The Trucker
>You are Peter “Wild Blue Yonder” Vanderbilt, a trucker.
>You’ve driven your Volvo VN 780 across these great states more times than you can count.
>It’s a decent living, and life on the open road gives you plenty of time to listen to books on tape.
>But without anyone there to talk to, it can get lonely and kinda boring.
>The CB and all the anonymous yucks using it gets old after awhile.
>Just an occupational adversity.
>You considered getting a dog, but they need space to run around and exercise in.
>Can’t really offer that when you have a short deadline and a lot of miles.
>A cat would hate the constant movement, and would also get stir-crazy.
>So for the time being, it’s just you, your truck, and the open road.
>Actually, at the moment, it’s just you, your truck, the open road, and an metric fuckton of rain.
>You’re on Interstate 80, not far from your starting place in Sacramento, CA.
>The Tahoe National Forest is currently being bombarded with one motherfucker of a storm.
>Your windshield wipers are sliding back and forth as fast as they can, and you have your high beams trying to cut through the downpour.
>You’ve driven through worse, but there are a lot of twists and blind turns out here, so you’re still uneasy.
>Fortunately, the highway is pretty sparse tonight, so you just concentrate on seeing what’s ahead of you.
>A bright flash of lightning illuminates the dark just long enough for you to see an unusual sight.
>The road not too far ahead of you is littered with little colored spots, all spread out along your side of the lanes.
>You quickly slam on the brakes and honk your horn.
>As you slow down, which isn’t easy with the roads as wet as they are, your own lights shine on the colorful pile and reveal them to be a herd of fluffy ponies.
>You don’t know a whole lot about them, and you rarely ever experience them in your line of work.
>Occasionally you’ll see a few walking along the roads, or catch a large herd in the fields not far from the highways.
>But this is the first time you’ve seen fluffies actually standing on the roads that weren’t already multicolored roadkill.
>And your very heavy truck is still heading towards them, tires sliding on the slick asphalt.
>“Fuck.”
>You keep your foot pressed down hard on the brakes, blasting your horn for all it’s worth, trying to get them to move.
>At last they get the message, and most of them start slowly shuffling out of the way.
>Their fluff soaked to the flesh with rain, they’re not fast at all.
>But you can barely see that they’re on an incline, and your truck starts losing more speed.
>Finally, your truck comes to a stop, just barely missing the herd.
>Applying the parking brake, you grab your poncho out of the cab and put on your rain boots.
>These little puffballs better have a good goddamn excuse for this, or you might finish the job your truck almost did.
>You exit the truck and are immediately assaulted by the rain.
>You walk towards the front of the truck, and you see a fluffy sitting there, shaking, his nose a scant few inches away from your left tire. He’s sitting in a pile of what’s probably his own fear-induced shit.
>Lucky little bugger literally stared Death in the face and won.
>Ignoring him, you approach the rest of the group.
>“What the fuck is wrong with you idiots?! You could have all been killed, standing on the road like that. I can barely see shit as it is, much less brake for every retarded animal not smart enough to get the hell out of the way!”
>You know you’re being pretty harsh, but fuck it, you’re cold, you’re wet, and you’re not anywhere near the kind of disposition to be dealing with this shit.
>An orange unicorn with a red mane steps forth, his little legs half submerged in the water running down the incline. Some of the smaller members of the herd are holding on to each other to keep from slipping.
>They collectively look like a patchwork quilt that’s been left out in the rain.
>Which they have been.
>“Sowwy, mistah. Hewd no mean to make you angwy-”
>The sounds of the storm are completely drowning out the groveling fluffy pony.
>“Speak up! I can’t hear you!”
>“Fwuffy wan teww human…”
>“LOUDER!”
>The orange fluffy takes a deep breath, then screams at the top of his lungs.
>“TWEE FAWW ON BWACK GWOUND, BAD FO’ METAL MUNSTAS AND FWUFFIES! FWUFFIES NO CAN MOVE AWOUND, NEED HEWP!”
>Okay, that you heard.
>A tree?
>You walk past the herd up the incline. It’s a slow trek, with the wind blowing into your face. You’re beginning to get soaked underneath your poncho.
>As you near the top of the incline, lightning flashes again, and you can see a large tree that’s fallen onto the highway.
>It’s situated just inside a blind turn.
>You feel a chill run down your spine.
>If you hadn’t stopped, if the fluffies hadn’t warned you, you wouldn’t have been able to brake in time.
