From The Land O' Lakes, Through The Land O' Cheese

I am currently recovering from joint move-road trip adventure. A move that, like all moves in my life, focused primarily on the last minute. The road trip, barring Wisconsin, also went very well. The newly purchased truck ran like a champ and the weather was perfect.

Wisconsin, without doubt, has it's own natural beauty with the farms and the rolling green hillside and whatnot. But it's hard to focus on the pastoral landscapes passing you by when you have a man in a passing vehicle screaming at you with his head and arms out the window, full handlebar moustache flapping in the wind. Now I don't mean screaming like something something I would do as a toddler when my mom would go through the cereal isle and not pick up Lucky Charms. This was a "you killed my entire family and I have been searching the world in a fuming boil of fury for ten years until this day that I have found you!" I have never seen a man so angry, while simultaneously being comically muted by the fact that we had our windows up and we were traveling at 70 miles per hour. It was kind of like a larger, roid-raging Charlie Chaplin screaming at us to get off the f-ing road. So as he screamed by, with the utmost animation, I did what anyone in my position would do. Gave him a big goofy grin and a thumbs up!

The weirdest part of the encounter is that we have absolutely no idea why he was yelling at me. There is no reason, that we could thing of, that he would: A) be telling us impolitely to get off the road, B) be so very angry, or C) grow such a hideous moustache.

Not to mention (even thought I am right now) the fact that highway patrol cars were just about as common as the bugs that littered my windshield. Between them and the highway-screamer, I felt a little less than welcomed in the state of cows and cheese. Maybe I should have taken off my bumper sticker that says Brett Favre Sucks!