So, once those 75 pound duffle bags were secured to the roof using several rubber bands and a pack of Juicy Fruit, we were on our way. We looked like the Griswold’s from National Lampoon’s Vacation, only we were clad in leather. Our first stop was in Mentor, Ohio to see the world famous Outhouse Museum. I was stoked because it was finally my chance to show Beth that outhouses were important enough to stop a vacation for and I really wanted to rub that in her face. This place had it all, from outhouses imported from the Old West to the first construction site Port-A-Potty invented about the same time that Arby’s came into the picture. What I didn’t realize was that most Old West outlaws started out in the East, killing, raping and terrorizing people on their way to find their fortunes in California. I love this country.
You heard right folks, Billy The Kid may or may not have had the runs on this very spot
Next up, we drove to Brookside, Pennsylvania to see what I thought was a museum depicting the history of sunglasses. Turns out I was way off but when a travel brochure says that any summer time vacation requires a visit to the Sunglass Hut they should specify what the hell they mean. I walked in there with a suitcase full of all the sunglasses I’ve worn since 1973, from my Elton John’s to my Maverick’s, I had them all right there just begging to be checked out. I walked in and asked the guy when the tour started and he looked at me like I had just told him a tiny L. Ron Hubbard was living in my back pocket. I was pretty pissed off and embarrassed about the whole thing so I decided to go to a truck stop to get some grub and to cry in my 75 ounce Pepsi.
I wore these during my eyebrow inferiority stage
At the truck stop they had a TV playing in the corner. A show came on calling itself “America’s Hardest Bounty Hunters”. At first I thought one of the truckers had slipped a porno into the VCR but it turns out some crap bag has made a reality show based on rough and tough American Bounty Hunters. The guy next to me told me it was a show based out of Britain depicting the violence of America and our obsession with weapons, justice and manifest destiny. That was one articulate truck driver. Anyway, the show is absolute horseshit, mainly because they didn’t include me but the point is there are bounty hunters and then there’s me and then there are the rest of the population who know that I am the only true bounty hunter because I’m popular and on TV and I’m stranger then fuck.
Farewell, gentle bard
I was feelin’ low down and mean after that, or maybe it was just the country music that was playing at top volume from the speakers in the truck stop getting to me. The bottom line is I was feeling like crap. We saddled up and drove on to Buffalo and I gotta tell ya, my mood didn’t lighten when we hit the suicide capital of the northeast. I’m not sure if that’s accurate but it should be, the place looked like Waterworld without the water. I needed a stiff drink and I’m sure my kids did too so we headed over to a bar called Eddie Brady’s, a pub modeled after a 19th century establishment, or so the sign said.
Once again God kicked me in the nads because I thought this was the 19th century. I thought whatever century they said it was you added a century to it. So, the 18th century was the 1900s and so on. I walk in there and the place looks like Buffalo Bill puked everywhere. I needed a drink so bad I didn’t care so I strode up to the bar and asked the dude there if I could get a whiskey on the rocks. Apparently it was one of those family friendly places with animatronic outlaws playing cards and whores spreading rust to your nuts, and bolts. Anyway, all they served was Sassparilly or Sassafrass or Sassaratsass so I just ordered five of whatever they had and drank it as fast as they could. Apparently those things have enough sugar to kill B.B. King on sight and by the time I finished them I was so wound for sound I ripped the wires out of the automatic piano because it was playing too slow. I was escorted out by the robotic sheriff but I’m willin’ to bet his memory is short so I’ll be coming back for seconds the next time I’m in town.
So real, you can smell the old timey motor oil
From here we headed straight into Canada. I told the border patrol I was a maple syrup and bark salesman so as not to arise suspicion. He looked at me strange but let me through. Then we got lost of course because Canada’s road signs are on par with 1920s Poland. I decided to go to the local police station for directions:
Honey Crullers and Bran Muffins for sale at a police station? If I wore a hat, it’d be off to you, Canada
The cops in there were useless because they were on their lunch break or something. I decided to leave them in their fancy futuristic police station. After we left this place I was so enraged I decided we were heading back to Mentor to see the Outhouse Museum once again and then we were returning the rental SUV, punctured tires and all and going home. I really wanted to hit the museum again because I had missed the ones depicting the great ex-lax craze in the ‘70s and it had been burning in my mind since we left. So our trip to the Great Wide North wasn’t as good as I thought it was, Darren and what’s her name will have to wait until I’ve mustered up the mental courage to take my family farther then the backyard before he can see us.
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