The Thrill of Traffic Jams

Cars are very large fat men. They propel themselves forward with the power of their own farts.

We move forward because inside us, air explodes. We'd die inside ourselves if we were made of air, but because we're all wet and mushy we're okay. Because we are truffles.

Because we are religion's money. In a net.

"I think I might actually be an eyelash, and this road is just plain itchy. I think this road is the surface of a giant eyeball. I don't think I'll ever get that autograph." Head of pressure.

The syrup! The BURST!

The road becomes a parking lot, becomes a vague line of electric fuzz. Swollen ball inside is stuck to windows and ceiling, with eyes gazing straight ahead at furry back of next man's head.

So it's a thrill because it's best if seen as a thrill.

It's a thrill because you're in the same place for who knows how long...might as well get comfortable.

Might as well enjoy oneself.

Throw them arms in the air and scream like it's the most exciting roller coaster in the world. A roller coaster is when you think you're gonna die, but then you don't.

A roller coaster is a skinny man who runs, and you watch him from the back of a donkey.