Interlude: Handguns, old men and heat

At heart I am a pacifist.  I would rather be diplomatic and resolve any tension by calmly discussing it and working it out.   Note, I said at heart.  But deep down inside there is this demon that likes to say fuck it, and sticks his head out and turns me into the heat miser that I really am.

Example for today, when I drive I am the supreme law of the land, providing civilian assistance to traditional law enforcement.  You are welcome.  You do NOT speed through school zones, you do not cut people off, and you do not drive like an asshole.  If you do, you may run into the heat miser.   The heat miser is known to pull the hand gun.

Two finger .357 magnum

Two finger .357 magnum

The hand gun, what is that?  I do not literally mean I whip out a Glock 17 and fire 9mm slugs into you, your family or your car.  No, the hand gun is, well,  a piece of performance art that exists so that you know you are an asshole and I wish you, and everyone in your car was fucking dead.  How dare you break the law of the heat miser?

Sometimes it is worse, much worse.

I was minding my own at a local gas station, pulling away when an elderly man in the kind of car made of concrete and steel, you know the old ones that drive like a boat, and nearly headed into me.  The kicker was that this old piece of shit scowled at me as if I told him that Andy Williams use to go down on Bobby Vinton.  So, the heat miser came out.  You don’t want to make him mad; you won’t like him when he is mad.

I decided he was old, and all I needed was a .38 special today, so I circled back around and pointed the trusty Officers Special at him, and fired off a few rounds.  Right into his forehead.  The scowl grew deeper, and as his balls rose in fury, he threw some kind of towel or paper at me in my car.

WHAT THE FUCK?  No way that old man did that.  This called for immediate and complete retribution, scorched earth type of shit.  We were way beyond handguns, but I did not want to punch an old man and be late for work, so I made the mature decision to stay in the car, and circle around again and discuss with him, exactly how I felt as he needed to verbally be told that I was angry and that his throwing of a towel at my car was unacceptable.

“Old man, I will follow you home, rape your wife and fucking kill you”

His jaw just hit the ground and I began to drive off the winner.  I told you, performance art.  I hadn’t gone 100 feet when I realized I had really kind of slapped karma and felt really, really bad and began to turn around again to follow him until he stopped so I could apologize.  Luckily, it dawned on me that it was probably in my best interest to NOT follow him and try to apologize, especially if his next stop was home.

See, I am not violent, I am just pretend violent.  In my mind I am the hip hop thugster, who uses to be a mugster.  The great white vengeance.  But in reality, I am a nice guy, father of 5 and avid hand gun collector.

Ask yourself, is it worth speeding through that school zone knowing that there are people like me out on the road?  Ask yourself how bad of a driver you are if you have made me so mad that I pull up alongside of you, honk to ensure you are looking me in the eye, and progress to pull up the fully loaded James Purdey shotgun, aim, pump and fire off two rounds into you and your adorable friend; sending your black Escort sideways into the irrigation ditch off of the 215, as your gas can flowers into a burst of fire and carnage.  Wow, you are a bad driver.

Of course, like I mentioned I am a pacifist and if you were not such a vehicular douche, we could probably discuss this over imaginary coffee at an imaginary Starbucks.  But no, I have been forced to get creative and come up with the newest pieces in my arsenal, the blow gun and the ninja star.  Coming soon is the wire guided missile strike, but that is still in development.

So in closing, please know that there are people out there like me who are here to enforce the laws of driving as we understand them, and have a nice day.

*  Rape and violence is not funny, usually.  360nomore nor Mike condone the ACTUAL rape or killing of anyone.


La Verdad Amarga

The OG Heat Miser

This is an angry old man, bitter post. Something my boss would call a “Heat Miser” post.  What has my underwear all up in a bunch?  Two things, and they all relate to lies.  I love my firstborn boys, tremendously. Some day they will be older men, and understand where this comes from.  This anger is not directed at them, but about life in general and they are part of that.  As are you and I and all things.

I have fairly been abandoned by my two oldest.  It was expected from one, as all boys when they hit a certain age find romance, sex, love, sex, jobs, sex and sex and I was prepared, even though it was ill-timed.  The other, not so much.  My younger oldest has always been a little buddy (where his older brother has always been a good friend and son), as my younger has a sense of humor very similar to mine.  His abandonment of me stings in a way I was unprepared for.

I am angry that both of them have bought into their mothers lies and deceit and disillusionment and games she has played out against me for years.  I said it here, and she would (will) be reasonably taken aback when she reads it that for all the things wrong with us, she has been the greatest schemer, where I wore who I was on my sleeve.  And at some point, my boys have fallen into that trap.

I hope that when my boys become men, all that they can remember of their youth was a father who loved them dearly, though he had faults, and I tried to not to lead them astray or give in them a false sense of the world; and maybe that too is a failing.

Needless and reckless to say; and mom, I am sorry, I will not be wasting my limited resources coming back to a Salt Lake City, which has become a place I am not wanted by my main reason for coming each month, as it has just become a cruel reminder of the many ways I am not wanted there.  I will surely miss the greatness of the SL valley, and more importantly, the short times I got to see my boys, but in the planning of trips, I am continually told that there are plans, well sir, I am done planning.  When they are ready to see me again, I will run to them.  Until then, and I guess they are happy with it, a card for Christmas and their birthday is all that they want from me.

The second reason for my anger and probably less passive aggressive, is my lies to myself which I have discussed before.  I cannot continue living the lies I tell myself every day; that I am going to do this or that, I am going to be a triathlete, I am good at my job, I am happy.  I cannot be honest to myself and live that way, it goes against my greater sense of ethic.

The good news?  I can do something about it.  At least that I can solve, right?  Activity, Play, gym, healthy food choices, hiking, walking with my best friend, going to Lake Mead, going to the pool with the kids.  These things will allow the lie to fade and I will be left with the bitter truth.

I am just a man; a man faulted – no saint, a sinner, but doing the best he can, for those he loves.

Until next time, a more positive post, I assure you – just had to vent tonight.