A story I’d like to hear at a political convention:
The whole bunch of us was barreling along in the family van. Uncle Bill was done driving and we agreed Uncle Al should take over. Next thing we knew brother George pushed Al aside and edged behind the wheel. Before we could stop him, George said he knew a shortcut and he veered sharply to the right, off the main highway and down an unpaved side road. Suddenly someone was taking pot shots at us and George said we had to shoot back, even though we didn’t know which way to aim. In the confusion George forgot to stop for gas, and the engine began to sputter just as we approached the end of the road and were about to go off a cliff. Barry took the wheel and stepped on the brakes just in time. He backed the car away from the edge and tried to get us up to the main road before the tank ran dry. George’s friends in the back seat said they wanted Barry to fail as driver. They acted like they didn’t care what happened to the car or the rest of the family as long as they got to drive. They kept yelling “turn right, turn right” when we all knew that was the mistake that got us in trouble in the first place. When the car bogged down, they wouldn’t help push and they threw obstacles in the way. Paul climbed up on the roof with Mitt’s dog and screamed that we ought to turn around and go back downhill. Barry just said to stick with him and we’d slowly find our way back up onto the highway in time for dinner. To be continued….