Quote:
Originally posted by greatwhitenorthchick
I'm sure I have told this story, but when I hitchhiked from northern to southern Ontario, one of the cars I rode in was driven by "Dave" who told me that he couldn't drive unless he had a beer between his legs.
He drove us for about 2 hours. I had to sit in the front while my hitching buddy and ostensible male protector dozed in the back seat. I found out *all* about Dave. And it was true - he constantly had an open beer can propped between his legs. He went through about 4 of them.
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My dad (repeatedly) tells the story about a fishing buddy of his who, with a pal, drives down to Daytona (straight through) for the 500 (I can't even imagine the redneckedness of this event) every year. They pack two 30-packs of beer and usually finish almost all of it by the time they get to the race.
I think my dad is full of shit.
