As I stomped out to the driveway to wait for the tow truck, choking back curses and tears, I asked myself the same question I’ve been asking for a few days: Do you wanna be a honey badger, Fritz, or a breaded cat?
You probably know what I’m talking about unless you reside in a cavehole without internet access. If that’s the case, then thanks for reading the paper, and a honey badger is a tough little bastard who eats honey while getting stung by bees, and passes out after killing the cobra that just bit him only to wake up later and eat that sumbitch. According to “Randall” and his infamous YouTube video, “Honey badger don’t care, honey badger don’t give a shit, it just takes what it wants.”
Breaded cats aren’t so tough. They’ve had their faces and ears pushed through a hole in a slice of bread and just hang out there getting their photo taken and looking kinda miserable and pathetic.
Now, I have a cat and after he tore up my face and peed on my pillow and scratched a hole in the carpet all the way to China, he’d be okay about the whole being breaded thing because Nigel loves himself a slice. But in the photos, breaded cats don’t look like they take what they want; they look like they take what the rest of the world smashes over their faces.
And although the honey badger and the breaded cat internet memes are “so 100 years ago,” those are the things that came to mind when I got into my truck the other morning to go buy boots and instead, my truck told me to GFY, wouldn’t start and decided I should drop $75 on a tow across town and another $485 fixing it.
(And yes, when I heard my “pedal cluster” was broken, I wondered for a second if I also needed to tend to a bunch of other imaginary shit on the truck, like the blinker fluid and the muffler bearings, and maybe make a seasonal tire air change. But sorry, bitches, pedal clusters are for real.)
And so I called the tow truck. And I went out to the street and pouted and responded to work emails while it snowed on my head and thought about how absolutely pathetic I was right then and how nobody in the history of the world has ever been so sad as a Fritz who had to get her truck towed instead of buying boots. Then I pushed the metaphorical slice of bread over my face and waited for my close-up.
The tow truck guy showed up and handed me paperwork to fill out, saying, “Why don’t you sit in the truck and stay warm while I hook it up?” Turns out he meant I should sit in HIS truck, but I had a good time tumbling out of Kevin after the front had been lifted off the ground.
The rest of the day kinda spiraled from there and by the evening, I was convinced everything that could have gone wrong, had.
And then suddenly, I got bored with being a pathetic bastard. My inner honey badger had awoken from his slumber and was ready to run backwards and knock cobras out of trees and eat everything in sight. Honey badger don’t care. Honey badger don’t give a shit. Honey badger takes what it wants. And so I ordered a pizza, cracked open a beer, watched three hours of “The Walking Dead” and by morning, I was right as rain. Breaded cats don’t get to stomp around in new shit-kickin’ boots, anyhow.