So I was roaming on my road trip accross America to my lake house (that I claim is my aunt's) when I stopped at a gas station. When I exited from my Corvette, I saw a group of rednecked-gun-tote'n'-ruffians standing outside the door.
I tried to walk through them to get inside. One of them, the biggest of his kind, stopped me.
"Where do you think yer go'n'?"
I looked at the unusual man. He had a lumberjack jacket on with a bong hanging out of his mouth. He hadn't shaved ever since... never. His eyes looked like they were on fire... years ago. Now they were burnt out. I swallowed.
"I think I'm getting a coca-cola, because I enjoy its cold goodness as seen on its TV commercials."
He looked at the other guys.
"Listen, you're not getting into this here store without three challenges."
"Pshaw, only three challenges. For me, there should be... 5000 challenges!"
He squinted at me.
"There will be but one challenge... the ultimate arm wrestle! So... ya wanna rastle?
I squinted back. My answer was almost automatic. Of course I was ready. I could do 500 push ups, while one of the Keebler elves was watching TV on my back. I could do so many pull-ups that I could pull the bar down instead. I was ready. I answered him.
I turned and ran into my rich-person car and drove off, leaving a trail of dust behind me.
This story is NOT based on a real story about another person. NOR do hoboes have corvettes. I really LIKE to use capital LETTERS.