D-Man Bites Dog
Marking my territory, one expletive at a time.
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Untitled - 25.07.08
Who's gonna drive you home... - 24.07.08
Short-listed tall stories - 22.07.08
Car-bawling - 16.07.08
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L one ly - 11.07.08
Mmmmm gropeys. - 05.07.08
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Special Olympics, here I come!
30 September, 2005 ---- 4:59 PM

The Hobblet.
(There and nearly not back again).



My face is a bit sore this morning.
But then you get that, I guess, when you have to peel your lips off the back off an SUV.

Yep, it's another one of those glass is half full/half empty days...

This morning, one of those big-ass vehicles passed me on my bicycle and then, immediately afterwards, slammed on their brakes to stop suddenly to pick up someone who'd been waiting on the side of the road.

Giving me just enough time to react by slamming smack into the back of their vehicle.

I somehow managed to save my bike from a nasty crumpling, by throwing my body forward and against the Stupid Utility Vehicle at the very last moment. Much like how one might execute a shoulder barge charge to break a door down in order to pistol-whip the occupants because they owe you money. Except this technique apparently doesn't work on the rear doors of bull-barred vehicles. Ouch.

But there's good news:

The fire trucks got there 10-minutes too late to salvage any usable DNA evidence from the blungeoned-to-death-with-a-bike-pump motorist's burnt-out Sports Utility Vehicle.

And the painful hobbling that I now have from smacking my left knee into the towbar apparently now qualifies me for the next Special Olympics, so that's a tick in the positive column, I guess.


Ah, who the fuck am I kidding? Those crippled Olympians would probably kick my ass...


It's OK people, you can stop worrying about me. It only hurts when I walk.
And am sober.


I get to work and one of my COWorkers goes "was that you that I saw smacking into the back of that car?".

"Yeah it was. Thanks for stopping and making sure I was all right. Fucker."

People suck.


The disabled dude at work keeps giving me the evils. I think he thinks I'm trying to make fun of him with all this limping.

Or maybe he thinks I'm making a play for his parking space...


No, seriously, you can stop worrying about me now. They'll be able to identify the SUV driver using dental records, but there's nothing linking him to me. Except, I guess, this website confession. But you can all keep a secret, right?

Cool.

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