438
GERALD ROSEN
the tollbooth wall, squatting on the silver basket, she begins to piss.
Edith pays our toll.
"No sah! Moms waren't bo'n yestiday."
Edith shifts into first.
"Moms ain't getting taken by no fuckin machine!"
We rumble and whine away from the tollbooth gates. The
geese begin to honk their horns at Moms. Over my shoulder, on
the small movie screen at the back of our Volkswagen, I can see my
Black Dale Evans, riding into the distance on her metallic mount,
her arms flailing in circles above her head, swinging twin lassos
which aren't there, while she continues to piss into the machinery,
yelling like hell.
I turn to the front but I can still hear the brass ensemble
playing in the background as the bank tellers in the booths thumb
frantically through their little green books:
Rules and R egulations of
the Massachusetts Turnpike Authority.
They are seeking the proper
guidelines for action.
SECTION
17. Crazy Spades
A. Shitting.
B.
Pissing.
1.
On Highway.
2. On Soft Shoulder.
3. On Officer of the Law.
4. On Innocent Denizens of the Open Road.
5. None of the Above.
Edith shifts into fourth, perfectly.
"Oh Wow!" (Warren has discovered some new fact about his
foot. )
The speedometer levels off at fifty. I turn back to the jokes–
back to Ike.
Commercial
Vice President Herbert Hubert, on a fact-finding tour of Southeast Asia,
spoke to one of our reporters on a dirt road in the back country near
Danang, S. Vietnam. "You see, Marvin," he said, "someday, and I hope
it's not going to be too long from now, in fact I
know
it's not going to
be too long from now, roads like this will be a thing of the past in
Vietnam. When peace and prosperity return to this wartorn, brave little
nation, I know, and I know the President and the American people
