I’ve got JLO’s Back.
Ok, I don’t actually have JLO’s back. That was just an attention grabber because I am an attention whore.
Come to think of it, even if I did know JLO I wouldn’t have her back. There’s just too much of it to guard all at once, unless you’re the entire first string of the Miami Dolphins. And even then it would be tough.
No, my truck, aptly named JLO (because you can put a lot of junk in the trunk, thanks Mooooooog) is back from the repair shop. The old fart that hit it did so to the tune of a $3,500 repair bill that my insurance actually took care of with minimal fuss. I will say that the shop did one hell of a job fixing JLO’s ass up, as it’s now as big and perky and shiny as it ever was. Observe:
Isn’t she a pretty, pretty girl? Yes, yes she is. If I ever have a human daughter, I want her to be just like JLO – able to carry an entire cubic yard of mulch at one time at 100 km/h.
Today is my last day of drugs. I’m sad. On the plus side, my back still hurts so maybe I’ll get more drugs! The doctor did say come back if I experience symptoms such as the inability to control my bowel and/or bladder. And if that’s what it takes to get more drugs, I will have no problem dropping a duece right on that paper covered examining table. Perhaps if I start flinging the poop at his turban with a tongue depressor I’ll get me some anti psycotic drugs too. That would be a score.
The old man called me up trying to weasel out of it going through insurance. I guess the old coot is getting tired of paying the inflated insurance rates every time he causes an accident. Perhaps he won’t be happy until he kills somebody. Regardless, I told him that it had already gone through insurance and no, I’m not taking it to his cousin Vinny’s repair shop. Fuck off.
Ok, I didn’t tell him to fuck off. Well I did, with not so many words.
The nice thing is that I have the old guy’s name, address and plate #. If my back is still bothering me in a week and I don’t get any more good drugs, I’m gonna go hang out by his place. When he goes to leave I’ll call the cops and report a suspected drunk driver. Maybe that’s mean of me, but I’ll probably save someones life this holiday season.
Your welcome.
