Superbowl Shuffle

I had completely forgotten that I promised McDougal I would drive him up to Detroit for the Superbowl tonight, so he called at 3:30 this morning to remind me. I was a little bit nervous about taking him, considering that he is still under the impression that Carolina will be playing tonight. But I knew that I would be better off facing his wrath over being lied to than breaking my promise. One think McDougal does not fuck around over is transportation.

I showed up at McDougal's house this morning in a rented Lincoln Town Car. It was roughly as big as a Navy minesweeper. No less than fifteen cows gave their lives so that the interior could be covered in luxurious leather. If you are going to be traveling with the Big Man you need a correspondingly large automobile. In the trunk, I had a few gametime refreshments. Beer, tortilla chips, nacho cheese, pizza rolls... The usual. McDougal marched out of the house carrying an armload of the supplies he requires for football viewing. A gallon of turpentine, a bucket of mashed potatoes, an uncooked pork shoulder, a Remington 870 tactical shotgun and a large cylinder of nitrous oxide. As he tossed the cylinder into the trunk I heard it crush my bag of chips.

McDougal was dressed in full Carolina Panthers regalia, complete with facepaint. If I were going to tell him that Carolina wasn't actually in the Superbowl this year that would have been the time. I didn't though. It turned out alright though, since we never made it to Detroit anyway.

McDougal lowered himself into the passenger's seat, which he ratcheted back as far as it would go. He still seemed displeased with the amount of legroom. I expected him to rip the seat out and sit in the back, which I have seen him do before, but instead he pulled his knees in close to his chest and fired a savage mule kick against the car's dashboard. It rocked the whole car. McDougal began to pull his legs in for a second kick.

"Careful McDougal," I yelled, "there are airbags in there!"

He shot me a contemptuous glance, but lowered his feet to the floor.

Somewhere in Ohio is where it all went to hell. We were flying up I-75, McDougal hanging out the window, loudly pledging his allegiance to the Carolina Panthers at the other motorists as we passed them. Anytime he saw a car with Michigan license plates he would hurl a handfull of mashed potatoes at it, believing that to be the state where Seattle is located. As I pulled around a large dump truck full of rocks, the truck in front of me (one of those three-long semi trailers that weaves down the road like some mechanized nightmare centipede) blew out a tire. We were suddenly engulfed in a cloud of white smoke and shredded rubber. Temporarily blinded, I failed to negotiate a gentle curve in the road and ricocheted off the guardrail, directly into the path of the dump truck which bumped us from behind. It wasn't a hard hit, but it was just enough to knock the valve off of McDougal's cylinder of nitrous. There was an explosion from the trunk of the car. Suddenly the whole interior was filled with bits of leather, foam padding, tortilla chips and ice cold nitrous oxide. With one end open, the cylinder had fired off like a rocket, blasting through the back seat, between McDougal and I, then exiting through the windshield. The nitrous fumes dissipated quickly due to the rush of cold air blasting through the bowling ball sized hole in the windshield, but I still began to feel a bit foggy. McDougal was laughing like a maniac, not because of the gas I think, but because he actually is a maniac and watching the cylinder transform into a missile pleased him greatly.

Speaking of that cylinder, if I hadn't been feeling the effects of the gas, and if the windshield hadn't been spiderwebbed beyond transparency, I would have noticed that same cylinder skittering around directly in the path of our left front tire. There was a tremendous thump as the impact shredded our tire, removing the last ounce of control I had over the large automobile. We bounced off the guardrail one more time, spun completely around twice, then rocketed over a ditch, finally coming to rest wrapped up in a barbed wire fence. McDougal's airbag failed to deploy, probably as a result of the vicious kicking he gave it. When his face bounced off the dashboard it left a perfect greasepaint mirror image of a panther. I thought this was pretty funny, but kept it to myself out of fear for my safety.

When the police arrived they found McDougal to be incoherent and uncontrollable. They tried pepper spray, but that just made him angry. They tried a Tazer, but McDougal just grabbed the wires and yanked the weapon right out of the cop's hands. The last I saw the Big Man, he was running off into the woods, screaming that he would destroy the whole city of Seattle for this outrage. I used this opportunity to sneak off before the State Troopers started asking me questions. Tonight I plan on watching the Superbowl from this shitty Ohio motel, that is, if I can adjust the rabbit ears to get some kind of reception. Maybe I will try tin foil.

Oh... And if you see McDougal, tell him Carolina won. He might be willing to spare Seattle (or some town in Michigan that he thinks is Seattle) if you do.