At some point in my drive through Illinois I saw various signs indicating that there is indeed a place called Kickapoo. At first, it was one of those tiny signs marking where the highway crossed Kickapoo Creek and I just thought I had read it wrong because I really only caught a quick glance of it at the last second, but then came one of those big billboard sized route signs and there was no mistaking it.

Now I’ve seen some things on the road that were pretty odd or that gave me an odd insight (and I still might get around to commenting on those) but the idea of a place called Kickapoo just struck me as particularly hilarious.

Perhaps it’s my bent for taking things literally that lead me to wonder why the farmers’ kids would play “kick-the-can”, but forgo using “the-can” in favor of some poo. Granted, I suppose in the current cold weather one could boot a poo quite well with minimal residual mess or scattering from disintigration, but I still think I’d miss the audible clanking of the can when it skips down the street. Whereas I imagine a poo doesn’t have anything near as pleasant of a sound.

I’d talk more about it, but I’m tired from the long drive and I still have to wake up early so I can get to kickaass to vent some of the pent up frustration I have after having stopped drinking coffee* in kickahabit. After that I might stop in to see what kind of deals they have on cars over in kickatire.

Happy New Year everyone!!

*not really


~ by ghendar on December 31, 2008.

2 Responses to “Kickapoo”

  1. Never in my 35 years have I ever read such a moving epilogue on the subject of frozen poo.

  2. I aim to please. 😉

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