managed to get the Baron coughing and rolling
again. Von Erectus, being something of the Prussian aristocrat, wasn’t accustomed to the
high altitude. And after thirty switchbacks, back and forth, and reaching 3,200 meters
(10,499 feet) above sea level, neither was I. This may have played a meaningful role in
the upcoming drama at the immigration and customs offices. As I was to learn, when
facing any border police, one should avoid being too cold, tired, or hypoxic. And under
any circumstances, when facing anybody at all, one should never wear the expression of a
man who suspects a hose of his prolapsed rectum is swinging around like a monkey’s tail.
As there were no suitably sized rocks to serve as ballast within sight, I pulled off the
road into the Chilean checkpoint. I had finally reached the border, and everything was
covered with snow.
About the author: Rockatansky
Khan is a direct descendent of a
certain Mongol horse-lord, and
enjoys traveling, tree-punching,
cow-throwing, and impossibledoing.
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THE CONE - ISSUE #1 - 0214