We would like to think we can plan our lives. That we control a stream of events that will be our lives. We are born, educated, work, settle, produce offspring, and die. But life can never be simplified by any terms. We are blind to our future. We are part of the human race; against time, life, and each other. We know not the obstacles we will have to over come. They are different for us all. What defines us is how fast you can run and if we help our fellow humans, races and religions be damned. We don’t know who will win, or lose but we all can be sure none of us will survive. We came from the birth of a star and 4 billion years from now a star will take back our matter and energy. We can’t know the future, we all wear blind folds. But, one thing I can be sure of is, I’m going to run my race as a Gentleman does standing tale and running with all I got. I’m going to run till I have to walk, walk till I have to crawl, and when I can’t do that I’m calling a limo. Blind fold be damned. And now a tale.
A few days ago I said I was going on hiatus, as if I’m capable of controlling anything in my life. I was on my front porch in my down town apartment shirtless and enjoying the sun. I had WWZ to read a frozen bullfrog (lime concentrate 1/3 water and 2/3 ice blended great if you love sour cold drinks as I do) and of course my reds. The day was perfect and I was getting my head ready to do my new job. I sat, read, listened to my oldies (fuck new music) and enjoyed a beautiful day when I’m slapped back to the race by the sound of slapping across the street. The pimp hand was strong that day and it resounded across the street from a neighbor’s front porch. I look up from my book of Zombie awesomeness to see a neighbor trying to lift an unconscious guy into a chair while slapping the crap out of him and saying dude wake up. Now I’m sure you guys have noticed I hang with sinners, not saints and recognize and overdose easily. I quickly grab my rum and coke, decide against bringing my cig and run down stairs to my apartment where my bro is getting bitched out on the phone by his girl. I pop my head in simply say “Emergency follow me now and head across the street.” My bro noticed long ago my life is not boring because I actively search for these situations or they find me and quickly hung up and followed me blindfolded into the human race.
I get to the porch to see the unconscious guy being slapped by his friend. I check his pulse elevated, breathing very slow. I tell my bro set your phone for a three-minute timer. In three minutes I’m concerned about brain damage and we are calling a medic. For three minutes I found another life in my hands. I order the standing one to grab the end of the chair he is in we are moving him inside before we attract more attention. Without any argument we lift him inside. The slapping continues and I tell dude man to calm down. I’m handling this, slap him softer and try some shaking while talking to him he has two minutes to say a sentence or I’m calling medic. (America for the record most people die of overdoses because people are afraid to call medics and get caught with the drugs. What you do is call the medic to the corner of your block saying without giving a name you found an injured man and he needs help. You then carry him in a chair to the corner and watch him from a far if your to fucked up on shit. Say you found him on your way home, you live right there and get out of there. You then run home and move all your drugs out for two weeks in case he talks in the hospital. Now back to my story. Gentleman never sacrifice life but their own) I order a glass of water and it is quickly poured over the face starting at the forehead. This eventually water boards him and tricks his body to consciousness. Do not drown your friends! (I AM NOT A DOCTOR AND EXCEPT NO RESPONSIBILITY FOR ANYONE DOING THIS BUT IT’S BETTER THEN NOTHING) It worked, he woke up and I said say a sentence. He replied “Who the fuck are you and what are you doing to me and why am I wet?” Just another day in the human race my friend and I returned to my drinks, zombies, and oldies.
Later that day they came over to my porch and thanked me for taking control of the situation and saving that guy from at least a concussion due to the slapping and possibly death. And the three-minute timer? Finished the race with a minute to spare, I love pressure.
Run your race America, but help out your fellow-man. Be the change you want to see in the world. Gandhi knew his shit.
Long live the writers
P.S. If you like that dyslexic half drunk free write try my book. Monetta was kind enough to remind me since I suck at the sales side of self publishing. Link follows.