Here’s how it all goes down.

Well-dressed fatcats sit around a dark, mahogany table in the boardroom of a nondescript highrise deep in a dense metropolis on the coast of an exotic country. Anonymous and alone, they sip scotch, share pictures of new yachts, and make plans to jack gas prices for the long weekend.

Cuff links clinking on crystal glasses, celebratory cigar smoke filling the room, the gas execs laugh deep belly laughs, high-ten each other, and then file into limos to take them back to the airport. And of course, just before they leave, everyone does a shot of high-octane gasoline to keep the memory fresh and the evil juices flowing.

At least that’s how I imagine it.

After all, gas prices bob up and down and up and down and seemingly rise up whenever you cruise up to fill up for the weekend. We all know it’s a constant game and a constant battle.

But that’s why there’s something fun about watching those prices drip and drop ever so slowly throughout the week and then pulling in to fill your tank just before they zoom sky-high again.

Honestly, when you nail it just right you walk away laughing, patting the extra three dollars in your pocket and daydreaming of how you might spend it this time. Lottery ticket, windshield washer fluid, maybe some beef jerky for the ride home. Either way, you’ll be sitting pretty when you cruise by the station on a full tank tomorrow and notice the prices are hiked back up.

Bottom line, man: you came out to play the Gas Game this week.

And you won.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here and here

Thin, flimsy plastic sheets propped up on wobbly rods shudder in the wind as the sleet shoots sideways and you shiver and shake in the dark and lonely bus shelter.

Wrapped in thin gloves and a thick, wet scarf, you stand patiently as your book-filled backpack silently jabs your spine and strains your shoulders. Fingers freezing, knees shaking, you wince and hug yourself as you keep looking way up the street, wishing, hoping, praying that you’ll please please see the bus heading right for you.

Folks, we’ve all been there and it’s not a pretty scene.

But hey, that’s what makes it so great when you hit one of those magic moments where you arrive at the bus stop just as the bus peels out from around the corner.

Pupils dilate, eyebrows rise, and a clown-faced smile curls onto your face as you realize you just hit the Public Transportation Jackpot.

Yes, in those perfect scenes you’re suddenly a Bus Fleet Fatcat, swimming in tickets and tokens, commanding your private army of Sugar Rollers around town to pick you up and drop you off as you see fit. Baby, if you’re feeling this buzz, then there’s no reason you can’t get right into it, too — whistling with both pinkies just before it stops or clapping your hands beside your ear twice as if you’re hailing it for real.

And how perfect is it when this dream scene ends with the bus stopping right in front of you, the door swinging open, and the bright, round-faced driver flashing you a big toothy smile and a tip of the cap as you walk in the door.

AWESOME!

Photos from: here, here, and here

Whip by the seats near the bathroom, skip past the table in the middle of the floor, and score that nice private pad in the corner. Plump, squishy boothseat on one side and hard, plastic chair on the other.

You know what to do.

AWESOME!

Photos from: here

Treat your feet.

Come on, just look at them laying there in front of you as you relax in the backseat of the car. Sure, you’re just loving it back there, your shaggy locks whipping with the wind, your hand sailing carelessly out the window, and your head lightly bopping to the faint beat from the Buddy Holly tune on the radio.

But your feet, they are not fine, they are not carefree, and they ain’t bopping to no beat. No, they’re slippery, salty, and sweaty, wrapped tightly in a hot pocket of suffocating socks and shoes. Yes, buried deep under dense layers of cotton, wool, and leather, your aching soles are itching for some sweet release and a breath of fresh air.

So just let them out, friend.

Yes, when the car slips onto the sideroads, the bus hits the interstate, or the plane tips up for liftoff, it’s time to tug those laces and pull your paws right out of the Sweatcave.

Sock removal is optional, but what’s not optional is rubbing your feet against that little bar thing that’s hanging down from the seat in front of you on the bus or airplane to give your stiff, aching soles The Massage Of Their Life.

How good does that feel?

