by Kevin Deweber
I love Texas. I really do. It’s home. It’s turned me into the man I am today (those that know me can critique that man in the comment section). I love my barbecue, my Cowboys, and my drawl that sounds straight from a Nascar pit crew. However, if I don’t leave occasionally, I would probably wind up drunk, and pissing in the middle of the street, in the Fort Worth Stockyards, talking about the good ol’ days, when there was no such thing as “fleek”. So, occasionally, I book an impromptu trip. I pack a carry-on with way-too-few clothes, and I get to the airport as soon as possible. I will now attempt, through relaying my debauchery on one of those trips, to persuade you to drop what you are doing this weekend, and get the hell out of town.
First, let’s hammer out prerequisites that you should take into account in your spontaneous weekend trips. You cannot be a demanding traveler, period. I feel I need to beat you about the head with this tidbit. When I travel, I intend to spend my money stupidly at my final destination, not spend my money stupidly on the travel to get there. So, yeah, I’ve been crammed into an economy seat between seemingly an asthmatic sumo wrestler, and a severely ill-tempered, and gassy retiree. I’ve even watched a girl that I can only assume was Snookie’s post-op cousin get booted from a plane for cussing a crying infant. My traveling arrangements aren’t luxurious, but they are efficient. They get me there, wherever “there” is, for cheap. Continue reading →
by Steven Doyle
by Steven Doyle
