Plane flights look unable to secure themselves without plague.

[unburiable]

There was an amazing accident underway as I rolled up onto the ramp that headed Eastward. I think by the time my car finally stopped tumbling and pushing through the burning remains of countless other large twisted smudges of steel and rubber and wires and glass, by then all but indistinguishable as automobiles, I’d unintentionally gotten quite

Comments

From a speeding pick-up.

[unburiable]

These three fuckin' goof-offs at the corner store who think they're pretty fast with the mouth; well we're all seeing just how fast they really are now that half their faces are spread out across the floor like burn stains from a spilled pot of soup. I walked up to the counter, right, and so the one with the long hair that he must have found crumpled up in his older brother's closet at the bottom of a box of old heavy metals records and bad rock t-shirts . . . well he looks at the torn pocket on my shirt and makes a Good Will crack that could only be funny to a fuckin' Christian, or possibly a couple of gas station attendants like these jerks were. Right after he managed to shut himself up about it I agreed with him that I oughtta try looking out for some charity handouts, and then with the baseball bat I knew they kept behind the counter--available by reaching over the packaged cigars and feeling right under the register--I swung so close to the skull of his face that the very tip of the bat cracked his nose all the way off. It hung from a strip of flesh down the side of his mouth. Immediately following that, he passed out cold, crashing through a magazine rack. His body spasmed under a dusty blanket of crude pornographic magazines, all featuring girls so used and cut open that I wouldn't fuck half of them with a loaded shotgun. Not even if I were dead drunk, too, even; that's reserve based solely on repulsion. The other two assholes tried making a run for it, but miraculously they both fell victim to each other, bouncing off one another until the taller one slipped in a puddle from a smashed carton of eggs that happened to be underfoot, slipping, falling, breaking his face open on the tiles while the shorter one tripped over him and came across the same harsh conclusion over what to do with themselves. I threw the baseball bat through the front window. The sound of glass shattering was eclipsed only slightly, by a siren. Thinking one of these swarthy cornerstore dropouts had pulled an alarm on me, I looked around for any security cameras I might have to deal with before I made myself scarce. And that's when an officer from the county pulled his gun on me. My lawyer couldn't do shit about it in court. The story we drunkenly concocted together two hours before the trial (about how all three of those bastards had actually been the ones to attack me first, and only by sheer wit had I arose the sole victor) didn't win over a single juror. Not even the one I recognized as being a girl I'd fucked a few years back, at a rodeo, while her boyfriend fussed in the stalls with a horse he'd affectionately named Louisiana Horizon. Whom he called Louise when he fed her steaks and mice.