It’s like free grocery day for college kids on I-95
‘cause this thing tipped over…
It’s raining mein… chowlelujah!
And it spilled the pre-packaged noodley goodness all over a more southern part of the same freeway I take whenever I feel like I’m not angry or in hate enough with the world and need humanity’s stupidity to help me out a bit. And what makes me even angrier? That this shiz never happens in front’a my car. I don’t mean accidents. While no one truly wishes a wreck on a truck that isn’t being driven by whoever created the term “bae”, we all know accidents are inevitable. So why can’t ones like this – sans injury – but of this treat releasing magnitude ever transpire when I’m there? To collect free things? Like that time that Dunbar truck fell and all those people got a free pay day… I’m just waiting for the day when an armored car bursts open before me, sporulating paper portraits of presidents past into my lane and onto my windshield, whereupon I don’t even take it off – just drive straight to Wegman’s, pluck it from my wipers, and surreptitiously tip that guy in the apron, saying “This is for next week,” (glancing around like a paranoid crackhead to see who’s watching), “Hang onto the mango with the latest expiration date for me, will ya?” (reaching back into pocket, just to ensure I’m heard loud and clear), “Here’s a li’l somethin’ extra for your troubles…”
I’m not sure if that extended gag ends with him opening up two crumpled singles and smirking or him not even working there and just being a fellow patron and a fan of aprons who just won my stupidity sweepstakes, but I do know this: Six hours (that’s how long it took for them to clear away the mess) is far too long to spend jettisoning processed soup off a thoroughfare for poor souls just trying to get to a place they probably don’t even wanna go. What’d they do – spend a fourth of a day just eating blocks of flour in silence? I mean it hadn’t even been prepared with water yet – how daunting a task could it be? Just come in with one of those snow plows. Or a street sweeper. Or one’a those tanks designed to run over protestors’ prostrate bodies. Why is the news being so furtive with the deets on these wheat bricks when they say: “No other information about the wreck has been released”? (“Oh, dear! That means it’s bad. How many package causalities were there? Are the noodles dismembered? Just tell me! Was there seasoning exsanguinating everywhere? I NEED TO KNOW!”)
FINE!
Fine.
It’s fine.
Because I know what’s going on here. I have a theory, at least. And I’m pretty much 100% sure it’s correct. In fact, I don’t say this often or lightly – but – I’d bet your mother’s life on it. You see, what had happened was… these things actually had drugs in ‘em. Yep, just like Breaking Bad. Except better. Because in this story, the powdered drugs are hiding… you guess it … in those little foil packets! Genius, right? And why’d it take so long? Because, duh. No one can resist ramen. Even on my new diet, I still buy the vegan kind. So, when the cleanup crew came, they sampled the goods… and then second sampled the goods… which turned into thirds… which turned into a fourth an’ a freeway fiend-esta.
Evidence in support of my theory rests on the case history of intentionally addictive Asian cuisine.