When I first started as a daredevil, I was alone in my driveway, launching my motorcycle over a single Ford Pinto. Flash forward to last week: the Pinto had become 30 dump trucks, and my driveway had become the Pepsi Center.
Unfortunately, before I could celebrate my clean landing, some bozo at the Speed Channel was asking how many more vehicles I’d jump over next. As if stunt driving were a cheap game of arithmetic and not a supreme battle of man versus physics in the name of the American Dream.
With this in mind, I’m attempting one final stunt before my retirement, one that’s more dangerous than anything I’ve ever attempted.
I’m going to love somebody.
I’m not talking about a short fling or a one-night stand. That’s for some other namby-pamby daredevil. No, I’m going to attempt to selflessly care about my new girlfriend Cindy, unceasingly, for all of her flaws and beauty, both inner and outer, until the end of time.
This relationship will be different from all the others I’ve had. I’ve finally learned from all my mistakes. I know that sometimes when you’re soaring through the air, the possibility of crashing in a mess of twisted metal and fire suddenly becomes apparent, and you consider bailing. But if you want to land, you have to hold those handlebars even tighter. Even if you’re really, really tired.
You have to shrug off the small annoyances. Hypothetical things like maybe how she never screws the toothpaste cap back on the tube. Maybe she buys generic bagged cereal instead of name brands, even though supermarkets keep that stuff on the floor like it’s for stray dogs. Maybe, still totally hypothetically, your new girlfriend Cindy doesn’t clean her bleached blonde hairs from the shower drain and you end up having to snake that sucker all God damn Sunday, even though the Bills are on and they only play one game a week.
When you find yourself feeling impatient, try to remember the upsides, like how she’s not that bad looking for her age, how you’re getting a little too old to keep playing the field, and how her lavish corporate health plan doesn’t have a spousal surcharge. Sometimes even the darkest oil slicks have a bright shimmer of rainbow.
I can already hear the journalists, God love ‘em, loudly protesting:
“He’s leaped over the entire ‘87 lineup of the Pittsburgh Steelers, but is he emotionally vulnerable enough to experience true love?”
“He’s driven a 300 horsepower twin-carb hog straight over the Grand Canyon, lengthwise, all while maintaining a drug-free message, but is he emotionally aware enough to attend to his girlfriend’s numerous sensitivities?”
“He’s broken every bone in his body, but has he ever broken his heart?”
My love for Cindy only seems impossible to those who don’t dare to dream. Remember, they told the Wright Brothers that flying a plane was impossible. They told old Neil Armstrong that walking across the moon’s pudgy little face was impossible. Hell, my lawyer told me it was impossible to beat a triple DUI hit and run.
I ask you: Did we not fly to the moon? Was I not acquitted of my charges? Did I not jump over the courthouse on my murdercycle as my victims’ families screamed in awe?
The thing is, I’ve matured. I realize that for my entire life I’ve jumped over obstacles, but never into them. I’ve set fire to these obstacles, but I’ve never set fire to tea light candles and arranged them in the shape of a heart around my waterbed. I’ve driven my glistening chopper across the endless Mojave salt flats in clouds of hissing dust, but always with an empty sidecar.
Am I scared? Sure. I’m risking everything. But I don’t mind the danger because I don’t perform stunts for myself. I do them for your average Joe Six-pack, who pushes paper in an office that smells of warm toner cartridges and dead skin. Who hates his wife so much he fakes intestinal distress just to get five minutes alone in the bathroom. A guy who, when he is stuck in traffic, is unable to jump over it. He has to live vicariously through me, and it’s my patriotic duty to serve him, no matter the danger.
So now I’m revvin’ up my heart engines, gunnin’ towards that ramp of love. Like Mahatma Gandhi once said, “It doesn’t matter if you get killed, so long as you push that mud bike as hard as you fuckin’ can.”
Me and Cindy are going to make it, against all odds. Nothing will stop our infinite love.
Editor’s note: Following this press conference, Dudley Danger was dumped by his girlfriend, and immediately died from heartbreak.