A Race To The Finish Line

-HEY, KLLM, GET THAT SLOW PIECE OF SHIT OUT THE WAY!-

Believe it or not, those were the words that blasted out of my cb radio that started the whole event that I’m about to tell you about. 

Since I was only doing 62 mph, enjoying a leisurely ride across Wyoming, I finished passing a slower driver and got in the right lane.

-OH SHIT, IT’S A DIRTY NIGGER!-

Oh hell, here we go with this shit again. Just hurry up and pass already.

-OH GOD, AND IT’S A FAT NIGGER! I BET THAT NIGGER HAS A 10 YEAR OLD BOY IN HIS BUNK! I SHOULD CALL THE STATE TROOPERS ON HIM!-

Now he plays the slap and run game, speeding up to outrun that slow, 62 mph, governed, company truck. There’s only 1 problem with his plan. I own the truck and it’s registered speed is 95.45 mph. Ok driver, let’s play ‘how long before you have to pee’.
I speed up and catch up, pacing him at about 50 yards back, patiently waiting for the inevitable. I know he’s going as fast as his truck will let him, a whopping 72.

About 250 miles later:

-Hey uh, KLLM you got it on back there?-

…….

-Hey KLLM, got your radio on?-

50 miles later, that urge is hitting him really hard. He takes the next exit. I take it right behind him.
He pulls in a space, I pull across in front of him in a way that made it impossible for him to drive away, and sit there, staring him in the face, watching him dance and squirm in his seat.

-Hey, KLLM, I’m really sorry about what I said back there-

I release my brakes and pull off. My required 30 minute break is complete.
As I pull off, I check my mirror and see him climb out with a noticeably dark crotch.

I guess that means I won the game.

~ Ricky P.

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