A co-worker told me a story about his truck dying on the road once, and a drink-happy cousin being the only person available to come tow it. The cousin chained it up and drove along at a scenic pace, until Joe stood on the brakes in the towed truck, minding the one stop sign for 30 miles and the long chain. Ricky, seeing no cars coming, responded by flooring the gas, after moving the bottle of whiskey that slid out from under the seat. Resuming his favorite pastime, Ricky soon forgot about the screaming passenger in the truck sliding around behind him, careening in the ditches, jumping dead animals in the road, and heating the brakes like coal in a fire. He hurried home to get more cigarettes and call his cousin back about his truck breaking down.
Ricky let off the gas and swerved into his driveway, parking on the steep hill, and getting out to take a leak before going inside.
He spotted Joe in his truck, white as a sheet, gripping the steering wheel, and shivering. "Hey Joe, I guess you got that old truck runnin' like a song! You sure got here FAST! I was just about to call you!"
Joe stepped out of the truck, and said, "RICKY! You towed me here! Don't you remember? The horn went dead after the first mile, and when I flashed the lights, you sped up! You ran a stop sign, and best thank goodness for this hill or I'd have rammed you, since the brakes went out!"
Rickey thought about it a minute, took a swig, and said, "I was just kiddin with you, cuz. You did a real good job keeping the chain tight! Hardly knew you were back there!"