My husband was abducted by aliens in the parking lot of the Whataburger in Laredo, Texas. They implanted a homing device in his stomach that compels him to eat at the Whataburger in Laredo, Texas, every single time he enters the city of Laredo, Texas. There will be no variation.
While we’re on the subject of Laredo, I’d like to mention, “it’s safe.” At least that’s what the billboards on the way down say. I don’t know about you, but I’m immediately put on high alert when a city feels the need to advertise the safety factors involved with entering it. I think they may be afraid people are mistaking Laredo for Nuevo Laredo, which is across the border and definitely not safe. They don’t need to rent billboards to tell you Nuevo Laredo isn’t safe — the dead bodies of warring cartel members dangling from the overpasses are quite enough to get the point across.
Truckers are ritualistic. They do things in a certain order, they have certain paths they take, certain bathrooms they like, and certain places they fuel. The individual rituals are as varied as the personalities of the drivers, but they all do it. And there’s one thing that every single trucker does. As they’re walking away from the truck, they turn and look back at it. Every single time. Now if I notice the looking-back tick, the aliens certainly notice it, and I’m sure they use this very moment in time to swoop down and grab truckers at random. They take them off and implant Whataburger chips in their heads, and land them back in the parking lot in space-time, before anyone notices them flying off. The poor trucker has been molested and chipped in the two seconds it took him or her to look back at the beloved truck. It’s a filthy trick, and I’m not surprised aliens employ it.
(For the three people who are still reading, I know you’re wondering why the aliens are so fascinated with Whataburger and all I can tell you is anything awesome enough to be deemed a Texas Treasure surely must be intergalactically operated. They do it for the same reason states have split speed limits – revenue.)Poor George has the implant, and he’s unable to fight the urges of the evil radio signals that emit from it, even under great duress. I know this because he almost made me starve to death, while waiting to be in the general vicinity of Whataburger in Laredo. He not only resisted my continued cries for food, he resisted the urge to fling me from the truck while traveling at a high rate of speed. The force is strong with him. This is not the burger joint you seek. Move along to the Whataburger, and resist the urge to look back at the truck.
You can’t do it.
"Until a formal regulation is established with clear guidelines and borders ...