>Your momentum would have carried you through the guardrails and over the edge.
>You can’t see how far down it is, but you’re happy to not have found out the hard way.
>You hurry back to your cab, getting on the radio to alert authorities about the fallen tree.
>When they tell you that help is on the way, you get some flares from your truck so that the other lane stops, and turn on your emergency flashers to stop anyone else from hitting the tree or rear ending you.
>Looking out the window, you see the herd still there, completely soaked. Many of them are shivering, trying to hug each other to keep warm.
>Not that it would help; they’re all so wet that all they’re doing is getting each other more wet.
>You sigh.
>Well, you do owe them your life, and you have some room in the trailer.
>Still, if they ruin any of the cargo, it’s your ass.
>…
>Fuck it, they saved your ass.
>You get out and approach the herd.
>The orange one cautiously approaches you again.
>“If you guys want, you can stay in the back of the truck until they move the tree.”
>The herd looks hopeful at your offer, but the orange fluffy, who you presume to be the leader of the herd, eyes you suspiciously.
>“Why you hewp fwuffies, hooman?”
>“What?”
>“WHY YOU HEWP FWUFFIES, HOOMAN?”
>“Because you helped me. I think it’s fair I return the favor.”
>Apparently satisfied by your answer, the orange fluffy barks orders at his herd to head towards the back of your truck.
>You open the bay door.
>There’s an empty space near the door.
>A quick headcount shows the herd to number around 12, not counting babies.
>“Alright, listen up!”
>Every little head looks up at you.
>“When you’re in there, do not touch anything. All the boxes you see? Don’t go anywhere near them! Don’t poop or pee in there either. If I come back and I find even one turd or piss pile, you’re all getting chucked over the guardrail, got it?”
>The same orange fluffy shouts back, “HEWD UNDASTAN! NO MAKE BAD POOPIES OR PEEPEES, NO TOUCH HOOMAN STUFF! WE GOOD FWUFFIES!”
>You motion for the fluffies to come forward, and the orange fluffy pushes the ones with babies to the front.
>You pick them up one by one, placing them in the trailer.
>Each one thanks you gratefully for getting them and their babies out of the rain.
>Some of the herd roll some very fat fluffies up next.
>They’re all babbling about having babies, so you guess they must be pregnant.
>You’re extra gentle with them, and the mothers help roll them away from the edge.
>After them come the foals, then the mares, and at last the stallions.
>They all thank you as you place them in the trailer.
>The very last one is the leader.
>“Gotta hand it to you little critters, you know how to prioritize.”
>“WHA PWIOWITIZE?”
>“I said you’re smart.”
>“AWCHEW AM SMAWTY FWEND! AM WEADEW OF HEWD!”
>“That’s nice. Just remember what I told you.”
>You pick him up to place him in the trailer with his herd.
>“AWCHEW WEMEMBA! NO MAKE BAD POOPIES! NO TOUCH ANYFING!”
>“Ow! Dammit, you’re right next to my ear, no need to shout!”
>“Sowwy…”
>You place him in the trailer. You can see the whole herd resuming their hugfest as you close the door.
>Thankfully the wind was blowing away from the back, so the only water that got in the trailer was from the fluffies.
>You return to your cab and change into a dry shirt.
>It doesn’t take long for a helicopter to arrive, since the Blue Canyon airport wasn’t too far back down I-80.
>It pulls the tree over the edge, and the road is cleared.
>The rain has only barely abated, and it’s still slippery out there.
>Still, you have a delivery to make, and this delay took a large chunk out of your schedule.
>So much for being early.
>Throwing your poncho back on, you go to the trailer and open the door a few feet.
>You can see that the herd has warmed up, and are no longer shivering, even if their fluff is still damp.
>Archer, the orange smarty friend, approaches, remembering not to shout since you’re so close.
>“Twee gone? Fwuffies can go?”
>“Yep. It’s been moved. You’re free to move along.”
>“Fank yoo fo wetting fwuffies stay, nice mistah! Wawm in metal munsta.”
>“Yeah, don’t mention it.”
>Archer begins barking orders to his herd to get ready to move again.
>You can hear them not respond positively to the news.
>“Wan be dwy! Meanie wawas no get us in metal munsta! Big wawa bad fo babehs!”
>Archer doesn’t want to impose, but the herd clearly isn’t keen on having to go back out in the rain.
