It had been a while since I'd been able to exploit Murphy's Law - since I'd split up hitchhiking with Scrib back in BC, actually. We'd intended to one-up Murphy by manifested ourselves a ride by cracking a beer - a flawless procedure that we'd used dozens of times before. Most people don't like hitchhikers drinking in their car, so when they pull over you have to toss your brew. Unfortunately, that time, Murphy hwarted us - certainly, once we'd cracked our beers, a truck pulled over and we had to toss them. After we'd tossed them, we found the truck driver drinking his own beers - so he definitely wouldn't have minded us drinking our own. Thanks Murphy. Furthermore, he dropped us in a shitty location that stuck by such an awkward shoulder that we had a hell of a time getting a ride out.
This time, I decided to exploit the fundamental law by going and whacking off down in a ditch on the side of the Quebecois highway, intending to water the waving wheatgrass as the blades looked up at the underside of my looming phallus. Hey - cut me some slack. I'd stopped banging Squanch, I needed some sense of relief.
I knew that right before I came, someone would pull over and I'd have to hobble back to the highway, conspicuously doing up my fly and trying to hide an awkward boner. Lo-and-behold, this is exactly what happened. I almost wish Squanch had just ditched me, so I could've had some solitary sanity (and been able to finish busting my nut.)
We exploited Murphy's law four times that day - once more from me trying to fap, one for me cracking a beer that we'd bought at the easternmost Depanneur in Quebec, and once from me convincing Squanch to give me a blow job (in an effort to make this stupid promise I'd made to take her to Halifax a bit more manageable.)
Each time we were picked up at the most inconvenient of moments; each time we thanked Murphy for reminding us that when things could go wrong, they would.
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