Why Kangaroos Don't Drive

I read this today on Scott Adams' blog and I'm laughing so hard my stomach hurts!
http://dilbertblog.typepad.com/
************************
Reaching for Things in the Car

As a writer, I’m always searching for those thoughts that everyone has but no one has yet expressed. It’s dangerous territory because there’s always a good chance that you’re the only freak in the world with that thought or that problem.

I was heartened to discover from your prior blog comments that two of my freakish experiences are totally common. For example, I’m not the only one who can’t hear what the actors are mumbling in movies, and I’m not the only guy whose underpants sometimes go mongoose on his snake.

Emboldened by those experiences, I will try another: Every time I reach for something in my car that’s hard to get, I hurt myself.

Just to be clear, I’m in no danger if the desired item is right next to me. I can turn on the radio or use my turn signals without injuring a rotator cuff. It’s when there’s something on the far corner of the floor of the passenger’s side that’s a problem. The distant end of the back seat is another. Inevitably the item is just beyond my comfortable reach, but not so far that I can’t get it by stretching until a tendon is about to snap and holding that position until a fingernail grows. Then I can just ba-a-a-a-rely reach.

You might wonder why I don’t just get out of the car, walk around and get the item via the other door. To be honest, I wonder the same thing even as I’m disemboweling myself with the gear shift. By then I am literally adding insult to injury by yelling something such as “You stupid f***ing idiot! Why do you keep doing this???!!!”

Sometimes I use a tool, such as a box of tissues to paw at the distant object as if that will help. When it comes to grabbing power, a smooth, square box is low on the list, but you have to work with what you have. So I end up bludgeoning the object of my desire with the cardboard box in the hope that somehow that will make it hop an inch in my direction. As I’m flailing and stretching and sometimes cursing, that’s when my stomach becomes detached from my intestines or my spine starts poking out of my lower back. And it hurts.

Part of the problem is that my arms aren’t long. They aren’t kangaroo short, just normal. Cosmetically, they are far superior to the baboon variety arms that many of you have, but virtually useless for rebounding or reaching for distant objects. I’ve considered getting one of those grabber tools that old people have and keeping it in the car. But I know that the grabber tool would end up on the far side of the back seat and I’d tangle a spleen reaching for it.

And that’s why kangaroos don’t drive cars.