>Hell, with visibility being the way it is, there’s a good chance they’ll get run over.
>“Hey, Archer.”
>Archer stops and turns around.
>“Where are you guys headed? Maybe I could give you a lift.”
>“We goin ta Cwevewand!”
>“Wait, where?!”
>“CWEVEWAND!”
>“Ow!”
>“Sowwy.”
>“Cleveland? As in Cleveland, Ohio?”
>Archer smiles and nods.
>That’s over 2,000 miles away! No way is his herd going to make it from here.
>You look in the trailer. Not a single turd or piss puddle, and the cargo is completely untouched.
>There’s a fair amount of water on the floor from the fluffies’ fluff, but it’s nowhere near enough to get past the plastic palettes.
>Archer kept up his end of the bargain, and your destination isn’t too far from Cleveland…
>Fuck it.
>“You guys want a ride to Cleveland? It’ll be a few days in here, but a whole lot of days if you guys walked.”
>You’re suddenly assaulted by orange fluff flying into your face as Archer gives you a hug.
>“Wuv mista!”
>Can’t breathe.
>Luckily, fluffies aren’t strong, and prying Archer off of your face doesn’t take much effort.
>“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome. Anyone here need to shit?”
>A few random fluffies shuffle forward.
>You grab one and hold him over the road.
>“Waaaaaah! Pwease no dwop fwuffy!”
>“I’m not going to drop you. Just do your business.”
>“Wha bissness?”
>“Make poopies before you get soaked again.”
>The little guy strains and a stream of shit squirts out onto the slick road. It’s quickly carried away by the rain.
>“Good boy.” You put him back and pick up another, going down the line. The mothers are hesitant to hand you their babies, but Archer insists you’re not a meanie human. You make sure to grip them very loosely.
>After everyone’s been ‘serviced,’ you close the trailer again and hit the road.
>Not too long after, you arrive in Truckee.
>It’s already pretty late, and you decide to call it a day.
>You pull into a truck stop and park in the covered area, happy to get out of the rain.
>You go into the convenience store and buy 8 bags of Fritos, 3 beach towels, a plastic bin, and 6 different newspapers.
>The cashier raises an eyebrow.
>“I like to keep informed. Also, I’m hungry. And if you haven’t noticed, it’s a bit drizzly out there.”
>The cashier looks at the unexplained plastic bin.
>“I need to hold stuff. Can you just ring me up?”
>As you carry your purchases out to your cab, you can hear the cashier mutter.
>“The late night truckers, man…”
>“We in Cwevewand?” Archer asks as soon as you open the trailer.
>“Not even close, buddy. I brought dinner, though.”
>The entire herd seems to light up at the mention of food.
>They’re practically vibrating with excitement. “Nummies! Fank yoo, nice hooman fo gif yummy nummies!”
>You first have them move away as you lay down the towels. Splintery wood can’t be a comfortable surface to sit on for a road trip, especially if you don’t have pants.
>You open the Fritos bags and dump their contents in the corner. The herd rushes you to get to the food.
>“STOP!” Archer shouts.
>Most of the herd freezes in their tracks. One young stallion ignores the command and starts munching on a chip.
>Archer pushes his way through the crowd until he’s face to face with the disobedient young fluffy.
>The stallion looks up nervously at Archer, but doesn’t stop chewing.
>Archer smacks him on the side of his face, knocking the chip out of the fluffy’s mouth.
>“Owwie! Why smawty -”
>The young stallion’s cry is cut off by a punch to the snout.
>“Dummy fwuffy! Sewfish, meanie fwuffy! Yuu know da wules! Fat mummahs haf nummies fiwst, den mummas wif babehs, den mawes, den stawwions.”
>The stallion starts crying. “Cywil sowwy, smawty fwend! Cywil fowgot!”
>“Den smawty fwend hewp you wememba. Go to back of hewd! You no get nummies untiw aww hewd haf nummies.”
>Cyril, still crying, slowly shuffles to the back.
>The dams are rolled to the Fritos pile, and they happily nom on the crunchy chips.
>After they’ve had their fill, the mothers come forward with their babies either on their back or waddling around their legs.
>After the display by Archer and Cyril, nobody else tries to sneak food before it’s their turn.
>“Gotta hand it to you, Archer, you sure know how to keep order.”
>“Awchew am smawty fwuffy!”
>You leave him to it, and set up the plastic bin lined with newspapers away from the food.
