GO HOME, YOU'RE DRUNK!

Billy needs rehab.

Billy is my GPS.  I downloaded the voice of Scottish comedian Billy Connelly (aka Il Duce from Boondock Saints) for my GPS, and I have been treated ever since with such commentary as:

"Toll charge: Don't blame me; I'm only the messenger."

"In 800 yards, that's almost half a mile, pay attention..."

"Turn around when possible.  It is advisable to turn the whole car around, not just yourself in the front seat."

Billy has gotten me safely to many, many places, and he has also gotten me out of many, many jams.  For example, when I missed the exit in Albany, NY, because of construction, I ended up in the heart of not-so-pleasant Albany, NY.  He took me right back to where I needed to be, and I never had to roll down a window to ask for directions or be robbed or shot.  It was awesome!

Saturday I have to be in Newton, so I am counting on Billy to get me there safely and directly.  I end up coming in through the long back road but arrive in short order, not too late, and without looking too much like an idiot.

Getting home, though, that's a different tale.  Suddenly, Billy decides he is on the wrong road.  He seems to be on the next road over, or in the park, or crashing into the overpass, or smoking crack with the hoodlums in an alley.  He may not even be in the same town or state that my car is.  Billy is no help whatsoever getting back to the highway, so my son, who is now with me, and I end up doing this blind.  For someone like me with no sense of direction (I might even have negative ability with directions), this can only lead to disaster.  Luckily, I have my youngest with me whose sense of direction is closer to that of his uncle, who can find backroads anywhere off the top of his brain and end up exactly where he needs to and means to be.  (Coincidentally, this uncle is also a youngest child.)

All the way home, even after we safely navigate onto route 128 north, Billy thinks we're driving on side roads, through fields, over open water.  The little X marking my car is moving all over the ever-changing road maps, and Billy occasionally gives us directions:  "Turn left... Take the rotary, third exit ... Sharp right, then, turn left..."

Once in a great while the GPS will blip and be exactly where we are.  Most of the time, though, I don't know where the hell it thinks we are.  I know where we are, but Billy is babbling away like a moron, giving us bad directions and trying to force us into a major collision on the highway.

Finally I yell at the GPS, "Go home, Billy!  You're DRUNK!"

My son offers to turn the GPS off and put it away, but I want to see if it ever orients itself again.  We even turn it off and on a few times, thinking maybe it just needs to be reset.  Finally, a mile from the house, Billy the GPS registers where we are ... for about a second ... then veers off, putting our little X first onto the train tracks then into the river.

Less than a mile from home, my GPS is trying to kill me in a train wreck then, if that doesn't work, drown me in the mighty Shawsheen.  I can see my house from the street, and still Billy yells at me:  "Turn around when possible!  Turn a ... turn a ... turn around ... around ... possible ... left turn ahead ...."

Goddamnit!  Go home, Billy!  You're DRUNK!