Keep Pushing That Truck

Written by mikewadestr

Wednesday, 8 February 2017


The story you are trying to access may cause offense, may be in poor taste, or may contain subject matter of a graphic nature. This story was written as a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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image for Keep Pushing That Truck
That's a big one alright!

Back in the day a bunch of us used to hang out at a bar called the Super Bowl Pub in Wheaton, Maryland. The Super Bowl Pub was a nice dive bar which drew the most unsavory of clientele of which we were proud to be a part of. Actually we were so unsavory every other bar in town wouldn't have us except for the Super Bowl Pub. We liked to always point this fact out to the owner, John, who would simply bow his head and mumble something like: "The stuff I take out to my garbage can each night has more class then you". We all liked the patronizing way John talked to us.

Of the things we did while hanging out at the pub was to down beverages, talk bull and shoot darts. Of darts our favorite game was called cricket. In a nutshell the game of cricket entails hitting three of each number 15 through 20 including bulls-eyes before the other person does. We had kind of a golf rule in the game whereby if you came an inch of hitting the number you we gave it to you anyway. We did this so the games wouldn't take more than an hour to complete. We were definitely much better at downing beverages and talking bull than playing darts.

One Friday night while we were playing, a guy named Bob decided we should all take a smoke break and smoke one of those funny short non-filtered cigarettes in his car. We were all too happy to oblige and went outside with him to his car.

"This is some good shit", Bob proclaimed from the front seat of his 85 mustang. "It's called something I cannot remember because I've been smoking so much of it today. But whatever it's called it's good".

"I couldn't have said it any better", quipped in Eric. "It's not the name that brings it shame but what it does to your brain".

After smoking the cigarette we got out of the car and started heading back into the pub when we saw some guy with a huge Ford F250 with the driver side door open pushing the truck from the open door. We stopped and asked him what the problem was and he told us his truck battery had gone dead and he was pushing the truck towards the incline in the parking lot in order to get up some speed so he could throw the clutch in and start the engine.

Being the good Samaritans that we were we told the guy go get in the truck and we would give him a good hard push to get the truck rolling at a good clip. There were five of us so pushing a truck of that size would not be that big of a deal.

The guy agreed and the five of us took our places lined up with our hands on the tailgate of the truck. When we were finally set we shouted out to the guy: "Are you in the truck and ready to go?" and got back the answer of: "Yes".

So Eric started the countdown of: "One, two, three push!" and we began pushing at a furious rate. The truck lurched forward and took off down the incline of the parking lot at quite a clip. As we slowed down from a jog to a walk admiring our work we noticed some guy running alongside the truck with the driver's side door open trying to catch it.

"Who's that?" asked Don.

"I think it's the guy who is supposed to be in the truck", answered Bob.

The five of us just stood and stared as the truck picked up speed going down the incline with the guy in tow before careening towards its left and into a line of parked cars. The truck's driver side door hit the cars first and then the rest of the truck nestled up against the front of about three of the cars and became still. Out of the cars it careened up against one was a Mercedes S class car and another a brand new Mazda.

"That's what they get for bringing a good car to a dive like the Super Bowl Pub", Lamented Danny. "I hope they all have insurance"

"If you can afford the car you can afford the insurance", I added

At this point the guy who owned the truck went down on one knee and started crying.

The five of us did the "good Samaritan" thing and quickly went back into the bar and picked up our game of darts where we left off.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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