>“Tell your herd they can poop in here from now on. But nowhere else. You’re the boss, so you have to make sure they follow the rules.”
>You can’t tell if Archer is saluting or just waving, but he seems to understand.
>“You guys try not to make too much noise, alright? I don’t know what this place’s policy on fluffies is, but I’d rather you not cause trouble for me. I’m going to get my own numm- food.”
>Dammit, you’re starting to talk like them.
>They’re a pretty friendly group of dimwitted furballs, and they’ve already gotten in your good graces by saving your metaphorical bacon, but damned if you’re going to start going down to their level just yet.
>“Nuu wowwy, nice mistah! Awchew make suwe hewd is good!”
>With the fluffies fed and set up, you head over to the cafeteria.
>Why do you crave pasta?
>Pretty good Chicken Parmesan for a truck stop.
>As you approach your truck, you can hear the herd babbling.
>You left the trailer door an inch open at the bottom so the fluffies could get some fresh air.
>You’re not worried about theft. You’d need a forklift to move your cargo even if it weren’t securely strapped down.
>Curious, you decide to listen to what fluffies talk about when people aren’t around.
>Probably about hugs and stuff. You don’t know a whole lot about fluffies, but you know they’re not terribly complicated creatures.
>“Wha Awchew say 'bout poopies?!”
>Uhoh. Sounds like one of the herd had a little accident.
>Super glad you put down those towels first.
>A barely perceptible pomf is heard, followed by a fluffy crying.
>Archer probably keeping his pimp hand strong.
>“Now put poopies in box! If hooman see poopies out of box, den hewd haf wawk to Cwevewand! Haf to deaw wif munstas, an no foodies, and awways be tiwed! Any fwuffy who make hooman mad and make hewd weave metaw munsta box gets biggest owwies, no can be pawt of hewd!”
>Man, he’s a lot less friendly when he’s not talking to you.
>You wonder why he’s being such a hardass for something so minor.
>You hear a stallion voice your curiosity. Hard to tell from the pitch, considering fluffies in general are squeaky, but sounds like a foal.
>“But hooman is nice hooman! He no gif owwies, hewp hewd and gif nummies! Why smawty fwend be meanie?”
>A collective gasps runs through the herd.
>Is meanie really that strong a word for fluffies?
>Granted, you’ve never heard them curse, so maybe that’s their equivalent.
>You anticipate another ass whipping from Archer.
>After a few seconds of dead silence from the trailer, you hear Archer respond. No punches.
>Guess he isn’t quite as much of a bully as you figured.
>“Awchew not awways be smawty. Be in hewd wif otha smawty fwend. He a weal meanie, awways hitting, neva wetting hewd do anyfing he didn’t wike, awways eating nummies fiwst. We go on hooman wand once. Human was nice wike mistah. She say we can eat gwassie nummies, but no make poopies on gwass. So hewd eat gwasses, good nummies, but smawty fwend say hooman is dummy. He make poopies on gwass. Some fwuffies make poopies too. Den nice hooman saw us. Den she not nice hooman no mo’. She use big sowwy stick, gif biggest owwies to smawty fwend and fwuffies dat make poopies. Awchew scawed, wan make scawedy poopies, but twy to fowwow hooman wules. Hooman sees me and doesn’t gif me sowwy owwies. Wots of hewd take biggest sweep dat day, Awchew neva foget.”
>Damn. That’s a brutal story. Is this the sort of shit feral fluffies have to deal with?
>“Dat why Awchew is meanie. Nice hoomans not stay nice hoomans if fwuffies no do as nice hoomans say. And nice mistah say no make poopies out of box. So NO MAKE POOPIES OUT OF BOX!”
>Well, that was enlightening. You can hear the soft pitter patter of hooves as the herd goes about their business.
>“Bawwy sowwy, Awchew. Yuu not meanie…”
>You open up the trailer just in time to see Archer give a young green earth stallion that you assume was complaining earlier a hug.
>“Is okay, Bawwy. You is wittwe fwuffy, you not know fings wike dis yet.”
>The fluffies all turn around to look at you.
>“Hey guys, I’m about to get to my bunk. You all set for tonight? You all got enough food?”
>Archer smiles and nods his head. “Yes, nice mistah! We all haf good nummies! Fank yoo!”
>“Alright, then I’ll see you guys in the morning.”
>You put the trailer door back down to an inch open, then go to your cab to get ready for bed.
>Looks like fluffies are more complicated than you thought.
