Yes, it's true, I got hit by a truck on my way to work this morning. Originally this blog was going to be an attempt to solicit legal consul from my friends and associates but now I'm convinced that it's quite the amusing anecdote, so I'll leave it at that. Plus, I've already made all of my decisions concerning the matter, but still feel free to let me know what you think if you'ld be so inclined. I was working on my new blog entry which was to be the most funny and embarrassing yet, but that's gotta wait because this just might be funnier. Allow me to start at the beginning. Yesterday, totally sucked for me. It was all fucking hot and bright and sunny. It really bummed me out, let me tell you. I think that sunny weather is probably the usual for southern california, but I guess all of the rainy overcast weather we've been having for the past four months or whatever has gotten me spoiled. I love it! or loved it rather I should say since it looks to be over. sigh . . . But, anyway, in case you don't know, I work in the lube department of a car dealership, and for some reason when there's sunny weather everybody wants to bring their stupid fucking cars in for maintenance and what not, so they had me working all fucking day in the warmth and it got me very exhausted. On Tuesday and Thursday evenings I always go home and work on my book and drink, so I had plans to drink some beer, eat dinner, and then write a few pages of my book, Tijuana Tap Water, you know? But after eating dinner, I completely lost my buzz and the activity of the day finally caught up to me. I couldn't even keep my eyes open. I sat in front of my typewriter and stared at the wall for about an hour until finally I gave in and went and laid down on my bed and took a nap. When I woke up about an hour later, I had lost all motivation for living and drinking. I was chugging beer, but couldn't get a buzz again. I wasn't thrilled at all about anything, not about my book, not about alcohol, not about comfort, not about nothing. Life sucked to me, so I decided to walk up to the store and get a big bottle of Thunderbird. That always cheers me up and maybe it would even motivate me enough to at least write a page or two in my book. Oh man, if you don't know what Thunderbird is, you really gotta try it! It's so damn good! It's fortified wine. It has like 17.5 lcohol in it, and it gives you such an incredible buzz! It's like no other alcoholic beverage. It's completely different. It's like, it's like, it makes you imagine that they put some kind of great drugs in it at the factory. None of my friends will drink it because, I don't know, it's too intense for them or something, and plus maybe they look at it as a ghetto drink or something, but you, you're different. I know you'll run out and try it, because you're a special person. . . . a very special person who isn't afraid to try something different. That's why I like you, but everybody else, well, they suck. I don't like them. I just like you. But wait, before you run out and buy the stuff, make sure you buy a packet of cherry Kool-aid with it. the unsweetened kind because you see, what you do is you pour a packet of that in the Thunderbird, close it back up and shake it. If it's one of those small bottles, just pour half a packet. You can't drink Thunderbird without Kool-Aid. It's a sin and you'll burn in hell. And plus, it turns your lips all red which is fun. I don't know why, it just is. It makes you feel like a little kid again eating popsicles. So, anyway back to last night, the Thunderbird was absolutely fantastic and I did in fact end up writing. Just a page, but it was really good stuff. Great stuff. I was writing about my first night living in Tijuana. Sheer hilarity let me tell you. I went to sleep thoroughly buzzed and when I woke up the next morning, I was still drunk, very drunk. I looked outside and I saw all the traffic on Glendale Boulevard and it was all bright outside and my room was already hot. It instantly made me crabby. I was thinking about how I was hearing somebody on the radio the day before refer to overcast weather as being revolting. "That person is so fucked to me!" I thought to myself. I put on some clothes and walked to the bathroom. In the mirror, I saw that my lips were still red. I rubbed the Kool-Aid off of them and shaved. I was still drunk. really drunk. But, you already know that. OK, now to the good stuff, I was riding down the sidewalk going opposite to traffic, and I see this brand new, shiny silver truck pulled all the way into the crosswalk in front of me. I saw the guy in the car. He was this middle aged white man with short hair. He looked straight at me and then turned and looked at the oncoming traffic. In case you don't know, the traffic on Glendale is totally packed during rush hour. It's that stretch of road between where the 2 freeway begins and Sunset. Very packed traffic, you must believe me. So, anyway, I thought he was a total asshole for pulling fully into the crosswalk, but I wasn't going to let it bother me, so I simply went in front of him. While I was right in front of his truck, he saw a little tiny gap in the traffic, so he accelerated very rapidly while trying to take a right. You already know what happens now, the fucker hit me and hard. Well I don't know how hard it necessarily was since I was not hurt, but me and the bike fell down to the cement. I was completely enraged! Especially since he was just looking straight at me. I can't stand the way that people drive in this fucking city! bunch of assholes! It's like they go around thinking that they are the only ones who exist. So anyway, without even thinking, I got up, leaving the bike down on the concrete and marched over to his car door. I tried to open it. I'm not exactly sure what I was planning to do to this guy, but I know one thing: I have fantasized about dragging people out of their cars and beating the shit out of them like in the LA riots. Although I love living in LA, I can understand why this city breeds hatred and violence. Mainly the way people drive. I tried repeatedly to open the door, but luckily for both of us, the door was locked and he refused to open it. He had a look of panic on his face because he knew that I had completely lost control over myself. I yelled at him demanding that he open the door but he wouldn't. I looked around at the ground, looking for a rock to break the window open, but couldn't find anything. I started kicking the side of the truck as hard as I could. As I said before, the truck looked totally new and my steel toed work shoes were making these very satisfying dents and black smudges on the glossy body. I got three good kicks at it before he screeched off, burning rubber. My heart was pounding. I was breathing hard. I realized that a bunch of people had stopped their cars and were staring at me. There was this guy in a mini-van that was behind the truck. He was motioning for me to go over to him, so I did. He handed me a little piece of paper, and said, "Here you go, dude." He was shaking his head back and forth. Why? I'm not exactly sure. Was it my actions he disapproved of? I looked down at the piece of paper, and it said, 6Z88186 GMC Sierra Gold I still have the paper. I'm looking at it now. I was about to not put up this information on the internet for worry of legal repercussions, but fuck it. In fact, fuck everything. So, I said to the guy in the minivan, "I'm going to get that fucker busted for Hit and Run! HA!" He didn't say anything. He just drove off still shaking his head back and forth for whatever reason. I got back on my bike and rode to work. So, I'm not going to comment too much on this incident except to say that I have, ahem . . . issues with my anger, but it makes for a funny story either way. I don't think I need any legal consul anymore since I've decided not to do anything about it. What I did was probably more illegal than what he did anyway. You know how they hate it when you take the law into your own hands. Uh, but what do you think? I think if he said in court that he didn't get out because he was scared of me doing something violent to him, that would probably make sense to the judge. I got hit once by a MTA bus too, but that's another story.