I hit a possum on my way to Target tonight. Is there some sort of quota of possums that I, as a Southerner, will slaughter each year? You know, there’s an old Nascar adage (that I learned from Days of Thunder) that says when there’s an accident ahead of you, you just head towards it because it won’t be in that spot by the time you get there. Squirrels and birds are like those Nascar accidents–by the time your car is in the spot where you just saw a squirrel, he’ll be gone. Unfortunately, possums aren’t quite so nimble.

The one tonight had about one step to take and he would have been safe on the curb. Then, he decided to turn back and run for it. Then he decided to turn back again. Then he wanted to think about it for a minute. Then he took one step where he was guaranteed not to make it and whump-whump, it was lights out. Ugh.

Thank God it was raining. Maybe that washed the possum goo off my car.

Somebody recently (was it Todd K?) was telling me about someone hitting one of those big Texas jackrabbits with his truck on a road trip. Hours later they got out of the car and saw that the jackrabbit’s head was stuck in the grill. Rain don’t wash that out.

Jessica of The New Vintage and Karol of Alarming News gave me linky shout-outs over the past couple of days. Thank you guys. They may not have expected so much roadkill and lapdance talk, but, you know, that’s my beat.