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Health & Fitness

Peaches of Death

I knew fast food would kill me, but I never knew about flyin food.

I was coming out of Milledgeville recently, it was raining, and 441 North was thick with traffic. I was in a tightly packed group running 55, and it was just before dark. I noticed brake lights and erratic driving up ahead. Looking up, I spotted what appeared to be a can of tomatoes and a grocery bag as they zipped across the lanes under the cars in front of me.

Several bags and their contents skittered across the pavement darting under traffic. I was just trying to concentrate on the cars around me, slow down and somehow keep Ellie Mae, my old car, from getting in a wreck. About this time, not one, but two of the cans started flipping, one attaining the height of ten feet above the road, I could see how this was going to go down. The larger of the two was going to miss the entire universe and hit my windshield. I slowed as much as possible without being the first to arrive at the scene of the accident, a place I find myself in much too often.

I ask you seriously. How is it that, in all this, I could tell the large one was a can of Del Monte cling peaches? I figured the smaller one to be a can of tomato paste from its size. It hit the pavement again, having taken all it could; it burst open and confirmed my suspicions as it sprayed its red contents in an ever increasing circle, while I watched in horror. Just at the last moment the monster can of peaches slapped the road, and I ran over it before it could bounce again, I felt a rush of triumph. It had spared my windshield, but not the seat of my pants, since the pucker factor was pretty high at the moment, I left an imprint on the seat, that might remain there forever.

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The half empty can of paste hit my grill, sounding like a cannon firing as the peaches rambled around under Ellie for what seemed like an eternity. I think I relaxed, but only briefly. I’m not sure what kind of weapon a can of peaches would make, but I can tell you this. An eighty dollar tire was no match for it. A can of peaches will shred a tire; I’m here to testify. I immediately found myself in the middle of a gaggle of cars, fighting for control. I was wondering how I would explain this to the emergency room staff, the patrolman who arrived and the judge later. “I tell ya I’m innocent, I was taken out by a can of peaches.” Ellie and I went across the right lane sideways narrowly missing all the other cars and slid to a stop in the grass.

Once on the shoulder I got out to access my situation. The paste had taken out my left, low beam, I had just replaced it the week before. The peaches took out my right rear tire. I stood in the grass, in the cold rain and changed it. We have had the conversation before about my putting off bodily functions; I danced the whole time I was working. When done, I was rewarded with hands and pants covered with sticky, greasy, peachy goo.

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I guess someone must have set a bag of canned food on top of their car as they were leaving Wal-Mart. I love peaches, but I’ll buy my own, I swear. You know God helps me in my writing; in fact, he needs to get credit for all of it. He might not want to, come to think of it. I need to address this here, while he’s listening. If you are going to help me, I appreciate it, and I am not complaining, but could you try to give me some stuff that someone will believe. I mean imagine standing at the gates and trying to explain this one. I can see the look on St. Peters face as I tried to explain, he would be dialing the number to a place with a much warmer climate as he listened and rolled his eyes.

“Hey we’ve got one up here at the wrong door, we’ll put him on the elevator, and he’ll be there shortly.”

I believe in karma, and I believe it works. I can’t for the life of me, understand what I did, that was so wrong. I think that somewhere in heaven there is a filing cabinet, and somehow my social security number has been misfiled, you know mixed up with someone else’s, maybe Hitler’s. Was Gilligan working the day my paperwork was filed?

Only in Milledgeville, Georgia can a grown man get killed by a can of peaches. I’m mighty glad I moved to Athens.

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