To the Fine Patrons and Owners of Lucky’s Freeway Diner

fountain-pen-1851096_640To the fine patrons and owners of Lucky’s Freeway Diner, creators of unique spins on diner classics like the “Mama’s Chicken Fried Steak” and “Stack-o-Cakes”, I am sorry.

From the moment I entered the establishment and loudly declared the smell of kitchen to be “totally fudgin’ amazeballs” I set a bad example of what a good patron sounds like.  To make matters worse, wearing my torn jeans and blood stained shirt left my visual aesthetic to be desired.

Let me tell you of the moments leading to my appearance in the entryway of the cozy little diner, as I feel some explanation will help explain my behavior.

You see, I’m not usually one for dramatic entrances.  But the hours leading up to my terrible behavior might help my pending court case.

My truck, a fine example of American manufacturing, if I do say so myself, was pulling a trailer full of stuff I was not allowed to touch.  It was loaded by people in sealed yellow suits and wrapped in plastic so thick, it might as well have been cement.  I asked what the stuff was, I’m in charge of its safe delivery after all, and I take great pride in getting helpful items where they need to be.  One of the people said, through their suit mind you, something about “saving the toads.”  I thought for sure I misheard the phrase, so I shrugged my shoulders, shook my head and walked to the cab thinking I was hauling zombie goop of some sort.

Four hours later, driving through a temperate zone rain forest I never knew existed, my windshield was covered in toads.  Turns out, I’m hauling two tons of enriched, super science-y toad food.  These suckers can smell it through the concrete wrap, the trucks walls and from, what I learned later, 25 feet above.  I can’t see a thing.  I’m swerving around the road as toads continue to, how do I word this nicely…’splat and flat’ against my windshield, the truck’s roof, the trailer’s roof.  It sounds like driving through a hail storm that ends with embarrassed croaking as those animals that survived slip off the window.  I didn’t know toads could climb trees.  Perhaps they can’t and the food in the trailer was just so enticing they thought, “eh, eff it. I’m going from above.”

I could not screaming.  I did stop swerving eventually as I collided with a tree the forest rangers told me was at least 300 years old.  It had a good life.  When the truck stopped, some of the toads hopped away as the crumbled engine billowed with smoke and steam.  Not many though.

The back of the trailer sprung open as well and hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of toads stampeded themselves in side.  More embarrassed croaking followed.  I crawled out of the cabin nursing a head wound taken from slamming into the steering wheel.  I watched the forest floor move.  I continued screaming.

At this point you must be asking yourself how did a bunch of toads and a car wreck cause me to such a terrible restaurant visitor.  Well, as you may have guessed when I was in the kitchen dropping forks and spoons into the fryer and singing Frosty the Snowman, the toads drugged me.

With the forest floor moving in unison, it was darned near impossible to not touch a toad.  The forest rangers told me the toads in this area were not known to be poisonous or of the “toad licking” variety.  It must have been the super food I suppose, but when I touched the creatures – through my torn jeans mind you- I started seeing stuff.  Weird stuff.  Stuff I’ll use to scare my grandkids one day.

Have you ever hallucinated due to touching the slime covering a half million toads hopped up on worm meat based growth hormone?  It’s not a recommended practice.

The blood on my shirt was not my own.  No that came from a deer.  You see, the toads, bless their little roid-ed up hearts, wound up devouring the entire shipment in a manner of minutes.  I was making toad-angels (snow angels with more amphibians involved) when I heard a weird barking sound.  The toads had cornered a deer against a barbed wire fence.  It was a tragic sight, I’m sure.  I saw a manatee trying throw tea into a harbor.  I didn’t want the tea to be destroyed, so I went to stop it.  I’ve been watching John Adams on loan from the library.  Don’t know why the manatee manifested.  In reality, I had waded through the mass of toads and was wrestling a deer free from the barbs of a ranch fence.  How people ranch in a temperate rain forest, I do not know.  How people make a toad super food, I do not know.  Somethings we just have to accept are beyond our ability to understand.

When the beast from free, I tried to ride it.  Don’t do that.

I wound up walking away from the accident thinking I was on that awful Mario-Kart level Rainbow Road.  I walked carefully, certain I was about to plummet to earth after failing the shortcut trick.

When the flag bearer informed me I had hit the final lap, your restaurant arrived.

Your delicious smelling restaurant.  I heard laughter inside and the Cheers theme rang out.  I shouted ‘Norm!” and ran inside.

And that is where you start to know the story.  My swimming through red booths.  Asking Barbara if she was sure the burgers were free from soylent green over and over again was part of the police report.  I imagine me not blinking was the freakiest part of it all.

So please, fine patrons and owners of Lucky’s Freeway Diner know that I am sorry and I will replace the elk head.  Know that I will forever check the shipping manifest in closer detail before leaving a dock.


The unlucky guy you’ll testify against in June.


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