So next time, you’re goin’ to the grocer, goin’ faster than a roller coaster, remember that breaks like this will, rarely come your way. A-hey, a-hey-hey.

‘Cause everyday, life seems a little faster, things slip up, plans turn into disaster, so ditch your kicks and find a little escape. A-hey, a-hey-hey.

AWESOME!

Photos from: hereand here

All they know is everybody’s snapping photos of them in a party hat and there’s a slice of cake in the food dish.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

Hey, now instead of a sharp, dangerous mess on your kitchen tiles, you’ve got a couple bruised toes, a complete drink set, and a giant, swelling feeling of

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

That thick, smoky barbecue smell floats through the yard and everybody starts salivating for dinner.

Yes, sizzling sides of beef and black-burnt weiners are coming right up when the sun’s dropping, the party’s hopping, and your friends are all chilling with ice-clinking drinks on your backyard patio. And if you’re in charge of grilling up dinner, then there aren’t many things that scream I’m Serious About This more than really, really selling it to all your friends. Oh sure, some things come close such as:

• owning a shiny, oversized nine-piece barbecue tool set and having it folded open on the picnic table
• not leaving the barbecue area at any point and even holding onto the handle when the lid is down to make sure nobody attempts to flip burgers when you aren’t looking
• wearing a giant apron with your name on it
• asking everybody constant questions at all times such as “Did you say medium or medium-well?” and  “You’re toasted, you’re toasted, you’re untoasted, right?”

Yeah, don’t get me wrong, all those things shout I’m Serious About This, too. But nothing quite screams it like really selling it to the crowd. You know what I’m talking about if you’ve ever hammed it up with any of these classic moves:

• “Dog up, I gotta dog up, who wants a dog?!”
• “Come on Andrew, you’re not eating salad, are you? Come on, how many more can I sign you up for? Two at least?”
• (walking around the deck with raised eyebrows holding a cold cheeseburger on your BBQ flipper and occasionally waggling it in someone’s face)
• “Okay, I got a slightly burnt one. Who likes them nice and crispy? Nice and crispy one here, everybody. Niiiiiice and crispy.”

Yes, if you’re getting your barbecue groove on strong and you’re rocking the sales pitch long then kudos to you. Every deck party needs somebody to tell everybody else to eat more burgers. So today we salute you for embracing the job. You sold it. We bought it. And now we’re all feeling stuffed, bloated, and so completely

AWESOME!

Photos from: here, here,and here

Hey, eating in the car is tough.

Weaving that big, bulky clunk of metal through highway traffic, off off-ramps, over speed bumps, and into parallel parking spots is no small feat. And you know what makes it even tougher? Having a hot, crumpled bag of steamy Drive-Thru riding shotgun, that’s what.

Yes, resisting the temptation is tough, but then again unwrapping a sloppy, mustard-dripping burger over the steering wheel probably isn’t good for anybody. So there’s really only one option to satisfy your urges to both eat and live.

That’s right: dip your hand into the crinkly paper well and squeeze it between the cool packs of ketchup, big wad of napkins, and waxy-wrapped burgers, until you find that little treasure trove of spilled fries at the bottom of the bag. It’s a bit like panning for gold and is known as the Pre-Lunch Munch in some circles.

Also, we can’t forget the Classic Afterburn maneuver. Yes, extra fries at the bottom of the bag star again, but this time they’re the cold, limp n’ salty chasers that follow your last slurp of bland, watered-down cola. Yes, we both know you’ve got to finish the meal off with a flavor-saving punch and the extra fries at the bottom of the bag will do the job just fine.

So dip that hand in deep, give it a swirl, and chomp on a nice little bite of

AWESOME!

Photos from: here and here

Somebody shushes, conversation hushes, and all eyes flicker with delight as you watch your sizzling, glistening meals cruise out of the kitchen and slowly descend in front of you.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

There’s something therapeutic about finger-peeling that dark-gray-with-red-flecks fuzz patch off the trap, rolling it into a ball, and tossing it in the trash. Yes, after you ditch that hot, furry blanket both you and your dryer can finally breathe again.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here