One Near Accident And A Celebrity's Doppleganger
The final chapter of Travelogue is on hiatus, but in the meantime...
The head-fake. The stutter-step. It's a beautiful thing when a running back does it and yet, it's the ugliest thing in the world when a taxi does it.
As I was going slightly slower than usual on my way home Thursday morning, the taxi in front of me decided to imitate Barry Sanders right in front of me. Okay.
There were four or five people in the cab, I can't be entirely sure because it happened fairly fast. Needless to say, neither the three or four passengers nor the cab driver had any idea where they were going. The cab went right and then went left, just like Barry used to due around defenders.
My problem was that the cab almost came to a complete stop while doing it, then it came to a complete stop rather than finishing the left turn. At this point, Barry would've done another move and spun around the defender instead of being tackled for a loss. Of course the taxi didn't and I had to come to a complete stop.
At this point I heard the tremendous screeching of tires, Dustin Diamond. A cab behind me nearly collided with me and who does the driver of the cab behind me get mad at? That's right, I'm the idiot with the word "idiot" surrounded by a string of expletives, that should watch where I'm going.
The reason why the offended cab driver was so livid, was because he was f**king around with his cell phone, which I saw him still looking down at, while he skidded just to my right. What's going to interest you, the reader, is just who the offended cab driver looked like: Imagine a man in his forties, okay? He looks to be of Middle Eastern extraction and though he could come from any country from France to Tajikistan, or any city from Rome to Rio De Janeiro. I'd like to imagine that he's Egyptian.
But I swear, ladies and gentlemen, do you know who he looks like? Dick F**cking Van Patten!
Sure, he had shoulder length wavy black hair and brown eyes, but he looked just like a younger Egyptian Dick Van Patten. The same doughy face and he had the exact same expression that the patriarch had when the Bradford brats wound him up.
At the time, we were too busy waving fists and cussing each other out, for me to really contemplate what I'm contemplating now: Does he have eight kids? Is he married to a smoking hot woman like Betty Buckley? And do his kids walk like Egyptians? Or do they walk like irate cabbies?
The head-fake. The stutter-step. It's a beautiful thing when a running back does it and yet, it's the ugliest thing in the world when a taxi does it.
As I was going slightly slower than usual on my way home Thursday morning, the taxi in front of me decided to imitate Barry Sanders right in front of me. Okay.
There were four or five people in the cab, I can't be entirely sure because it happened fairly fast. Needless to say, neither the three or four passengers nor the cab driver had any idea where they were going. The cab went right and then went left, just like Barry used to due around defenders.
My problem was that the cab almost came to a complete stop while doing it, then it came to a complete stop rather than finishing the left turn. At this point, Barry would've done another move and spun around the defender instead of being tackled for a loss. Of course the taxi didn't and I had to come to a complete stop.
At this point I heard the tremendous screeching of tires, Dustin Diamond. A cab behind me nearly collided with me and who does the driver of the cab behind me get mad at? That's right, I'm the idiot with the word "idiot" surrounded by a string of expletives, that should watch where I'm going.
The reason why the offended cab driver was so livid, was because he was f**king around with his cell phone, which I saw him still looking down at, while he skidded just to my right. What's going to interest you, the reader, is just who the offended cab driver looked like: Imagine a man in his forties, okay? He looks to be of Middle Eastern extraction and though he could come from any country from France to Tajikistan, or any city from Rome to Rio De Janeiro. I'd like to imagine that he's Egyptian.
But I swear, ladies and gentlemen, do you know who he looks like? Dick F**cking Van Patten!
Sure, he had shoulder length wavy black hair and brown eyes, but he looked just like a younger Egyptian Dick Van Patten. The same doughy face and he had the exact same expression that the patriarch had when the Bradford brats wound him up.
At the time, we were too busy waving fists and cussing each other out, for me to really contemplate what I'm contemplating now: Does he have eight kids? Is he married to a smoking hot woman like Betty Buckley? And do his kids walk like Egyptians? Or do they walk like irate cabbies?
posted by Writeprocrastinator at 4:16 PM
11 Comments:
I've always enjoyed Dick Van Patten f*cking.
Beth,
You are so bad Ms. Coffey...
That's why y'all love me.
Beth,
Yes, that's certain why we love you and that should the term for it, "Dick Van Patten."
Egyptian Dick Van Patten. I love you so hard right now in a my-favorite-cousin kind of way. that is so funny.
thank god you're ok. physically I mean.
Katie-lah,
"I love you so hard right now in a my-favorite-cousin kind of way."
Wow, it's just like high school all over again. Now don't talk or look at me as I walk down the hall.
"thank god you're ok. physically I mean."
Because I'll never be "ok," mentally? Glad to have you back in the blogging saddle.
My friend Justin's dad is the Hardest Workin' Man in OB, the Godfather of Gynecology, James Brown!
Except he's from India.
One time when he answered the phone he told me that he wished that I would have many elephants.
I think he drank a lot.
Spot,
"One time when he answered the phone he told me that he wished that I would have many elephants.
I think he drank a lot."
Thank you, that made my day.
oh my word- sounds like a normal drive to work for me...
do cabbies walk?
HA! that was quite high school of me, right.
no, ya soft cow (HA-HA) because if you were injured physically that would suck ass. mentally you're a genius always and forevah.
Angel,
Yikes, I won't trade commutes with you.
"do cabbies walk?"
To the coffee shop, to the loo and to home. That's about it.
Katie-lah,
"mentally you're a genius always and forevah."
Despite the nearly 800 miles between us, I can hear you snickering when you type that, all the way from up here.
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