(Note: One of these days I’m going to write a way better version of this story, but trying to do it in a van barreling down the road while still a little scared of every bump we hit… well, it’s not my best work.) I’m not really sure how to approach this one. The fact is that there is nothing really funny about the fact that we should all be dead. But seeing as I have the emotional maturity of a nine-year-old, dealing with something this serious without turning it into a fart joke seems unlikely, but I’ll give it a shot. After a great show in Seattle and reuniting with our homies Valient Thorr, we started making our way back to Portland to squeeze in an extra night in our own beds. It wasn’t anything out of the norm. The show let out early, which put our ETA in Portland around 3:00 am. We stopped at about 1:30 at a gas station where I fired back a six-pack of microwaveable White Castle sliders. Like I said, nothing out of the norm. Then, about forty miles outside Portland, everything sh...
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