Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Car Alarm
Sorry I missed everyone yesterday. Apparently that's the way to go if I want to stimulate the comments, though. I'm going to chalk it up to "absence makes the heart grow fonder" rather than "thank God that a-hole finally left..." Little bits of intellectual dishonesty like that have made me the emotionally healthy man I am today. Delusion, repression, alcohol... that's what my therapist says. It's like a mantra with that guy. And then we usually cut out early and go a-whorin'.

If it makes you all feel any better, yesterday was not the single best day of my life. I know, on the day I neglected you, my loyal Bucketeers, some annoying-ass shit went down. Call it karma if you want to, but just remember: that makes you a Hindu and Hindus are heathen foreigners. Associate yourselves with them at your peril. Consider your future Supreme Court nomination before you decide anything.

Now, because I am too lazy to write, I present to you through the magic of MS Paint, Pops' Bad Day. A visual series of images to amaze and disturb, mostly through amateur inartfulness and inadequacy of execution. Keeping in mind that it is a poor craftsman who blames his tools, I hereby blame my tools.

The scene: a two-lane street. Construction is happening ahead. A long line of cars, not moving anywhere. In this scene, the part of "Long Line Of Cars" will be played by only two cars. Anything more would be too much of a pain in my ass to animate. I'm going to have to apply for an NEA grant just to finish this piece of crap as it is. Seriously, it would have been faster just to write it.

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Don't worry, I can feel my legs now. It was nothing to do with the collision. Turns out it was either temporary shock or a mild cardiac arrest. It's hard for me to say, especially since I'm self-diagnosing. The best thing about self-diagnosing, though, is the self-medicating.

It looks more dramatic in startling 4-color two-dimensional sketch than it was in real life. We were driving our little commuter car crammed to bursting with all five of us because our kick-ass minivan is being held for ransom by wily mechanic/terrorists. They demand payment of over $600 or they start sending pieces to us in the mail. We've already got half a wiper blade back. Pray for us.

Anyways, the accident was as minor as accidents can be and still be considered an accident. Even I, Mr. Car-Retarded (that's actually the name I'm registered under with the Columbia House CDs-by-mail club), was able to shove the displanced bits back together and replace one blinker lightbulb.

So really it's hardly worth mentioning. But I have a blog, so "hardly worth mentioning" = "one less day I have to think of something".

The funny thing is that as Douche drove away up the wrong side of the street, he actually did a little wave. Like the kind you do after someone lets you into a long car line or to apologize for accidentally cutting someone off.

But no cops were called and no insurances were contacted. He was driving up the wrong way and I was doing an illegal u-turn. He obviously outranks me on the sliding scale of vehicular dipshittery, but I am not guiltless myself. This is a circumstance where two wrongs don't make a right. If I had been making a right, I would have been so much better off.

As for this post, I would like to thank my kindergarten teacher at Brookwood Elementary School somewhere in the greater Beaverton area of Oregon. Mrs... something. I don't know. She was old. But that's where I learned to cut and paste. Couldn't have done it without you, Mrs. Whatever. I shall never forget you.

This post on the Narcissus Scale: 10.0



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