Words do not describe the rage I feel to every person driving by my broken down girl on her way to my place. If you drove on I95 South today Fuck you for leaving my girl in the cold. You can do what ever you want to me America. You have shot at me, almost thrown me in a wood chipper, beat my ass, left me for dead, drowned me, hung me off a cliff, given me cancer (OK that was nature), almost burned me to death, made me care for dying people that I didn’t wound, gave me threesomes (thanks), made me homeless, rich, broke again and sure as shit fought me financially and morally my entire life. But when you drive by my girl who is broken down on her way to my place the day after christmas you should thank god I can’t be waiting for each and every one of you at a stop light to beat the life out of you for failing the humanity test and driving by you apathetic pieces of filth before you can contaminate the gene pool anymore. At the very least rip every ball sack off every driver like a paper towel. Again to save the gene pool. Fuck you, the bitch who birthed you and raised you wrong. So now I leave you with a video that haunts me by its truth because he says it better then me. God Damn it America Gentleman the Fuck UP we’re better then this. More on this topic to come after I get calm and drunk.
Follows is a tale of a boy who was left on the side of the road by his fellow man.
A SILENT VOW
Most people don’t get jaded until they are at least twenty or thirty, while others realized there was something wrong with their fellow man at a very young age. Rewind a life tape to late nineties to see a boy just learning to drive a stick shift. Now, this little boy had been saving his entire short 15-year-old life to buy himself a car. You see he was always competitive and when his mother remarried, he became the youngest of five ranging from 15 to 22. All of his older siblings fought over the car and he wanted to be the first to get his own. The boy wouldn’t have to answer to anyone when he wanted to go somewhere. Well he saved up all his pennies and his mom helped him by matching every dollar he put into the bank. For years, he saved his pennies better than any kid his age till he saved up 3,000 bucks; 1,500 of which was his own money.
The boy is 15 and he has bought a red BMW. Don’t let that fool you; a Cuban refugee would call it “A piece of lizard shit on a hot day.” Nevertheless, the boy was so proud. He was about to get his learner’s permit and, being from a small town, his mom said he could drive out of the driveway and take a left. She figured even this boy couldn’t hurt himself on two miles of road. The boy hopped into his car one day after school and said he was going to the dead end and back to practice his stick shift. He leaves and due to a combination of shitty driving, even crappier roads, and a sun glare at just the right time, the boy flips his car upside down, flying twenty feet before landing on the roof.
The car slides on its roof, towards a cliff over a river. Since it was a small town, technically a village, there are no guardrails. Upside down, still buckled into his seat, the boy sees the oncoming cliff over a river, with only a few small trees in the way. The car smashes into a tree on the passenger side, destroying the door. It bounces into another tree on the driver side door, pinning the boy onto the center console by placing the driver side door on his left leg and hip. The car rebounded off this tree, facing the car perfectly towards the cliff it’s about to slide over. The young boy knows if the car doesn’t stop, it’s a thirty-foot drop onto a small beach or a river. He remembers playing on that beach, getting a huge chopping block and sailing around the point. The car loses momentum, but continues moving towards the cliff, crushing two more small trees and the hood goes over. The car teeters on the cliff’s edge as it slides over. He sees nothing out the windshield but beach and river thirty feet down. He dangles upside down pinned by the door that was neatly placed in his lap via oak tree number two. Then the car stops…
A small tree just before the cliff has gotten stuck in the sunroof. The boy realizes the car is still running and wheels still turning. It happened so fast he still has his foot on the gas. He shuts off the ignition and takes in his new situation. He is pinned in his seat by the door that was smashed onto his left leg. The other door is smashed and won’t open. Unbelievably, none of the windows are shattered.
Then he smells gas. Out of the pan and into the fire. This boy was always a bit of a fatalist and a James Bond fan. He knew a flipped car plus leaking gas equals fiery death. The count down begins in his head. THREE… I’m going to die a virgin. LIFE FAIL! He knows the engine is trashed, smoking, and gas is everywhere. He watches gas pool under him and run down the windshield towards the engine. TWO… I never sailed around the world so many times I forgot how many times. LIFE FAIL! He knows when the gas gets to the dashboard it will blow. He is strangely calm. He knows only once in your life is there no point in fighting. There is not enough time to get his leg free, break a window and get clear. ONE… I never had sex with 14 women at once on a boat. LIFE FAIL! He watches the catalyst of his death flow into the dashboard… Nothing. He sits there ready to be roasted by God. And nothing…
The boy says fuck it, I’m gone! Luckily, he is the runt of the litter and worms his leg free. He may have only survived the car being crumbled around him because he was small enough. He unbuckles his seat belt, not realizing it is the only thing keeping him in his seat; the car is upside down. As soon as he hits the buckle, the seat belt retracts snagging his left shoulder; he falls, dislocating his left arm. Simultaneously, his head smashes into the handle to open the sunroof. Remember, the car is a piece of lizard shit on a hot day and the sunroof has a hand crank. 81 BMW, baby.
The boy with a dislocated shoulder, major headache and covered in gas says, “Fuck. I got this.” He resolves to punch out the driver’s side window to escape. Slam. Did I mention the boy was a 15-year-old runt? He can’t break a window swinging in that cramped space. Smash. The boy says to himself, “Look fucker, do you want to burn to death? Or, get the fuck out of here, grow up to be a bad ass, and bang 14 Brazilian volleyball players on your sailboat?
BOOOOOOOM. The boy smashes the window and he is free. He climbs out of the car, with a dislocated shoulder, just in time to see an oncoming car. Finally. Help. This is over. He waves his right arm because he can’t lift his left. The car passes close enough so the driver and the boy can lock eyes. The boy read apathy in the driver’s eyes as the car passed by. At fifteen, the boy made a silent vow to himself. If he ever saw someone who needed help, he would help. He would never stoop to the servile level of leaving a small boy next to a wrecked car on the side of the road.
The boy knew he had to finish this himself. Cowboy up. He slammed his dislocated shoulder into the trunk of the car to knock it back in as he had seen Mel Gibson do in Lethal Weapon. Surprisingly, it worked on the second knock. He then ran a mile home so pumped up on adrenalin he didn’t even notice the piece of glass in his shoe that shredded his foot. The boy grew up, lived an interesting life to say the least, and wrote this story for you.
But he never forgot his vow to help others in need. Gentlemen always stop.
If you drove on 95 today you fucking suck. Buy my book to see how Gentleman live. And if you know anyone driving on 95 today they fail. Immediately remove drivers ball sack or beat them to death.
Playing Your Hand Right: Showing America How to Live