>In the morning, after you’ve eaten and topped off your tanks, you get ready to hit the road.
>Though it’s still overcast and gray, you get the feeling the storm blew its load last night, and it’ll be mostly dribbles from here onwards.
>Hooray, driving through a dimly lit day with nobody to talk to. Again.
>Wait, maybe you could get someone to talk to.
>Even if they have all the communication skills of a toddler, it’s still company.
>Opening the back trailer, you can see some of the mothers are still asleep, their babies cuddling at their sides.
>One is awake, and her babies are suckling from her teats, while she mumbles about “good baybehs dwink miwk to be stwong fwuffies.”
>The others are either milling about, or snoozing in a big pile of fluff.
>That’s just about the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.
>Shame you have to interrupt it.
>“Rise and shine, small fries! We’re about to set sail!”
>The fluffies slowly get up, yawning and stretching their stubby legs. The sleeping babies nudge their mothers to turn over so they can have their breakfast.
>You’ve brought them a box of corn flakes to eat today. Once again, they line up to take turns at the nummies pile. Cyril is very careful not to cut ahead.
>After they’ve all eaten, you replace the soiled papers in the litterbox with fresh ones.
>“Anyone want to ride with me?”
>A few hooves shoot up.
>You pick a brown pegasus mare at random.
>Archer steps up. “Whewe you take fwuffy?”
>“Up to the front of the truck, where I drive.”
>Archer leans his head to one side.
>“The thing I do to make the metal monster move. I just want someone to talk to while I drive. That ok?”
>Archer nods. “Okay, mistah!”
>The other fluffies look disappointed.
>“Hey, don’t worry guys. I’ll let you all have a turn before the end of the trip.”
>That seems to cheer them up, and you close up the trailer door and carry the fluffy up to the cab.
>“Same rules as in the trailer, alright? No shitting, don’t touch anything, and do what I tell you, got it?”
>“Wana undastan’, nice mistah!”
>You place her on the passenger seat and start the engine.
>To Cleveland we go!
>Well, Columbus, actually, since that’s your destination.
>But it’s only about 140 miles to Cleveland from there, so they’ll have a better chance of getting there alive than they did back in Sacramento.
>Even if she mostly just coos and awes in wonder at the scenery blowing past you, Lana is still a fun companion.
>She tells you all about her herd, and her friends, and how Cheryl is a meanie fluffie, and how she wants to be Cyril’s special friend, but Cyril’s always giving special hugs to Cheryl and so on.
>Girl fluffies are a lot like human girls. Who would have guessed?
>Even if it’s hard to understand her through her fluffy speak, it’s nice just having someone to talk to.
>You tell her a little about yourself, and though you’re not sure if she understands any of it, she at least looks like she’s listening.
>Whatever the case, you’re enjoying her company.
>4 hours later, you take a stretch break in Carlin, Nevada.
>Tiny little town, with little more than a travel center.
>You take the opportunity to give another fluffy a turn.
>You grab a red unicorn who calls himself “Kweega.”
>He asks a lot of questions. Mostly about all the things he sees out of the window.
>“Wha dat?”
>“That’s a road sign. It helps me know where this road will take me.”
>“Wha dat?”
>"That’s a stop light. I have to stop when the light is red.
>“Wha dat?”
>“That’s a dead rabbit. Probably got hit by a car while trying to cross.”
>“Kweega hungwy…”
>This continues for three days, and you find yourself becoming attached to the herd.
>Talking to them individually really lets you identify with each of the members.
>You’re starting to see why they’re so popular as pets.
>The ones in the trailer are kept in line by Archer, so you’ve yet to have an issue with accidents after that first night, but you haven’t let them know that you knew about it.
>Guess that speech the first night really made an impact.
>One of the pregnant mares by the name of Pam really wants to ride in the front, but you refused.
>Not going to risk dealing with a potential birth while you’re driving.
>She was sad, but you gave her a cookie out of your bag of Famous Amos, and she seemed placated.
>On the third day, it’s finally little Barry’s turn.
>He tries to look out the window, but he’s too small to really see over it.
>“So why are you guys going to Cleveland, anyways?”
>“Smawty fwend say Cwevewand be safe place, haf sketti.”
>“Oh? Why Cleveland of all places?”
>“Hewd see pictas on magic wight box, hooman talk about Sketti Wand, pwace whewe fwuffies can be safe and haf wotsa nummies! Pway aww day!”
