Cross-Country Bus Trips = Rape Biscuits With a Side of Pwnage Gravy

This is basically what my half-asleep, possibly delirious mother said to me yesterday. Really, I think she said, "You could get raped, beaten, and murdered, or sold into prostitution because guys in bus terminals are always looking for that kind of thing." Gee, thanks for the pep talk, Mom. I feel bad for all the guys in bus terminals who are clean-cut, law-abiding citizens that she kinda lumped into that category.

This is a woman, mind you, who constantly tells me to stop being a hermit. This is the exact opposite of hermitism (Taken from my own personal dictionary!) and now she's basically like, "Don't be a hermit, but don't not be a hermit or you'll be some old, fat guy's whore in Inthemiddleofnowheresoyou'rescrewedquitefigurativelyandliterally, Oklahoma."

I realize it's a mom thing, and I'll never experience that with some little goofballs of my own, but the contradictory statements make my head want to explode.

There is a point to this story, though. A silver lining, if you will. My mom is SO concerned about my safety (or lack thereof, if I ride a bus), that she wants to buy me a plane ticket instead.

That works too! As long as somebody's paying for it. I'm trying to auction off my kidney on ebay for extra cash as I dictate this blog for my helper monkey in a gimp suit to type.

So there are more details to work out now, but plane, bus, golf cart....doesn't matter. I'm going and I couldn't be more happy about it!!! HUZZAH.