Here we are on a Sunday evening with an armada of cars backed up on a major arterial road, waiting for 2 idiots to get a facsimile of a 16′ tall Paul Bunyan out of the highway’s traffic lanes and into the back of a pickup truck, owned by some nice guy who has no idea of what-the-fuck is going on. With explicit instructions from Fred to Jimmy, to hang onto Paul B. like his life depended on it, the pickup truck pulled away with a procession of interested humans trailing behind. Losing a few at the stop and go lights, Fred needed to get off the main highway and disappear into the residential streets that spider webbed their way in front of citizen’s homes. After 4 turns in this maze with drunken Jimmy holding on for dear life, Fred still has 4 vehicles behind him. “Jesus Christ, don’t these assholes have anything better to do with their lives,” Fred thought and then realized what his own actions encompassed as he drove around with a stolen man hanging 6′ past his tailgate. “Yeh, guess not,” he postulated as the last follower gave up on turn 10. With 5 miles down, Fred pulled into his favorite watering hole and backed the truck up to the owner’s sign right on the main drag. Jimmy climbed out, and together, they stood up Paul Bunyan against the pole. Fred parked the truck away from the evidence and they entered the establishment with silly grins of accomplishment. It wasn’t long before the crowd gathered as Paul beckoned strangers to come have a drink. The owner, who was inside, left when he heard some conversations about a new mascot. It didn’t take him long to connect the dots and bought Fred and Jimmy a drink. Shortly after, Rick walked in to get his truck back and was supplied a beverage by the thieving twins. The whole bar walked out to see the commotion as a police ambulance was called to pick up an oversized man who was lost. Everyone was laughing. The owner stayed silent, but the 2 morons were suspected immediately by the regulars who knew their M.O.

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