>You have no idea what he’s talking about, so you decide to drop it.
>Archer must have some reason for embarking his herd on a cross-country quest.
>You finally arrive in Columbus in the middle of the day.
>You pull over on the highway on the north side of I-71.
>You open up the trailer door and ask for everyone’s attention.
>“Alright, guys, this is where we part ways.”
>Archer looks past you. “Dis Cwevewand?”
>“No, but you’re very close. A whole lot closer than you were when we met. But I can’t take you any closer. It’s time to go.”
>Many of the fluffies are very sad to leave. They liked having two meals every day without having to walk everywhere.
>Archer too is sad that his herd must continue on their own, but he forces himself to smile anyway.
>You put the fluffies down one by one on the ground until they’re all out of your trailer.
>“Hewd! Nice mistah take fwuffies so cwose to Cwevewand! Nice mistah is big hewp! Aww fwuffies say fanks!”
>The entire herd suddenly assaults your shins with hugs.
>“Fank yoo, hooman!”
>“Katya wuv mistah!”
>“Mawowy miss nice mistah!”
>Even the babies are trying to hug you, but they’re not enough big enough to get above your shoes.
>It’s a touching moment.
>Sure is dusty out here, you got something in your eye.
>As the herd continues expressing their gratitude, you write some things down on a piece of paper.
>You call Archer forward, and kneel down to talk to him.
>“Okay, Archer, you see this picture? That’s the picture you need to look for on those big green signs that hang above the roads. Just keep following this picture, and the road will take you straight to Cleveland.”
>You’re pointing to your sketch of the I-71 sign.
>“I don’t know how fast you guys run, but it should only be a few more days to get there.”
>You tie it to one of the mother’s sides with a shoelace. That way, Archer can look at it to reference without having to carry the paper in his mouth.
>“And I have one last thing for you guys.”
>You take out two of those cereal mini box sampler packs and a bunch of shoelaces and tie a box to the back of each adult fluffy that isn’t pregnant or carrying babies on their back.
>The knots are sturdy enough that they won’t slip, but loose enough that the fluffies can pull them off when they need to.
>“That’ll give you food for a few days travel. Good luck, Archer. Hope you find your Spaghetti Land.”
>You see tears well up in Archer’s eyes, and he jumps at your legs, giving you a big hug.
>“Awchew neva foget, nice mistah.”
>You pet his head. “Neither will I, little buddy.”
>Archer lets go, then rallies the herd, which is trying to move with the sudden added weight of boxed cereal on their backs.
>Not heavy, but awkward.
>Barry doesn’t move.
>“Smawty fwend…Awchew…Bawwy wan’ stay wif nice mistah.”
>He looks up at you hopefully. “Can stay?”
>You ponder it.
>Well, the fluffies have shown they can manage living on the road, and they’ve all been amazingly well behaved.
>“Of course you can come with me.”
>Barry’s face lights up, and he turns to Archer. “Is okay, smawty fwend?”
>Archer waddles over to Barry, a stern look on his face.
>Barry’s expression changes from joy to apprehension, and he tenses up as if expecting to get hit.
>But Archer just hugs him again.
>“You be good fwuffy, ok? You fowwow nice mistah’s wules.”
>Barry nods, then smiles.
>Archer lets go and heads back to the front of the herd. “Bye, nice mistah! Fank yoo fo evwyfing!”
>You and Barry wave goodbye as the fluffy herd begins their trek towards Cleveland.
>“So, Barry, if you’re going to be a trucker with me, you’re going to need a handle.”
>The towels and litterbox have been moved from the trailer to your cab. Aside from his bedding and his litterbox, Barry doesn’t take up that much extra space.
>“Wha handwe?”
>“It’s like another name you call yourself.”
>“Bawwy no undastan…”
>“You know how Archer’s name was Archer, but he was also smarty friend?”
>“Oh. Oh! Bawwy undastan’ now!”
>“Well, you’re gonna need a handle. Something cool.”
>“Wike supa smawty?”
>“No, not like that. I know! How about Kensworth?”
>“Kenswowth?”
>“Yeah. Or Ken for short.”
>“Bawwy wuv handwe!”
>“Well, Kensworth, what say we hit the road?”
>“Yay! Kenswowth wuv twuck!”
>As you step on the gas, you let out a mighty roar from your horn.
>“Whaaaaa! No wike woud noise!”
>Eh, he’ll get used to it.