Back Home Again, and Where Fort Worth Can Stick It

I drove the 700-odd miles yesterday to get myself home to Austin from Kansas City, where I spent some quality time getting the blood ripped out of me by my friend’s cat, who showed such dedication to the task that he ought to consider working for the Red Cross. He could pay “enforcement” visits when their telemarketing efforts fail. But I digress …

Incidentally, if you happened to be in Fort Worth last night while I drove through, you may have heard me screaming the words “Goddammit, what highway is this? Where are your fucking street signs? I hate you, Fort Worth!” Even if your windows were rolled up, you might have heard me, because I was far louder than I am used to being. I was mightily vexed. I did, in fact, miss a needed highway on-ramp because they decided its identity was better kept secret. That was the culmination of about 20 minutes of missing turns because so many of their streets are unmarked, or else marked with tiny letters, in fancy typefaces that can’t be read until you’re about six feet away, and my vision is 20-20. So, Fort Worth, welcome to my shit list. I hope I never have to drive in you again. Today is the start of a long campaign of telling everyone how awful you are.

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