Russell is a guy named Russell. I met him, or at least knew of his existence, when he began hanging out at Andy's during the winter of my senior year of high school.

Russell didn't talk much when I first met him, because he was too stoned. But after the Burger Dong incident, he began talking more. He eventually moved in with Andy for the next year and a half of smoky fun.

My most exciting experience with Russell involved him showing me a farmer's cornfield he had been driving in the previous week. We were doing about fifty miles an hour, when he said "This is it," and cranked the wheel to send us flying into the field.

You might expect him to cut a swath out of the corn and turn back into the road, but not Russell. We traveled about 150 feet into the field before the eight foot tall cornstalks and the mud from the inch of rain we received that day slowed his huge car down to a standstill.

The two other passengers (his cousin and Andy), and I got out to attempt the futile effort of getting the car out of the muddy field. After about three minutes of mud splattering desperation without an inch gained, Andy and I ran back to the road before the stench of antifreeze from Russell's malfunctioning radiator threatened to overwhelm us.

We made our way to a trailer park roughly three quarters of a mile distant, keeping a vigilant watch for oncoming police cars so we could duck into the field to hide. Luckly, as the sound of Russell's spinning tires died out in the distance, no other cars came and we got a ride home from Andy's friend at the park.

We got back into my car, and made our way out to the field to find Russell on his way back to the farm. His dad had come out with a truck and tow rope and rescued the boy from capture and arrest.

Hurrah!

grokkings

Bryan sucks.

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