The Cellar Image of the Day

Well there ya go - the highway's gonna be closed a while, folks. We can't pick this stuff up by hand, or even with a backhoe. It's not as bad as when the baking soda truck collided with the vinegar tanker, or when the 30,000 pounds of bananas went down that road into Scranton.

Might want to avoid the area for a few weeks if if you drive on rubber tires. Wait until everyone else's tires have picked up the junk here.

I lost the info on this one, but I *think* it happened in the Kitsap area of WA state. There is a news item about a scrap metal truck accident in the area, and maybe this is it. But I wouldn't want to go around spreading rumors. That could be more disastrous than spreading scrap metal.

a combination of a hand and a backhoe would make short work of it - a few hours. They scoop in, while someone watches to make sure they don't run over the stuff - remember - your bucket is wider than your tire track - just go straight - you have a hand crew to pick up the small stuff that falls - you never advance without the bucket being down - and the last pass is with a sweeper broom

I want more IotD that involve food. Like that nine pound burger or the Cheesesteak from Pat's (? Gino's?) Not gross like the squid pizza or whatever.

I can think of a lot of other things that would have been more wicked than the steel to clean up.

A trucker guy I know told me that in a lot of cases the State charges the trucking company for the clean up, depending on the root cause of the incident. Hate to have to settle that tab.....

The link for 30.000 lbs of Bananas, caused Internet Explorer to ask if I wanted to install Zango software. Hit "other options" then click "never" and it will take you there without the software installation.

Quote:

It was just after dark when the truck started down
the hill that leads into Scranton Pennsylvania.
Carrying thirty thousand pounds of bananas.
Carrying thirty thousand pounds (hit it Big John) of bananas.
He was a young driver,
just out on his second job.
And he was carrying the next day's pasty fruits
for everyone in that coal-scarred city
where children play without despair
in backyard slag-piles and folks manage to eat each day
about thirty thousand pounds of bananas.
Yes, just about thirty thousand pounds (scream it again, John) .
He passed a sign that he should have seen,
saying shift to low gear, a fifty dollar fine my friend.
He was thinking perhaps about the warm-breathed woman
who was waiting at the journey's end.
He started down the two mile drop,
the curving road that wound from the top of the hill.
He was pushing on through the shortening miles that ran down to the depot.
Just a few more miles to go,
then he'd go home and have her ease his long, cramped day away.
and the smell of thirty thousand pounds of bananas.
Yes the smell of thirty thousand pounds of bananas.
He was picking speed as the city spread its twinkling lights below him.
But he paid no heed as the shivering thoughts of the nights
delights went through him.
His foot nudged the brakes to slow him down.
But the pedal floored easy without a sound.
He said Christ!
It was funny how he had named the only man who could save him now.
He was trapped inside a dead-end hellslide,
riding on his fear-hunched back
was every one of those yellow green
I'm telling you thirty thousand pounds of bananas.
Yes, there were thirty thousand pounds of bananas.
He barely made the sweeping curve that led into the steepest grade.
And he missed the thankful passing bus at ninety miles an hour.
And he said God, make it a dream!
as he rode his last ride down.
And he said God, make it a dream!
as he rode his last ride down.
And he sideswiped nineteen neat parked cars,
clipped off thirteen telephone poles,
hit two houses, bruised eight trees,
and Blue-Crossed seven people.
it was then he lost his head,
not to mention an arm or two before he stopped.
And he slid for four hundred yards
along the hill that leads into Scranton, Pennsylvania.
All those thirty thousand pounds of bananas.
You know the man who told me about it on the bus,
as it went up the hill out of Scranton, Pennsylvania,
he shrugged his shoulders, he shook his head,
and he said (and this is exactly what he said)
Boy that sure must've been something.
Just imagine thirty thousand pounds of bananas.
Yes, there were thirty thousand pounds of mashed bananas.
Of bananas. Just bananas. Thirty thousand pounds.
of Bananas. not no driver now. Just bananas!
From Greatest Stories Live: Ending #1
Yes, we have no bananas,
We have no bananas today
(Spoken: And if that wasn't enough)
Yes, we have no bananas,
Bananas in Scranton, P A
From Greatest Stories Live: Ending #2:
A woman walks into her room where her child lies sleeping,
and when she sees his eyes are closed,
she sits there, silently weeping,
and though she lives in Scranton, Pennsylvania
She never ever eats ... Bananas
Not one of thirty thousand pounds .... of bananas

Those don't look like American ambulances, leastways none I've ever seen.

And, assuming the bridge you see in the upper left is the road going in the opposite direction (which may not be a valid assumption), he's on the wrong side of the road for the US, too...

Definitely not the Kitsap crash...