H. H. ARGH!

Finally! The road trip begins!

Keith and I piled the mascots into the ridiculous little Chevy HHR (High Hazard Roadster?) and headed off to Tallahassee.

ChickenJoy and the CryPod!

Soon, we began seeing billboards for Yeehaw Junction.

Seriously, y'all.

Dozens of them. Probably more than a hundred, actually. They were all different, but they were all beckoning us to Yeehaw.

As soon as we got off the exit, the party began with a flashy billboard!

Rockets! Dolphins! Sun! Fun!

It was so promising! Look how much fun that welcoming billboard is! I was so psyched for some local Florida fun! Sadly, as soon as we drove past the billboard, it was no longer welcoming. In fact, it was a town straight out of the X-Files. And not one of the alien episodes either, where everyone is normal. No. This was a full on Monster X File Town, where the psycho locals eat the visitors and burn their cars to make more elaborate devices to trap more visitors. It's a viscious cycle.

And now, please allow me to present:

Yeehaw Junction--A Photo Essay:

Local Pile of Trees!

Restaraunt!

Other Restaurant!

Boiled P-Nuts!

We were terrified. We immediately sped out of this town and happily had lunch at a Burger King in Turkey Lake, FL. Burp.

Once we got back into the Chevy HHR (Honking Horn Ridiculousness) we made our way to Tallahassee to hang out with Keith's Brother Matt and his family. Matt took us to dinner and the Brothers Burke bickered a bit about how we're going to get lost going to South & North Carolina tomorrow. Matt quickly became the trip's Techincal Advisor and decided to get us a GPS system to help us on our way. This, of course, entailed a trip to the Super WalMart.

Keith parked the car and tried to turn the Chevy HHR off. Of course, he couldn't actually get the key out of the ignition.

Inside the HHR--Horribly Heinous Roadster.

He tried and tried--turning the car on, then back off a few times--but the damned key wouldn't turn all the way back and let him remove it. Soon, our Techincal Advisor stepped in.

One Tiny Key. One Big Problem.

But even his expertise couldn't rescue us from this quandary. I got in the driver's seat myself and, after trying for two seconds, gave up hope and called National.

SadKeithJoy

I told the woman who answered that our key was stuck in the car. She replied, "You've got an HHR?" I said, "Excuse me?" She said, "What kind of car do you have?" I said, "It's a Chevy HHR." She said, "Yes, I know." She then instructed me on how to remove the key. (Essentially, I have to slam the damned thing into Park. And if that doesn't work, there's a little hatch underneath the steering column that, in theory, will help us force the key out.)

Apparently, the HHR actually stands for Ha-Ha, Retarded.