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It was just a trip to Del Taco. A sunny afternoon, a laid back California afternoon and I had a beautiful buzz. Sticky skunky weed and a little wine and a little of myself, you know sometimes I butt into my own buzz and I just start grooving. I still had the Cadillac you see and the top was down and the stereo was blasting Jethro Tull.

Del Taco was only a few blocks from my house so the priority was: how did I look? The look on my face, the total package, the attitude, how did I look was the only thing going. I had long, flowing locks then and had to keep it all shook back just right and had to peek into the mirror on the passenger side visor every thirty seconds. I couldn’t get enough of my own grinning mug.

Somewhere in this bottle of time, my Cadillac creamed some fucking pedestrian. Motherfucker. When I say creamed I mean creamed. I actually had to look at the bastards intestines. I didn’t mind the brains and bones so much, but intestines. Damn that dipshit to hell for the fact I had to have intestines seared into my eyelids.

Of course when you cream someone in your own neighborhood in broad daylight, the old hit and run routine gets a bit dicey. Suffice to say I sat there and pimped out my glove compartment until the authorities arrived.

I spent that night in jail and I was more than a little stressed. The cops actually took my blood against my will. I was fucked and all I could do was sit there and take it. Of course I called this dipshit lawyer. He showed up drunk himself and told me I was in big trouble. I told him I’d already killed one idiot today, come back tomorrow.

He did. He came back the next day and bailed me out. It seems our pedestrian friend had left a suicide note. I swear to god this shit only happens to me.

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