Posted by: Mad Mark Wirtz | December 24, 2007


Got me a GPS for Christmas. About time, because I do a lot of driving
to strange places, and if there is a way to get lost, I will find it!
Google maps are sorta kinda OK, but they’re worth shit in the dark,
and they don’t talk to me. Not like my GPS, which I have named
Floozie. And Google maps don’t put me back on the right track like
Floozie does when I miss a turn, or exit, or on-ramp.

Floozie certainly knows a lot. She’s a mobile unit, so I tested her
in my home to find out exactly how much. You know, see if she can
show me the way from the kitchen to the bathroom. Well, would you
believe? She found it! Mind you, she took me through a few of my
neighbors’ apartments first, constantly having to recalculate, but
eventually she calmly informed me in that Valium-stoned voice of hers
that I had arrived at my destination. And she was right – I had.

One thing that bugs me about Floozie is that I can’t talk back to
her, or disagree. Maybe I can, but she ignores me. I can yell and
curse and bitch at her, she never looses her cool. The same applies
when I mess with her and don’t follow her directions. During a recent
trip, I passed every single Interstate exit she told me to take for
sixty miles. I was certain that after the millionth recalculation,
she’d whack out on me and scream, “Hey, you stupid asshole, who do
you think I am? Get the next off-ramp right, or I’ll shut the fuck
up!” Nope, not Floozie. Floozie is unflappable and all-forgiving.

I thought Floozie might be less forgiving when my girlfriend was
recently driving with me and tried to argue that she knew a better
route than Floozie suggested. I was sure they’d get into a bitch
fight. But, no. While my girlfriend’s voice got louder and louder and
shrieking higher and higher, Floozie just munched away on her Valium and
remained calm. Not so my girlfriend who, in the middle of moving
traffic, opened the passenger door and threatened to jump out with
the ultimatum: “Make up your mind. You either listen to me, or that
Floozie bitch. Pick Floozie and I’m outta here and we’re finished!”
Naturally, I picked my girlfriend. After all, Floozie is pretty
awesome, but she doesn’t make me sandwiches, or give BJ’s.
Floozie understood.

One thing that Floozie made me aware of that had never occurred to me
before, was that of all the thousands of street names out there, named after
famous people like presidents, scientists, poets, musicians, movie
stars and Saints, there doesn’t appear to be a single Jesus Christ
Street anywhere. A Martin Luther King Jr. Street in every city, town and
village in the country, but no God Jr. Street on the entire planet.
Funny that, huh? In fact, I think there is only one other street name
that’s more popular than MLK Jr — Main Street. Now, who the hell is
Main? What did Main ever do? What made Main so damn famous?

I would ask Floozie, but Floozie doesn’t talk back

Mark P. Wirtz
aka, Michael Sinclair


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