This ain't no fucking blog
- disclaimer -
So on May 27, I accidentally hit the back of two nice people's car. It was a truly upsetting time for all involved, but one that has managed to find itself in the hands of a lawyer. And then from there, the entire situation is handled by people who hand each other money, and taking a little bit away from it each time they do so. (This is in no way an expression of culpability by me, about me, or anything to do with me. This is a humorous statement made for the purposes of entertainment on this wbe site, and any such other medium as it may be carried known or unknown to mankind or any spirit, soul, ghoul, or otherwise sentient or non-santient being, or non-being. Therefore, I may not be speaking directly or indirectly about any such reality that there may or may not exist.)
So well anyway, no my Ca. driver's insurance rates are going to sky-rocket by about 50%, and Arnie's gonna become President of California and make us all jog to work instead. Unless Aryanna Huffington is crowned, and then we'll all have to burn our garbage for fuel.
I'm staring to find this whole internet diary thing is a pain to make up all the time. I dunno if you've noticed, but it's been fiction so far. Well NO MORE! We are at ORANGE alert again, and who knows when North Korea is gonna rain down its terror on the west coast, so I've decided to go with truth in my diary from now on.
Ok, so this past weekend, I was having a sandwich at Togo's, and I noticed a terrible tremor. I thought it nothing more than a little earthquake, but then I noticed everyone's cell phones where no longer working. Then, all of a sudden, all these pigeons and birds started falling out of the sky. People were running around trying to avoid getting pelted by birds, who just seemed to lose all sense of direction. I made my way out of the Togo's and I was confronted by a couple men in black suits, and they took me in their car to meet with this scientist in a bunker somewhere. Well after a few hours of consulting back and forth we discovered that the core of the earth had stopped spinning, and that would destroy the earth's electromagnetic shield and that everyone was gonna be dead in a year. I felt like hurling my turkey sandwich with fat-free mayo. I also felt like I should've gone with the real mayo, instead.
So we decided the only way to get out of this is to make a big drill bit/underground ship and drill our way to the core and set off some massive explosions to set the core back in rotation. So me, this chick astronaut who looks real hot (see the Ex-Files!), this paranoid high-brow geologist scientist guy, MORE SOON.....
We're at ORANGE alert. Just announced a day or so ago that the threat of our annihilation at the hands of our post-Communist enemy is imminent. And by annihilation I mean our flights will be delayed as we carefully scrutinize minorities all over the place.
Throwing the Orange caution to the wind, I took my semi-regular walk down to the 3rd St. Promenade again this fair night, with a pocket of 2 airplane bottle Gins looking for the movie theatre Coke to take a swim in and a little of the menace already in me. On my way there I passed a Santa Monica bus stop bench and under this bench I found a knapsack. Just sitting there, no owner to be found anywhere.
My first thought was to pick it up and man handle it to see what it's all about. After all it could have been the knapsack of a philanthropic drug kingpin who wanted someone like me to have all his money. My second thought was on how I would manage to live my life without my hand, it having been blown to hell from the booby trap pipe bomb in the bag. We were at ORANGE for fuck's sake, and I wasn't willing to be a god damned martyr. At least not yet, and certainly not by my own idiocy.
My third thought as I was crouched next to the bench, a mere foot away from the ORANGE alert neutron jihad bomb filled knapsack, was what if I did pick it up, but it didn't go off. I could tell the cops there's bomb here and they would come here in most haste and I would be the hero. Except for that there are my middle eastern finger prints all over the bag, which they could cross reference with my prints at the INS, even though I'm "naturalized," especially since before my INS anointment, I was unnatural to the US.
And of course my fourth thought was that some crazy mid-west nut job covered the thing in anthrax hoping a hapless mail carrier would come traipsing along. Of course the ORANGE alert doesn't refer to him, cause he's considerably more white in his hatred for the US than are the seething beige sand gooks with guns.
I stood up and decided to walk on by, un-molesting the bag and being free of mutilation or governmental finger pointillism. I resolved, however, to tell the first person of authority that I found on my way to see my movie choice of the evening, City of God. The municipal police station was a mere two blocks away, but was two blocks out of the way and I was already running tardy for the film. But I figured my civic duty would be had once I got to the Promenade, where the occasional cop has been seen passing by.
Getting to the Promenade I spied not a single police official. I proceeded to the theatre box office a block from the promenade to order my ticket, seeing as how my time was up. It was at the art house theatre on 2nd St. A fine theatre, with good independent and foreign films. But as they are hippies full of the finest menace themselves, they did not accept any payment other than cash, none of which I had in sufficient quantities to satisfy the ticket girl. She offered me directions to the nearest anthrax free money grabbing facility on 3rd street (atm) and I made my way there, hemorrhaging time like I got shot in the watch.
No cash. The machine, whose sole job it is to dispense cash was "Unable to dispense cash at this time," and was apologetic "for the inconvenience." City of God was not to wait for me. I went to the bar right there to use their atm machine, but the bouncer told me it was as broken as it could be without being on fire. No cash. City of God had started and I was forced to a mainstream theatre to see The Recruit because they would issue me a ticket on credit. God damn Hollywood and their money plays.
During this ordeal, I had forgotten all about being ORANGE and neglected to fulfill my civic ORANGE duty until I arrived at the popcorn counter where I ordered a small Coke and a Buncha Crunch, paying a ludicrous amount for both. But the menace was becoming demanding.
I occurred to me to tell someone, and I figured this nice young uniformed man behind the popcorn counter would be a good way to get my information into the fold. This is almost precisely what I said as he took my credit card payment for the tasty treats, "Hey, listen, I know we're all in ORANGE threat right now, so I thought I would tell someone about this backpack I found under the bus bench at 4th and Pico. I'm sure it's nothing, but we are ORANGE right now, and you know what that means."
