Clem Gummer; The Behemouth

After miles of driving, Clem found himself getting more and more tired, jerking awake when the car hit the bun buzzers that marked the edge of the lane.  He rolled down the window and wished it could go another 14 feet down, as their plunge into the Sea of Shit hadn't left them smelling too good, slapped his face, and told himself, wake the fuck up there sum bitch!   Beside him Del slept peacefully.

"Wake the fuck up there sum bitch!" he shouted and started slapping his face.  Del immediately snapped awake from his deep sleep and looked around in a panic.

"Www-what is it?  Where am I?"

"Good morning there sum bitch sunshine asshole!  I need you to help keep me awake so I don't drive us into oblivion."

"What do you want me to do?" Del asked, shaking his head to clear the sleep away. 

"Just talk to me; about anything.  Just give me something to focus on."

"Oh, how about this?  Your a, how would you put it?  Oh yeah, a real sum bitch for waking me up and scaring me!"

Clem immediately saw red, "Oh, I'm terribly sorry for scaring you; Maybe you'd rather, I don't know, die because I doze off and veer into a big-ass building or something?"

Del wiped his hand across his face and replied,  "Sorry Clem; say, how about them Cowboys?"

Clem shot him a disgusted look and answered sarcastically, "That's what you consider scinti--scinti---err--good conversation?  What makes you think I give a shit about Dallas, or the NFL?  Go back to sleep sum bitch; I'll turn on the radio; at least the static will be an improvement over your boring-ass lame attempts at conversation," and he switched on the radio. 

At first, all he heard was indeed static, as they were miles from any city and driving in a valley, with towering peaks all around.  Then,

"...station WKRP in Washtub City and this is the news.  The annual Scarecrow Mating Festival is this weekend; be sure to dress up your crow in the hottest, latest fashions to insure a bountiful harvest.  In other news...,"

"You call that news?  Well, I suppose in Backwater City it is!" he sarcastically said. 

"...two men reeking like they'd just crawled out of someone's large intestine forced a family from their vehicle out on Highway 672 and headed for parts unknown.  They were last seen heading towards Washtub City in a blue and primer colored 1985 Chevy four door sedan."

"I think they're talking about us!" Del interjected.

Clem just stared open-mouthed at the pile of moron in clothes sitting next to him, "Gee, you think there Del?"

His obvious sarcasm went sailing over Del's head, however, "Yeah; what are we going to do now Clem?"

"Well, the first thing we've got to do is find a river and wash this disgusting shit off, then ditch this car, unless you know a way to lose two of the doors!"

*****

The flowing whitewater of a creek running just off the highway had provided nature's cleanser and soon they were back in the car, albeit soaking wet, they felt better than they had up to that point.  Now it was time to find a new vehicle.

"Where is another car when you need it?" whined Clem.  They had driven for miles and hadn't come across a single car, and Clem was feeling more and more uneasy.  It was beginning to seem like they had a huge billboard attached to the roof that said,

"Two Desperate Criminals Who Stole This Car and Forced a Nice Family Out of It and Headed For Parts Unknown, But Here They Are, Call 911!" 

They had to find something else, quick.  The more time that went by the more likely their capture. 

At last!  They pulled up behind a logging truck pulled off the highway.  "Here's something!" announced Clem.  Dell gave him a look, and asked,

"That?  Are you serious?"

Clem flashed him a look like he was a little kid who misbehaves in school and answered,  "Yes, I am surely serious, and don't call me--oh never mind; look, I know it's not ideal but do you see any other cars we can steal; maybe a sporty little generic two-door?"

"Don't be ridiculous; I just mean if we're trying not to draw any attention to ourselves this isn't the way."

"Well, sum bitch, I don't think at this point we have any options."

You've got the first part right; you don't think! Del thought to himself.  "I know you're right but I still don't like it!" answered Dell.

"You don't have to be best friends with the damn thing!"

What?  No, I didn't mean the truck, I meant--"

"I know what you meant; do you think I'm stupid?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Fuck you, you bastard!" came the answer.

Meanwhile a man with a baseball cap, a dirty vest, and string of brown juice running down his chin and making roughly a portrait of Ed McMahon on his used-to-be-white tee shirt stepped down from the cab, his heavy boots stomping into the puddles made from the drizzle; which had started about an hour ago, came marching towards the car.  He was talking, but they couldn't hear his words.  Clem rolled down the window and the rain came sluicing in.

"..you guys want?"

They could hear the idling truck, "Why are you stopped, is the truck broken down?  Cause if it is, we can give you a lift." Clem asked, figuring if it was they could simply squeal out of there.

"No, I'm just taking a break; wouldn't do to fall asleep, now would it?"

Clem opened the door and stepped out, "No, I suppose--" and cold-cocked the unsuspecting Ed McMahon impersonator/truck driver, who slumped to the ground. 

Quickly, he looked at the at the truck with, "Tall Boy Timber Co" painted on the door and shouted for Del to climb in.  Del jumped in, still mumbling about 'a big mistake!' and Clem climbed in behind the wheel. 

"Can you even drive one of these things?" Del asked.

Clem looked around the interior and it resembled an alien spaceship to him but he wasn't going to admit that to Del, "Of bloody course I can;  do you think I'd be dumb enough to swipe something I couldn't drive?" while at the same time thinking, we're fucked!

Del just stared at him and shook his head.  Clem grabbed the gearshift with an array of buttons of which he had no idea of their function, pushed in the clutch, saw a '1', cleverly deducing that it meant first gear and jammed the gearshift into it, and slowly let out the clutch.  The truck lugged forward, rattling both their fillings, and Clem worried that it would stall, but it gradually picked up speed. 

He chugged out into the right-hand lane, and pressed down the accelerator even more, until the engine was screaming, and glanced down at the gearshift quickly and found the '2nd' marker, depressed the clutch, and shifted into it, only he let out the clutch too soon and his arm felt like there was a swarm of bees stinging him all at once as the gearshift ground and kept on grinding.  He depressed the clutch again and managed to get it shifted.  He was regretting that he'd never learned to drive a stick, but it was a little late now.

Somehow he'd coaxed the rebelling beast up to 55, although the engine was howling in protest.  He knew he needed to shift again, probably more than once but this was good enough; he didn't want to mess it up.  He knew this behemoth wasn't the long-term answer but at least they were moving.  Del sat staring out the passenger window, shaking his head and muttering.  He at first was mad, but soon shook it off; hey, at least they were moving, right?