In the spring of 2021 I had a near death experience when my Chevy Silverado loaded with 30 cases of wine was rear-ended at 50mph by a young lady who was texting-while-driving at 9:30 AM. Her Mercedes sedan flashed in my driver side mirror a moment before impact and that microsecond of awareness gave me just enough time to pull my foot off the break and jam the gas so when she plowed into my trailer hitch the impact met no resistance and launched my truck across the road and into the woods. I had stopped in the road, left blinker signaling, waiting for an oncoming pickup truck to pass and, by the grace of God, it did pass me just as the distracted driver in the mirror slammed into my flashing taillight. Everyone walked away from the crash with no serious injury but if the impact had transpired 2 seconds earlier it would have been a “Road Warrior” bloodbath of terror and death.
When I stepped out of my vehicle and looked through the roadside trees I had miraculously missed hitting in my unexpected flight across the road and into the woods I saw the crumpled hood of my assailant's car and prepared myself for very long day. I didn't know if the car contained children, dogs or octogenarians but I surmised that whatever was in it was dead or dying. You can't even imagine my relief when a pretty 18 year old girl opened the car door and emerged with no injury except for a lump on her forehead from slamming the steering wheel. "My dad's going to kill me," she said when she surveyed his now totaled marvel of German engineering which had just saved her life. I assured her that daddy only cares about the life and safety of a daughter but she seemed skeptical of my comforting words.
The old coot who I was waiting for to pass and innocently "caused" the accident stopped his vehicle in the road and walked back to the crime scene with a wry smile on his face and a pair of wine bottles in hand. These bottles, which had flown from their cardboard cases and landed in the bed of his pickup, were a token of the split-second fortune which saved him from a mangled and fiery death. More bottles and damaged cases of wine were scattered on the road at the crash site and my fast friend helped me halt traffic and examine the damage until the police arrived. I was dazed but functionally lucid while I picked up the debris of wine bottles and car parts from the road, talked to cops and escorted my teenage nemesis into the ambulance for her obligatory trip to the hospital for observation. Once the tow trucks had removed the broken machines and traffic was passing as it customarily does - too fast and recklessly - I leaned back against my fence and watched the cars vroom by secure in the notion that, though I certainly would be dead but for providential favor, the odds of me needing to cheat death in another car accident were infinitesimally small.
I upgraded my ride to an F250 SuperDuty with an 8 foot bed and ruled the road for a solid 3 years until May Day of this year when a degenerate criminal T-boned me at 100 mph on the passenger side of my beautiful newish truck. Luckily, I had no passenger on board and the point of impact was the exact spot where the cab meets the bed which happens to be the sturdiest part of a pickup truck but... I never saw it coming and that aspect of the "accident" did freak me out. I was in the middle of the oncoming traffic lane, making a left handed turn as I did in the aforementioned '21 crash, with the body of my vehicle perpendicular to the absent oncoming traffic. Absent, that is, except for a rampaging fellow traveler fleeing Virginia State Troopers across three counties and multiple busy intersections en route to yours truly. There is a slight, but not insignificant, dip in the road leading to the traffic light I was turning on and oncoming cars are imperceptible as they approach the intersection - especially when they ELUDE/DISREGARD POLICE (FELONY) and SPEED IN EXCESS 85 MPH (MISDEMEANOR). Smash, bang, crash my truck did a 180 and I found myself crawling through airbags and assuring auto dial emergency services that I was unharmed.
And I was unharmed - not a scratch on me, not a bruise, not even a pulled muscle. It was like falling out of bed, and waking from or into a dream (I'm not sure which) discombobulating me as I recounted the milliseconds that preserved my life and directed my fate. My assailant, Andre Stevenson, sat bloody faced and handcuffed in the median strip flanked by the two officers who ran down his sorry ass when he attempted to flee the scene. He's still in jail 3+ months after his disastrous joyride with no liberation in sight because his crimes were multi-jurisdictional and varied in criminality so now he must suffer the whips & chains of American justice. Craziest part of Andre's story is that according to the Virginia State Troopers there is, as of yet, no motive for his decision to go all "GTA: Piedmont Highway" and almost kill me. Maybe it has something to do with his consumption of "boot" (AKA Eutylone) and the many crimes for which he should be serving 20 years in prison on drug conspiracy charges - but is not. Note: the US Department of Justice under Merrick Garland is an unfunny joke.
I was recounting all of this over a game of billiards with my wife while listening to an old vinyl recording of "Death and the Maiden" by The Verlaines off their Juvenilia compilation of New Zealand rock 'n roll masterworks and expounding on the myriad of moribund moments we live with every day. When you think about it, death is always standing right behind you - so people don't think about it (which is probably a good thing).
The way you think is oh-so-bloody staleYour sanity looks pretty frailYou have to clutch at every tiny strawAnd I can't stomach that at all
8 ball pool is the game of geometric angles and shot velocity we played just days after the attempted assassination of Donald J Trump at a MAGA rally in Butler, PA and I was speculating on a personality change the Elvis from Queens might experience from his close brush with the looming scythe. As the band played on and the cue ball scratched off an errant shot I posited that DJT would exhibit little outward change in his well established persona for 3 reasons:
- Having just survived a few near death accidents myself I know that the fear of mortality diminishes with age if one's life has been well lived - by which I mean sprinkled with other near-death experiences over undulating waves of glory and despair, hope and fear, love and hate - which I believe Mr. Trump's life has been.