He stared at me with really big eyes, "I'm sorry, what?" "I found a backpack under the bus stop seat, I don't think it's anything, but we're under ORANGE alert so I thought I would say something to someone, should I talk to a manager?" "Oh, yeah, talk to that guy in the red shirt." "Ok, take it easy."
"I went to the red shirted guy behind the ticket counter back counter and told him the same story. He honestly didn't know what to think. It was a mish mash of "I think this guy's trying to blow some shit up," and "What the hell is wrong with this guy," and "what the hell am I supposed to do about it." I told him that it was probably nothing but "I certainly wasn't going to mess with the bag and get my ass shot to shit. I mean we are under ORANGE alert for Pete's sake." There was a pause, then I started again, "Maybe you can get on the phone and call it into the cops or something, someone should know." I paused as he nodded an "ok" to me.
"I mean we're under ORANGE alert for crying out loud." I walked away to see the movie, which was markedly better than fucking Gangs of New York, thinking they now had my name and credit info on record. I had a vision of me walking out of the movie to be greeted by a few police officers wondering how it is I knew of a plague bomb knapsack under a bus bench. Then it occurred to me by then I would have two empty airplane bottles of gin in my coat pocket and the aura of menace hanging about me. That would surely incur and indictment I thought, and I propelled for the nearest men's room stall where I made my drink and rid myself of all physical indications of possible impropriety.
After the movie, I stayed for half the credits, breathed in deep and walked out in my gin soaked haze. As I left the theatre I noticed an unmarked police car with two unmarked police men sitting in it directly in front of the theatre. I walked a block or two down the promenade noticing a very marked police card on the next corner. I ducked into Yankee Doodles for a drink and a few games of nine ball, my iPod blaring my ill-gotten mp3s. It dawned on me that the police may indeed find my collection of Napster era un-American activities mp3s as "very interesting" as well, but I couldn't bring myself to flush my iPod.
After the games of pool, I left the Yankee Doodles place and began my 1.5 mile walk home. I counted about three police cars who happened to drive by, or near me during the walk back.
I was very curious to see what would be left of the bus bench, and whether something has detonated. What I saw when I got to the bench was the last thing I expected.
On the bench was piled a mash of papers and an algebra textbook and notebook. It seems obvious since the bus stop is in front of a high school, but that's no matter with an ORANGE alert blaring about this country. Hell, North Korea could missile us anytime they want.
But the backpack was missing. I figured it was just a bum, perhaps the guy I kicked in the gut last week, who had gone through the bag and pilfered what he wanted from it. Or it could be he exploded into a fine enough powder that none could see remains. The algebra book could have been a fluke.
I picked up the books, intent on returning it the next day to the school. But as I flipped through it, an unmarked police car came around the corner and impeded my pedestrianism. "What could you possibly have there?" inquired the driving unmarked officer. There was a man marked with a dark suit seated in the passenger seat, eyes locked on mine, fingers wrapped around a pistol aimed at my chest.
I instinctively hurled the book into the car at the pistol and ran around the back of the car toward my apartment. I heard a shot as the book entered the car and saw a smattering of paper fly up and away from the exploding book, blurred by my sudden case of running. The car's tires screeched and it took off down the road perpendicular to me. I got home, got into bed, turned off the light and went to sleep. I had the notebook still. No sign of that car the next few days.
I went walking to the corner to pick up a little fifth of gin to take with me to see a movie, but to my chagrin, the AM/PM there does not sell such things. The closest was a six pack of beer, and I did not feel like carrying out 5 full bottles with me. So instead I decided to roll a homeless person sleeping at the corner of an onramp to the 10 freeway. I had seen him there a few times before, and every time he was sleeping or trying to sleep as best he could on the corner of an onramp to a freeway. Between the first two times I saw him had elapsed about eight days and upon that second instance I remembered him in the same exact position both passing coming and passing going. It occurred to me to flag down a police officer, and report that I thought this man to be in some stage of death. I stood and watched the man sleep motionless for a moment or two and decided that brining the police might be an unwelcome distraction to this man's possible existence, and that the police would be unable to help reverse his more than usually one way death. I turned back around and walked back to my bed, checking over my shoulder once or twice to make sure no one were following me, specifically the walking dead and the impending danger it most usually brings.
This night, the third of such happenstances in two weeks, I saw this man wriggling around in his slumber, dispelling my suspicions of his death. As I walked to see National Security it dawned on me that even if that man were dead, not too many would stop to look or care to act. It upset me so much that on my way back from the movie I resolved to extend to that homeless, unattached, no-one-would-know-what-happened-to-him man a sliver of my violent streak and kick him in the belly. There would surely be no repercussions, so I proceeded with a swift and highly unexpected kick to the kidneys to get him to turn around for the aforementioned kick to the belly. As the man turned, I saw his look of astonishment, but unwilling acceptance. I can see he has been down this road before, which erased the novelty of the moment from my glee. I nonetheless kicked him in his slightly distended stomach just the once and made my way home. National Security was ok, I guess. Better than Gangs of New York.
Please understand that this is written with sarcasm and a good smattering of fiction and does not condone any sort of stupid, violent, illegal, or bigoted action. If you feel offended at the harsh nature or tone of what I write in here, please pardon my dust and feel free to click away. Just don't reap any personal judgments here.
Copyright © 2003 by Dariush Derakhshani. All rights reserved. If you likes and want some more, send me a note at koosh3d AT SYMBOL earthlink DOT net.
Revised: 04/02/2011 .