Dear Chad,
Mom’s making me write this. Dad needs to get over this Route 66 bullshit. “Your grandfather and I stopped here to see the twine ball. Your grandfather and I stopped here to piss and eat ham sandwiches . . .” Ever since he moved in with us, Dad just wants to relive his childhood. Who cares? We have planes now. Must be nice to have summer school.
Missouri sucked. Kansas sucked more. We ran over an armadillo in Texas, which was kind of cool. New Mexico sucks, but the Indians here have the best racket. They make crap and people pay for it. A cow skull with paint on it — a thousand bucks. And I saw them sell like five of them. Megan called it “white man’s guilt,” and Dad got all pissed. He said this was traditional folk art. Whatever. When we get out of school, we should totally move down here and hock this stuff. We could make a killing.
Michael
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Dear Chad, Update: Arizona sucks too. We’re spending the night in a motel shaped like a wigwam. God forbid we stay in a Holiday Inn or any place that doesn’t smell like cow farts. Dad keeps telling me how this is a life-changing experience. No doubt. Another week of this and I’m going to turn cutter.
Plus, Megan won’t shut up about how great UCLA is. Mom and Dad keep telling her how proud they are. May actually vomit. She only got in because Grandpa went there. It’s not like it’s Harvard. We stopped at the Petrified Forest. Mom bought you a clock. She’d be pissed if she knew I ruined her big surprise, but I wanted to make sure you were ready to act all happy and shit. She thinks you’re still into dinosaurs and that retarded stuff. If you’re like, “What the hell is this?” when she gives it to you, she’ll probably turn on the waterworks. Michael
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Dear Chad,
Made my mark on the Grand Canyon today. Went right up to the edge, unzipped, and let it fly. Had to sit in the car for an hour, but it was worth it. It’s totally what you would’ve done. You should tell everyone about it. Be my hype man, bro!
Mom complained, and Dad finally let her drive. Pedal to the metal. Dad was all, “Oh, but that’s the . . . and we can’t miss the . . . hey . . .” We got through half of this state in like two hours. I hope she keeps the keys.
How are you getting Grandpa to cover for you? Whenever Mom calls, he gives her all these half-answers.
“What? I don’t know. I think so.” Dad keeps saying, “It’s under control,” but I think Mom’s on to you. She wants to go back sooner. She’s making him cut out stops on the way back. We’re already skipping the Wild West Wax Museum. Hoping for more cuts in the future.
Michael
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Dear Chad,
LA is awesome. I’m fairly sure I saw Miley Cyrus walking down the street. I told Mom we should investigate, but she ignored me. This whole town’s wild, though. I mean, have you ever seen someone wear a thong in real life? Not the underwear — an honest-to-God thong on the street. This may be heaven.
You’re not going to believe this. Megan is going to spend the next year sleeping in a bunk bed with a girl who looks like Seth Rogan. How’s that at all fun? Think she’s still excited about college now? She told me I could go there if I worked hard. But seriously, a bunk bed? Am I twelve?
We’re going to Aunt Mary’s for a few days, then heading home. Hopefully Mom drives. Dad keeps dropping hints about some mystery spot.
Michael
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Dear Chad,
Mom and I are flying home. Thank God. Mom and Dad had some long conversation with Aunt Mary and she agreed to ship the money for the tickets. How lucky is that? Mom and I are on the same page for once. Dad’s all weepy about it. He tried to talk up the whole driving back angle. He said it would mean a lot. You know what else would mean a lot? Not sleeping on plastic mattresses and listening to country music. Hope he never pulls this on you.
Plus, Mom said Grandpa might be moving out soon, which means I’m getting my own room again. At least this trip wasn’t a total waste. See you soon,
Michael
