RIVER CITY JOURNAL: IN THE INTEREST OF GOOD MOTORING, YOUR HELP IS NEEDED NOW

Perhaps you would be so kind as to write down any particular problems you have had with our byways and highways.

Thanks to my reliable brown car, I rarely notice potholes. You know the car I'm talking about. It is held together with duct tape, which, as far as I'm concerned, holds the world together.

My old car is an average car. It is about 10 years old, which is something like 113 in human years. I've been told that my car and German shepherds age at about the same rate. I can't vouch for that, since I've never owned a German shepherd. I've owned a lot of old cars, though, for whatever that's worth.

Whenever the tires of my old brown average car hit a pothole, I don't feel it. This isn't, kind reader, because it has a good suspension system or chuckhole-proof shocks. As a matter of fact, I'm not sure my old brown car has either of those things.

Rather, I don't feel the impact of broken asphalt against inflated rubber because my car is egalitarian -- don't you just love big, fancy words? -- about road surfaces. That is to say, my humble brown car with brown duct tape all over the rear bumper doesn't discriminate between potholes and smooth surfaces. They all make the ride in my car feel like you're floating on a cloud of exploding shotgun shells.

So, whenever other folks' cars hit potholes, bouncing the human occupants around inside and leading to serious grousing about how our tax dollars are being spent, I sail ahead without complaint, because I'm constantly banging from side to side, up and down, backward and forward, no matter what condition the road is in.

In the big picture, I may not be the right person to say whether or not our streets are up to par. After all, you wouldn't want to try to drive to work in my brown barge with a full mug of steaming hot coffee, if you know what I mean.

It is with some alarm, therefore, that I even bring up the issue of potholes in our city streets. The other day I was driving on West End Boulevard when the right front tire of my old brown car went off the edge of an abyss, causing my head to go through the sun roof that does not exist. As the right front tire came into contact with the far edge of this chasm, it sounded like the front axle was being snapped by a giant's hands doing a few morning warmups.

For some reason, the rear left tire did not hit the pothole about which I've just expressed a lot of exaggerated thoughts. My guess is the rear tire saw what happened to the front tire and actually jumped -- leaped into midair -- to avoid the same bone-crushing fate. That's just a theory, mind you, because I didn't know old brown cars, like old German shepherds, could jump.

I told a few people of my experience, and they said, yes, that is a heck of a pothole on West End Boulevard, but motorists who regularly take that route through all the sewer construction know it's there and take great pains to avoid it. That's wonderful, if you have a good memory. Everyone knows I'm age-advantaged and have problems in that regard.

The city has since filled the offending pothole, and it is safe for me, once again, to drive down West End Boulevard. But I'm told there are other streets with danger spots. I think it's more than a rumor, because I keep hearing from so many of you.

Here's what I'd like to propose. As a public service, let's identify the city's worst potholes. I'm sure once we've informed the powers-that-be that there are streets that are unsafe for man or machine -- or even German shepherds -- repair crews will be dispatched immediately to take care of any problems.

So jot down the location of your favorite pothole and send it to me at the Southeast Missourian, P.O. Box 699, Cape Girardeau, Mo. 63702.

Heck, why don't we make this into a contest? We'll pick a winner -- the Worst Pothole in Town Award -- from all the entries. I don't know if there will be any prizes, but that's no reason to avoid your civic duty.

Perhaps your special pothole isn't even in the city limits. That's OK. The rules for this contest are, in a word, nonexistent.

Oh, I should mention that I will be the sole judge of this contest, and all my decisions are irrevocable and unappealable. I guess that's about the only rule, if you can call it a rule. After all, it's my contest.

(I happen to know that the judge in the Worst Pothole in Town Award contest is easily swayed by bribes, particularly Hershey bars with almonds. But I don't want to influence your entries one way or the other.)

Deadline? Whenever the judge gets tired of Hershey bars, I guess.

~R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.