I wanted to do something that would bridge the gap between funny and annoying, something that would give you a conflicting urge to smile quietly, laugh, or break your index finger trying to close out the window. Thankfully, Youtuber stewmurray47 did all the hard work for me with this wonderful video that proves that if David Caruso could have died during the filming of First Blood, the world might actually be a better place for it.
I love beatboxing remixes of popular TV personalities. The “Power of Billy Mays” video/tribute was brilliant, the “Should I Stay or Should I Go” mashup of British ex-Prime Minister Tony Blair’s speeches was fantastic, and so it should go without saying that a beatbox rendition of everyone’s favorite cranky, adrenaline addicted Englishman deserves a spot as this week’s Random Music Monday.
It’s Thursday, so here’s your Thursday YouTube Theater video! This fantastic footage comes from the rear-facing camera on a locomotive engine as it experiences the awesome menstrual-like fury of Mother Nature’s favorite slapping stick – the tornado. The video not only impresses with a demonstration of the incredible force of wind, but also serves as a reminder that trains are massive, have a lot of inertia because of it, and cannot be stopped even by crashing into themselves. It’s funny, too, because everyone’s favorite Amtrac trains don’t even need tornados to derail, they do it by themselves. They’re independent.
Those of us in Southern Illinois know all too well of I-57 (known rather offensively among the Illinois State Police as the “Afro 500″) and it’s long expanses of flat, mostly straight travel, and of the split speed limit that rests upon it (65 for cars, 55 for tractor-trailers). But a recent trip to North Carolina enlightened me to what an interstate can be. I-40 from Tennessee to Asheville starts off with a bang for out-of-staters, with the sight of the Smoky Mountains rising above the early morning fog as you leave Tennessee for the wonderful coastline that is the (still wholly South) state of North Carolina, but crossing the state line towards Asheville is an experience most should dare to have. Sweeping corners, short jaunts in tunnels that move you through and under the foothills of the Smokies, followed by a pleasing 6% downward grade that allows you to stretch out your right leg and make a little use of your left. There’s just one problem. FUCKING FLORIDA DRIVERS WITH TRAILERS THE SIGN SAYS “NO TRUCKS THREE OR MORE AXLES LEFT LANE” BUT THERE YOU FUCKING SIT TOOLING ALONG AT 55 THE SPEED LIMIT’S 70 YOU FUCKS AND YOU WON’T MOVE OVER YOU SENILE OLD BASTARDS A TRAILBLAZER IS STILL A TRUCK EVEN IF THEY ARE WAGONS FOR WATER-BRAINED PARKINSONS SUFFERERS.
When you’ve got your toes in the water and ass in the sand on the many gorgeous beaches of NC’s Atlantic coastline, you’re constantly reminded that you are still very much in The South, mainly by the plethora of cowboy hats planted firmly on the heads of locals bobbing in the waves. Have you ever seen a surfer wearing a ten-gallon hat? I have.
Everything about North Carolina seems to forcefully remind you (nearly at gunpoint) that you are in the South, none of this Yankee bullshit thank-you-very-much. Locals speak with a drawl, there’s more fucking corn (I did not drive one thousand miles to see MORE FUCKING CORN son of a bitch), and most of the radio stations are country stations. Which give away free PBR. Let me repeat that: THE RADIO STATIONS IN NORTH CAROLINA GIVE AWAY FREE PABST BLUE RIBBON. All we get here’s a shitty t-shirt and maybe a CD if we’re lucky.
And remember the old joke, folks. “What’s the difference between North and South Carolina? One’s a bastion of education, a cultural focal point with a rich heritage and attractive women, and the other’s South Carolina.”
Every road in North Carolina (have I typed “North Carolina” enough for you?) is, to a poor enthusiast shackled with the straight and level roads of the Midwest, an ecstatic mix of high-speed sweepers and tight height-change off-camber corners with just enough straights put in to make use of those brakes. Even if I was driving a 2004 Neon (and then a 1971 Ford Capri, which was much more fun, even if I had to leave it there [for now]).
Tennessee is, in stark contrast, somehow unfun in the arrangement of roads and highways that cross within it. The state line seems like a rendition of the Iron Curtain; Tennessee is the beer gut to North Carolina’s beer commercial. The switch from the stunning gas station attendants of Carolina to the toothless wonders of Tennessee is jarring, to say the least, which lends credence to my feelings of wanting to stay in North Carolina for the rest of my life oh my god this state is fucking perfect I never want to leave ever oh shit state line.
Too long; didn’t read: NORTH CAROLINA NORTH CAROLINA NORTH CAROLINA NORTH CAROLINA NORTH CAROLINA FUCK FLORIDA
