Pumps and the Bumps!

Yesterday after class, I headed to yonder parking lot where my truck hath taken its stead for the past twenty-four quintets of minutes. As I approached yon carriage, I worried and hoped that mine eyes hath been possessed by the devil. Alas, upon closer inspection and analysis, sadly the only object hindering my vision wast the saline expelling from the ducts of mine eyes. The cause for the sudden sadness twas not because I hath been visited by the Virgin Mary herself. Nay! It was because SOME MOTHERFUCKER HIT MY CAR.

On the rear driver's side by the bumper, there's a good-sized dent, about the size of a human foot or a baby's torso accompanied by a good foot and a half or so of scratches. Of course, no note was left from the person saying that they were sorry that they hit my car and here's the insurance information so I can get it fixed. Of course not, that would all be too easy and too much of the right goddamn thing to do. I spent a good five minutes surveying the situation--checking to see if the car was still around, maybe in some other spot nearby. But I didn't find a thing. So I drove home sporting a fresh new set of battle wounds.

Being an expert at human psychology that I am, though, I knew I'd be able to find the snatchbasket that hit my truck. See, at my school, for some reason, people love to park in the same row all the time. I figured it would only be a matter of time until the bastard parked back in the same row; I just didn't know it would be so soon. Today, on my way to class, I walked along the other side of the row I was parked in, so I could see the fronts of all the guilty goddamn vehicles that park near me. As luck would have it, I found some blue Mitsubishi Diamante with what looked like a fresh scratch on the front passenger side bumper and my truck's color of paint all up in that shit. Also, the color of the car was the same color of paint that raped the side of my truck. The best/worst part about it, though, was that there was a damn rosary hanging from the rear-view mirror. I wasn't sure what to do in this situation, so I just took down the license plate, make and model of the car. A friend said I should have left a note, but I wasn't too sure. If I did leave a note, however, I think now that I'd just leave a note that says "What Would Jesus Do if he hit a parked truck?" and leave my phone number.

Anyway, the question I have is, I was wondering if anybody knows what I should actually do in this situation. I want the shit fixed, and I'm fairly sure that this is the right car. Do I call the police with all the information and let them follow up on it? If so, do I call campus police (I go to a University of California school--so it's a public institution), or the real police? If anybody knows the actual answer, let me know please. I've thought about pouring Jesus crackers (whatever those "Body of Christ" Nilla Wafers are that they give you in Catholic Churches) in the gas tank, or just standing outside the car all day with my wiener on the door handle until the person gets to the car.

I feel like Encyclopedia Brown by solving that mystery.

Jaxun, thanks for the promotion, the English on that second site you posted is fantastic and something I can only aspire to reach some day. You get a B+ and a Perfect Attendance Award.

Little-known fact of the day:
The reason Lincoln said "Four score and seven years ago..." in the Gettysburg Address is because he hates the number 80. Not too many people know that the number 80 date-raped his grandmother.

Bruise Clues!

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Cockadoodledoom!

Well, after a night filled with furious masturbation while weeping openly and loudly, I woke up this morning hoping the night before had all been a horrible, horrible dream. I thought that I'd been stirred from this nightmare this morning when I awoke to the sound of what I thought was a door creaking loudly. See, where I live, in a motherfucking city with houses, cars, pollution and shit, sometimes the door of a neighbor can perhaps creak too loudly. Then, after I'd been awake a few minutes, I heard the sound again. Well, I think, that's much too loud to just be a door, what is it? I look out toward my neighbor's house on the left and nobody's home. I go to look out toward the neighbor's house on the right and I see what the sound is. A fucking black rooster was standing on my front porch pecking at the Welcome mat. I live in a goddamn city, there are no fucking chickens, hens, or other livestock within probably at least twenty miles of where I live. Yet, as I looked out toward my front porch, a fucking rooster stared back at me.


I'm convinced that this is a sign of the Apocalypse. See, I figured that this was the same giant black cock that raped the election results last night. Now it was at my house to take what it could get from me. Trust me, this isn't the first time a big black cock has been waiting for me on my doorstep, but this is the first time that I didn't have to pay for it.

This is all a sign of things to come. Now with Bush on board for four more years, the surreal shit's going to start happening to me. Tomorrow morning I'm going to wake up and I'm going to have a fucking pouch like a marsupial. Then, the next day I'll go to walk outside and realize that the giant sandworms are after me. It's like that weird goddamn film, Mulholland Drive, that I've been talking about lately has taken over my fucking life. By the way, I've got more shit about a different pretentious fuckball from that class who decided he wanted to try to prove how awesome he is, but I think I'll save that for tomorrow when I haven't written as much and a fucking rooster doesn't wind up on my front porch.

