The other day, my girlfriends (girlFIENDS) and I were discussing the most screwed up things we had seen or done while Road Trippin’ on the Interstate. After a few toddies, one of my friends admitted to mooning truckers out on the Interstate when she was a teenager. She had received several favorable air horn blasts, so she decided to pull her shirt up and test the reactionary waters. All was “honky” dory until she accidently displayed her girls to her best friend’s father who happened to be hauling live chickens across the state. Luckily, she was wearing a hat and some rhinestone shades; Friend Dad never let on that he recognized her. She thinks he was too busy trying to keep the rig on the road. As it was, chicken cages were teetering all over the place, and a bunch of feathers flew in the window. My friend and her co-conFLASHitors lacked nothing in the creativity department; they turned the feathers into some pretty fancy pasties.
I remained almost fully clothed during my messed-up Interstate experience, but the other party involved did not. I was traveling from a horse show with my college equestrian team in our specially marked van. Our university had a rather academically snooty reputation back then, and my friend Anne and I loved to flip the proverbial bird at the anal retentiveness. In fact, we had just finished mooning our team’s trainer out the back window. He told us through his loudspeaker that our butts were ugly. Our butts were not, in fact, ugly back then. We had recently seen our renaissance trainer perform a kick-ass drag show, so it would stand to reason that he wouldn’t appreciate our butts the way we hoped most people who share his gender would.
Apparently, someone else did admire our butts because I noticed this car riding beside us with its interior lights on. The dude driving the car waved at me—he was wearing nothing but a smile.
“Holy shit!” I cried to no one in particular. “that man is NEKKID!”
“Oh, what is SHE talking about?” questioned one of the snootier members of our team.
Anne climbed over me to have a look.
“Holy shit is right!” she hollered. “He is buck assed nekkid!”
The other girls peered out the side windows. The guy’s smiled widened as he waved at all of us. I collapsed in a heap of hilarity beside Anne, who was also howling. Our team mates were horrified.
“How creepy!” cried one.
“He could follow us!” another chimed in. “We need to report him!”
“What if he’s a rapist?” trembled the smallest among us.
“How’s he going to rape ALL of us at 75 miles per hour?” I snorted. “Don’t you think that sixteen of us could whip his ass?”
“He would probably like that,” noted Anne. “Oh, he just lit a cigarette.”
“A happy ending!” I cried.
“You are gross,” one girl told me.
“I’m hungry,” I told her. “Let’s stop for dinner.”
“Stop?” they cried. “We can’t stop! What if that guy follows us?”
“So?” said Anne. “We’ll be in the restaurant ordering before he gets his clothes on.”
“We are absolutely NOT stopping,” our driver said. “That would be too dangerous.”
“I feel like my rights have been violated,” another girl said as she looked out the window at the still-smiling driver.
“I feel like my rights to eat have been violated,” yelled Anne. “Pull this damn van over at the next exit and let’s get some food!”
“Wait!” the girl riding shotgun called. “There’s a cop on the side of the road. Go report the guy.”
“There’s nothing to report,” I said. “He took the plates off his car. It’s a non-descript Ford. I think it’s brown. A nekkid white dude in a brown Ford with no plates.”
Our driver pulled off the Interstate behind the cop. He cautiously approached the van.
“Everything okay?” he said, probably wondering why in the world a van-load of college girls were turning themselves in to him. Our driver quickly told our tale. The officer worked his mouth cautiously, his eyes dancing the rumba. Clearly, he would be doubled over cackling when we pulled off. Anne and I beat him to it in the back of the van.
“Shut UP, you two,” the girl riding shotgun hissed back at us. My giggles erupted into snorts. The officer turned away from our driver, shoulders shaking.
“This is NOT funny,” she told him.
“It’s funny as HELL,” hollered Anne.
The officer managed to regain some composure and asked for a description of the suspect. The girls up front looked at each other in bewilderment.
“We really didn’t look at him that closely,” said the driver.
“We were repulsed,” said another.
“Those two clowns in the back saw him, though,” added the girl riding shotgun.
“He had dirty blond hair, kind of messy; pale skin,” I said.
“That’s helpful,” said the officer.
“Wait,” said Anne lowering her voice and raising the drama factor. “I will never forget that face. He had evil eyes, squinty and light. He was hairy and paunchy.”
“Paunchy?” I whispered. “What the hell?”
The officer appeared to take notes. “Anything else?”
“Oh, yes,” said Anne, bullshit positively gleaming in her eyes. “He was a VERY SMALL man.”
That did it. The officer, leaned against our van, any semblance of composure gone, and I was rolling in the aisle. Even the tight asses up front had to chuckle a little at that one. The police officer waved us on, and finally, we got our food—Captain D.’s, if you will.