The Mind of Spaz

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.

dumb things I do to myself, talking out of my ass ass, drunk driver, JLO, old man

I never thought it could be like this.  But it is. I’m high! I’m so frigging high. I’m sitting here writing this and I’m high.

Excuse me. I have to go kill that tiny pink elephant. I’ll be right back.

Does anyone know how to get pink elephant gunk off your fourth leg? Anywhosits.

I’m high because some stupid old man thought his accelerator was his brakes. There I was, minding my own business at a stoplight, when all of the sudden, WHAM!  There was no screeching breaks, nothing like that.  Some old man just came screaming into me from behind, pushing me into the car in front of me.  The guy must have been 80, driving an ’85 Dodge Van, which I believe is also 80 in car years.

So there I am with no more rear bumper and the truck a few inches shorter in the front too.

In retrospect, I wish he hit me just a little harder so the airbags would have went off when the front hit. That way the truck would have been a write off and I would have gotten a new one.

Regardless, I was pissed. The old coot kept mumbling something about his transmission.  Yes, the transmission made you jam on the accelerator towards the red light, you dumb fuck.

This is why old people shouldn’t be allowed to drive. Ok ok, don’t get all offended pansie assed on me. They can drive – little electric scooters. When you turn 75 your car gets traded in for a fortress 3000.  What are they gonna do about it. Throw their dentures at you? Besides, it’ll keep the roads safer.

Where was I. Oh yea, the drugs.

So anyways, this guy had a big van and he hit me hard.  I didn’t start feeling the pain until that night, but DAMN!  My back started hurting and spasming like a sonabitch.  Carried all through the weekend and into yesterday too.  So for the first time in about 5 years, I went to see a doctor.

See, the doc took a look and then sent me off for x-rays. I didn’t like that.  He did say that there was nothing obvious on the x-ray, not that he would know since I’m not quite human. On retrospect I should have seen the vet.  Regardless, he told me that I would be taking these pills for the next 7 days and to see how I felt after that. He told me to come back in right away if I felt weakness or tingling in my legs or I lost control of my bowels or bladder.  I guess getting rear ended by an 80 year old gives you depends transference, huh.

So it took two doses of these pills to kick in, but now i’m high as a kite and weak as a kitten. And I dont’ care about anything.

So yea, thanks old man, for getting me high for a whole week. Bless you, you retarded old coot.

dumb things I do to myself, politically incorrect drugs are good mmkayy, old man, poopy pants