THE END OF THE LINE

WE DON'T RENT PIGS: AN INTRODUCTION -

A Holiday Inn at the state line, Nebraska.

Was Jesus really staying there like the news reports said?

The sign near the exit said it was so too.

"Unbelievable!" I threw my hands in the air, forty seven miles to the exit.

Right turn on red only.

Sampson, my friend from a previous life,lost his will to live at mile marker seven it would seem but by twenty, he was back with me, cheerfully singing.

"Blasphemy!" he roared as we listened to the news reports, "Blasphemy all around!! Jesus ain't there!!" he burped up the last taco he had eaten before we left South Dakota on our journey to find Jesus or the imposter.

No signs of life here.

Who ran the tourist board here?

Was it an easy job to get?

Sign post had been shot; murdered, brought down in the prime of its life.

Omaha steak house a billion miles that way,good luck the son of God in your adventures to find a new life, a promise you made to a dying old man in Tulsa.

"Find faith!" he said with his last breath. "Avenge me!" then died, a broken man.

Mary, oh Mary,

Quite contrary, beautiful in many ways,

Devil styling with that blue dress on,

Walking towards me with a gleam in her eyes,

The kind of thoughts I'd like her to do,

She's the one who makes me believe,

She's the one who makes me understand,

The meaning of the words sexy desire,

She's the one who makes me kneel,

She's the one who makes me desire.

We found a room, somewhere, $78 a night, cable TV, but the TV set was broken.

"We'll have it fixed tomorrow!" the man at the front desk said, smiling.

There wasn't even a mini bar, like promised on the sign outside.

"We all out of liquor, Shriners cleared us out!" the front desk man said as we inquired about the lack of booze.

Sad day for us all, no booze, no porn, not even a hooker to be found to re-enact TV series like Cheers or the Facts of Life.

I tried to fall asleep on the bed bug ridden bed but alas, I failed miserably, tossing and turning until 3 am.

"Sleep well?" the front desk man asked as I growled.

The man next door killed himself before we left, shot gun to the head, gruesome way to wake up.

We found ourselves back on the road, quick stop at the Quick Stop, energy drinks, soda, four bottles of Jim Beam and a couple of beers for a roadside belt at 2:45 pm, to rejoice in Heavenly songs to our creator Wayne Newton or God, matters how far gone we were into the bottle of whiskey now two sips into the journey.

The radio was drowning out our sobs of desire, love lost back in 1983, a girl we knew in high school, a cheerleader, who gave us our first kiss, down there, to Mr. Happy.

Breaking news, she died last year, cancer, tragic, left three kids and a grieving husband behind.

Sampson sighed, pitifully as we drove on, the miles behind growing but the journey far from over,...