Does somebody want to explain to me what the rooster on my front porch means? I'm scared and don't think I can go to sleep again. I'm going to head out to my truck in the morning, pull open the door and blood will come pouring out. I'm telling you, this is some fucked up shit going on and I blame it all on Bush. Maybe this was his way of telling me to suck his cock for being such a Hippy? It's kind of like the Godfather, but instead of a horse's head in the bed, it's a rooster on the front porch. I could expect that kind of confusion from Bush.

Interesting thought of the day:
I'm afraid to make something up here because it will probably come true tomorrow morning.

Fuck Florida! Fuck Ohio!

I quit America.

How the hell can so many people be so dumb? I honestly can't fathom what would make somebody vote for Bush. I can't even think of anything to type. For somebody that has completely put the entire country into a shithole to actually get re-elected makes me want to press a hot iron on the taints of those that voted for him.

This is what I get for being so optimistic. That's why I'm such a pessimistic bastard all the time because I hate the feeling of being let down. And this is a bigger letdown than the time I thought that hot girl was flirting with me, only to find out she was dead.

On the brighter side, at least I'm too old to be drafted. Also, since I watched the damn news all day, I found out (was reaffirmed in my belief) that news people can all be idiots, too. Some chick on NBC was talking about the difference in votes in Pennsylvania between John Kerry and George Bush. She referred to it as his "Margarine of victory." This puts lots of fantastic images in my head. So thank you, random black lady in Pennsylvania.

Also, some old guy on CBS was being really racist and it made me laugh. Dan Rather threw out some weird saying that he said "everybody knows." He said that, "If a frog had side pockets, he'd carry a handgun." Apparently this is a huge saying with old people because the racist old man replied, "Yeah. Then he wouldn't be afraid of black snakes." Maybe he meant this in a harmless way, but all old people are racist.

As I'm typing this, John Kerry is saying that there are still votes to count in Ohio, but it's all for nothing. America is full of right-wing idiots who depend on a mythical wizard in the sky to tell them how to vote. I wish that all the states were red not because they voted republican, but because they were all on fire and the streets were flowing with blood. I'm still holding out hope on that one.

Time to go and submit a Constitutional Amendment that separates the East and West coast of the United States into their own country of rational people while we let the middle of the US destroy itself with their gay-hating, stem-cell research-fearing, black people-lynching, less-evolved-brain-having idiots. I think I'd like to call it "The delicious bread around a piece of shit sandwich" or T.D.B.A.A.P.O.S.S. for short. Or, on the other hand, we can just call ourselves The United States of Awesome. I'll be running for King next year on the platform of "Fuck those guys."

Interesting thought of the day:
Fuck!

Election Eve!

Let me start this off by saying that I am such a fucking dork. That's my thesis statement. The following sentences should be support for my thesis statement, and here they are. I'm such a fucking dork because tomorrow I have three classes, a midterm in my first, and I'm not going to go to my other two classes because I want to watch all the news I can about the election. Seriously. I'm sitting here typing this, and I have that weird, excited feeling in my stomach like Santa Claus is about to drop off presents in my house ("Santa Claus" is the nickname for a one-legged, Columbian, male prostitute--you do the rest of the work).

I am positive that John Kerry will win the election tomorrow. I'm more positive than a swab of Magic Johnson's asshole. The only thing that would hinder his winning is if some really corrupt shit went down. I wouldn't put that above G.W.B's administration, but I don't even think that they can stack the votes that far in their favor. I'm normally the most pessimistic asshole you'd ever meet, but, for some reason, I actually have some semblance of faith in the American people. They all can't possibly be that stupid to re-elect Bush. I hope that I'm right about this almost as much as I hoped the Red Sox would lose the World Series. Almost. We have to have our priorities, people.

Another quick update on that idiot from my class. I emailed him to ask him what his problem was, and he sent back a thing about how he has to take everything seriously. I don't know how ethical it would be to post the entire thing, so I won't do that. Yeah, me, a guy who earlier made a remark about getting a swab of Magic Johnson's HIV-infested anal tissue, has a problem with copying and pasting an email from a total douche bag. Well, I wrote a really long email back to him some time over the weekend, and never heard back from him again. I won't bore you with what I wrote but to paraphrase, it went like this, "YOU ARE A DUMMY AND I AM THE SMARTEST MAN IN THE WORLD! THE THREE PEOPLE THAT READ MY WEBLOG TOLD ME SO!" I'm quite the silver-tongued devil. My way with words is comparable to Mike Tyson on GHB.

That's all for now. I'm off to try to sleep so, when I wake up in the morning, Santa will have brought me a new president.

Interesting thought of the day:
You know how you can pinch the skin on your elbow as hard as you can and it never hurts? It doesn't work the same way on your taint.