Saturday February 16, 2008
	She's a forty something unmarried, dried out, vacant thing and she's angry and I took her parking spot, too.
	I'm parking my vintage Cadillac at a Walgreens in Florida and as I'm pulling into the available spot I see a woman sitting in another car and she's waving her hands and while she's waving her hands she's saying something and while she's waving her hands and saying something she's beeping her car horn, too. Oftentimes and usually in situations like these I bring to mind the simple message often preached to others by the renowned David Banner: Please don't make me angry.  You won't like me when I'm angry. Maybe thirty seconds pass and when they pass she rolls her car window down and sounding every bit as good as an onstage Janis Joplin she yells: "You took my spot, asshole." I know I'm in trouble so I exit my Cadillac quickly and as I walk I weave my body between other parked cars even standing momentarily near a Ford Mustang.  (I want her to think I'm not the man she was angry with but if she deduces it was me I'm hoping she becomes confused as to exactly which car it was that I was driving). I'm walking alongside the painted block wall of the Walgreens store heading toward the entrance and I am up to the bagged ice refrigerator and the bottled propane tank exchange rack when out of nowhere my alternate dimension Janis Joplin appears.  She says: "You took my spot, asshole." She has thin lips and they're chapped and cracked and when she calls me an asshole she pulls her lips back and keeps them there 'til I say: "It's not your spot you ugly dried out vacant whore." I'm thinking my Janis has probably been married a couple of times.  I figure that more than likely I'm staring down the foaming mouth of a divorced, Paxiled out, tranquilized cow, the irresponsible isolated mother of at least one unfortunate equally confused child.  She's broke, frustrated, disillusioned and worse than that: She's forty something... I have extensive experience with this modern day lipsticked pit-bull and I want nothing more to do with our encounter so after I call her a vacant whore I attempt to walk past her but when I do she shoves me (similar to how a man would shove another man during a confrontation).   Please don't make me angry.  You won't like me when I'm angry. When Janis shoves me (without hesitation and with great purpose) I swing the back of my hand into her face and it feels good and I'm thinking how if I thought I could get away with it I'd slap her a couple of more times, even. She says: "You mother fucker." The slap does not waken the dead eyes of Janis.  Her eyes are the equals of endless unending streams of disappointment gushing into a rusting bucket of time.  Her eyes are dead and even rage does not waste it's time with the notion of occupying them (if even for a moment). After the slap my Janis Joplin grabs my balls and the two of us fall to the sidewalk only a few feet from the entrance to Walgreens and while she is pulling at my balls I am twisting the ends of her tits and while I am twisting her tit ends she is yelling aloud and I am yelling aloud also and right quick other dead eyed thirty and forty something vacant whores run toward us and their cell phones are open and they are saying things to one another and to me and to Janis and into their telephones and then they say the same things all over again. One woman yells: "He's raping her." Another woman yells: "Help!" When I stand Janis is rolling (like a pie makers rolling pin) down the sidewalk moving away from me and she is holding her tit tips and while she is rolling away from me (like a game you'd play as a kid on a manicured lawn in the summertime) she is saying, "Rape! Rape! Rape!" NOTE - I ran from there when there were dozens of helping anemic divorced aging whores talking into cell phones (leaving my vintage Cadillac behind).  I hid near a dumpster surrounded by a wooden picket fence for several hours 'til the police came and went.  Luckily she did not know my car which meant she/they did not get my automobile license plate number. When everything had settled and I felt whole again I got into my car and drove home and while I was in bed (and eating a Clark Bar) I mentally assembled the above account of the Janis Joplin Incident.    PREVIOUS   HOME   NEXT