- I presume that several assassination attempts have already been tried on The Putt Pirate during his first term as president (certainly there were rumors of these attacks) which have been muffled by the Deep State for reasons unknown. A Lothario like Trump has made his escapes out the bathroom window and faced down more than a few indignant millionaires and movie stars who fucked around and found out - how else do you explain Robert De Nero's TDS?
- Donald Trump wears the armor of God and knew that running for POTUS was taking a leap into the abyss - the undiscovered country from whose bourn No traveler returns - and going back was never really an option after gliding down the golden escalator in June 2015 (oh, that's right shitlibs and NeverTrump scum, yes, you've already suffered 9 years of punishment with more to come).
It has now been a full month after "the incident" where the Secret Service "failed" and allowed president Trump to get nicked in the ear by a bullet some ANTIFA retard shot from an unprotected roof and I'm happy to report that the Uberfrau is in top usual form. Based on a recent Xitter spaces conversation with Elon Musk he's the same ol' Trump talking about building the wall, energy independence, China, and the N word (nuclear) in the same brash style that made him a celebrity 50 years ago. And now Le Trébuchet will once again be launching stones of truth at the FakeNews folly wall with its customary devastating effect.
The "truth" in this context - for example, Trumps recounting of the assassination attempt on his life to a curious Elon Musk - is a necessary lie hiding a darker TRUTH that American NPCs are not prepared to hear or, KOTCB truth be told, even capable of processing. On the day it happened I was grilling some burgers and and chill'n with the family when my brother's phone started blowing up with news alerts and chat groups popping off which forced me to turn on the boob tube. I was stunned because, knowing a little bit about the Secret Service and advance work for candidates, it looked like the protection detail was an active participant in the plot to kill Trump and there were probably multiple shooters thwarted by pro-Trump white hat killers roaming the event. We the People will never know everything that went down in the town of Butler on 7/13 but what DID NOT happen is a suave lone gunman crawling on the roof and missing his watermelon like some Jackal in a movie from 1973.
No, no, no that movie was made a long time ago and the scripts of every sequel have been studied by the guardians and redlined. A shot missed (that part is true) but professionals don't leave a hit like this up to one (young) man with an AR-15 on an exposed perch without contingency plans, secondary shooters and plausible deniability. Sorry, but that's a fact and based on what I've seen over the past month these guys got caught pants down, thumb in ass because their shooters (plural) missed the big orange target. The red herring blamed for the shooting, Thomas Matthew Crooks, has been a useful beguilement for the FakeNews and other parties intent on obfuscating the institutional crime of regicide but anyone who knows anything about executive security and/or shooting a gun can smell a dead fish. All the FBI missteps, journalistic false reporting, secret service "incompetence" and finger-pointing and White House/(D)emocRAT party turmoil expose the guilty conspirators nonplussed by their failure. The cabal was 100% certain that Trump was going to get his brains blown out at 6:11 PM on July 13, 2024 at one of his shameless Klan rallies in western Pennsylvania and the resulting psychological trauma would wipe all the players off the chess board. Instead, God turned Trumps head at the right moment and the professionals tasked with assassinating him were quietly liquidated by badass operators just as lethal and mercenary as the Federal Jackals.
That's what happened friendo because this is no country for old men, except for the puppet gerontocracy shuffling around The Devils Triangle on Hamburger Hill, and because Trump cheated death everyone in Our Democracy stared at their feet for a few days and then killed the old poop POTUS Jo(((k)))e Brandon. He was diagnosed with COVID-19, flew home (Wilmington, DE) from Las Vegas, quarantined in the basement, announced he would "drop out" of the presidential election and phoned in an endorsement of Lotus Flower as his replacement. This ignoble abdication was Biden's punishment for failing to kill Trump. Did Biden actually die? Who knows and who cares? Lunch Bucket Joe has been a cipher his entire career and the indignity of watching this diaper wearing dementia patient stumble through his presidency has been a national disgrace. The IC screwed the pooch - Trump lived so Joe must die - and now we will see if sacrificing Biden satisfies Trump's success tip #9 GET EVEN or if the NSA/CIA/DOJ/FBI/DHS/SS blob can find a successful way to kill Orange Man Bad. Unfortunately, now that shots have been fired I expect domestic kinetic warfare to increase as the summer winds down and election day approaches. The most ironic aspect of this timeline is that if the Uniparty had just let Trump win in 2020 he would be leaving office in a few months. Problem solved, America's fascist retires to Palm Beach, Trump endorses JEB! as 2024 GOP nominee, our long national nightmare would be almost over but noooooo!... now they must suffer 4 more years of MAGA or kill God's messenger and be damned.
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She visits me in my sleeping dreams and impromptu moments during the day when I'll look for her in an empty chair or see the bathtub where I gave her a thousand baths or hear her hunting song drifting on the wind of yesterday. There was never a creature more affectionate, spirited and regal than our Nutmeg dachshund who stole the heart of everyone who met her - pure love. She contracted a tick-born illness which created an infection that consumed her and in June she left us. It's amazing that such a small body can create so gigantic a hole in the heart but that black hole is the power that death holds over everything - especially humans. Those of us who live, think and feel make spiritual connections with our family, friends and dogs (even politicians) that are unreasonable but incredibly important. These bonds are the meaning of life and when they are broken, sabotaged or killed the burden on our heart and soul is heavy which is why the act of murder is forbidden. I erected a great cross atop her gravesite to honor her nature and remember the love she brought to this fallen world.
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