Here's Your Sign

We're a motley crew, with a humor that would make any HR department head vomit in his mouth, repeatedly.  Some work like they were built for such things, while others; well we apparently keep them around for comic relief.   Kenny, if the name was indication enough is a grand bit humorous antidote.  For a time he rode his bike to work.  A bicycle, not a motorcycle to be clear.  A bike that he used in good measure until it and he met with a sign from above.  A big red STOP sign that is.  To date we are unsure how he ran over the sign; on his bicycle.  But run it over he did indeed.  Hit it hard enough to leave the entire twisted mess on a 45 degree angle.  Seriously.

How does one run over a stop sign on a bicycle?  We've hypothesized, sketched out the path and trajectory, pondered, and laughed until the tears flowed like a heavy rainfall.  Kenny for his part cannot seem to explain in any further detail than what we can come up, not how this event occurred or how he came to be missing so many fingers.  Then again, maybe he likes I our theories better.  Suffice to say the only real evidence we have is the mangled stop sign, and the vast amount of heavy bruises mottling Kenny's entire physique.  To the naked eye, I can state that the stop sign for all it's wreckage of cold metal, won. 

Fast forward a few months, and Kenny had saved up enough for a truly stellar heap of potentially heinous vehicular man-slaughtering junk.  It's as though anything involving metal would ultimately be Kenny's downfall.  Or maybe that was just my take on it all.  Still I cannot say that I was far from the mark when I first laid eyes on the...car?  You see Kenny found public transportation disagreeable.  Even more so than the physical damage he did to inanimate objects, not to mention himself when he was in control of the wheel.  Thus the heap of what can only be described as scrap metal was purchased.  Unseen.  Yes, you read that correctly. 

Kenny saw an ad you see.  An ad that offered a "running beater" for best offer.  He offered $200 and was told that he could have both sets of tires for that fine amount.  This to our minds; those minds unencumbered by repeated trauma that is; found this to be a massive warning.  Kenny however whooped and cheered his good fortune.  A fortune I am still awaiting the arrival of.  The car? of his dreams was delivered, yet unseen via tow truck.  This did nothing to dissuade Kenny's elation at having a four wheeled chariot that was now all his own.  That was until he popped the hood; for a brief moment I saw Kenny's joy falter but was soon replaced with a renewed happiness.  Not only did Kenny have a car, but he had a project. You see Kenny's new chariot had a dust problem.  If by dust you understand it to mean an engine full of sand.

Oh boy.  

It took Kenny a few weeks, but remove all, or almost all the sand he did.  As the engine sputtered roared to life so did Kenny's spirit.  For all his quirks and oddities, I must give the man credit for unending optimism.  In no short order Kenny was driving himself to work.  Proud to have wheels all his own.  A man of the road once more.  I, for all my optimism gave Kenny and his car a very wide birth; never taking for granted that being upon the sidewalk was to be a safe haven.  Need I remind you of his track record thus far?  Not to mention I still have nary a clue as to why he is short so many digits upon each hand. 

One particularly frigid evening as I was about to walk my way home, Kenny appeared keys in hand and smile brilliant upon his grubby face.  Jade, no need to walk hun, it's too cold!  Come, I'll drive you.  I am uncertain what cosmic events or sudden onset of cerebral apoplexy overtook me, but get in Kharon's ferry but get in it I did.  As I searched my pockets for the gold coins required of such a ride, as Kenny turned the key.  Doing my level best to ensure Kharon was paid in full lest I be swept away into the depths of the Styx.  I awaited the the tell tale whirl of the fan kicking in offering us some warmth within the safety of this, vehicle protecting us from the elements.  What came to pass had me quite literally gobsmacked. 

There was no whir to be heard or felt.  I reached for the knobs upon the dash to ensure they were indeed in the on position.  Kenny smiled at me like a parent about to tell their slightly daft child some truth that was yet unknown.  "The heater doesn't work.  Actually I don't even this there is a fan.." he continued.  I stopped listening somewhere between doesn't work, and the backfiring of the engine that followed.  I was going to die.  It was time for my heathen phatass to pray to my heathen gods.  I was so caught up in my thoughts and prayers that I didn't quite catch the following diatribe, but snapped my head back around as a lit candle was foisted into my rather numb hands. 

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

"This will keep you warm!" Kenny happily chattered away.  I did my best to retain the scarce eyebrows I possessed.  It was the first and last time I rode with Kenny.  Opting to flag down men offering candy from the half opened windows of unmarked white vans.  I've found that after 5 full nonstop minutes of 100 questions they are more than happy to drop me off anywhere I want to go.