Friday, September 11, 2009

A Tale of Skinny and Smokey


I was waiting for my oldest daughter to get out of middle school today. I usually go about 30 minutes early, and sit in the car and read. It wasn't a hot day, about 80 degrees. I had the windows open, enjoying the warm before the snow and sleet hit the fan next month or so...breathing the fresh air, and reading my book.

Interrupting my revelry is an obnoxious muffler and I look up to see an old geezer...most likely about my age...but taunt, skinny, sunken cheeks...old. Not the noble, Buddha type, mellow JJ old...with a noble Roman nose, and pleasant attitude to all whom he meets, type old. No, he was barroom fly, gnarled, near death, gravel voice, skinny stink, drawers sticking to his crotch, old...and, driving a honker Ford F250 pick up. I am 99.9% sure he had no teeth.

(Skinny old man depicted below):

Before someone takes me to task for the F250 derogatory comment, I want to tell you, I have owned two pick-up trucks, both of which were little ol' Toyotas...before Toyota caved into the American indulgence of gas ass sucking 8 cylinder, 4 wheel drive, kick your fucking ass if you can't pull a goddamn cruise ship to the local lake, pick-up mania.

My Toyotas both were itty bitty. The first one, a 1984 SR5, was called, "A Sports Car In Disguise" by the Toy people...and it was. I loved that truck...a four cylinder, which got about 25 mile mph...this was good in 1984. I drove that sweetie to 275,000 miles. By contrast, the Ford F250 gets about, 2.5 mph. It was meant to haul a gaggle of elephants and several sacks of peanuts at the same time...and any of the Boeing 700 series airliners. Damn a bunch of gas mileage. See what I mean?

I have also been taken to task in the past for judging someone according to his (never her) wheels. But one must understand, I lived in Southern Cal several years, and in Southern Cal, Californians know a very simple are what you drive. So I for one, have never known a true thinking person, with whom I had any iota of commiseration, who drove a Ford petrol sucking F250. Never. I am sure there are exceptions to the rule. But puhleeeeeeeeeze...don't even bring it up. I don't give a shit. Ford F250s are driven, FOR THE MOST PART, by egocentric morons.

Of course, he parks directly opposite me, on the other side of the street...going in the opposite direction that the school would like parents picking up their go. If there are vehicles going the other way on the narrow street, it is a nightmare when one is trying to get away after pick-up...Five Star shithead, for that alone...and he gets 3 more stars for being butt ass ugly.

Probably I should have prefaced this post with...I quit smoking almost ten years ago, after a lifetime of smoking. I dodged the cancer bullet, but clogged my pipes, and had to be reamed out...and, I have a stint implanted in my neck. But...other than that, free and clear. Well, OK, there is the arthritis thing which was probably triggered by...never mind.

I am sitting there, expanding my mind and my lungs, when I realized that my lungs were not expanding and actually hurting. I look across the street and see that the dried skin geezer is smoking, and the smoke is drifting my way. I look at him...look at the cigarette...back at his eyes...he looks away...but...does not put out the cigarette, or roll up his window. Now I need to decide whether saying something...or, walking across the street and grabbing the SOB by the throat and killing him, because I can, and because I know all of the deadly pressure points in the human body...or, some other mode of action is appropriate.

I decide that my daughter will be out of school soon, and we are trying to teach her to be a gentle but questioning soul...and...killing this mother fucker, probably is not a good object lesson (even though smoking in this day and age is definitely a killing matter.) Not to mention, I don't want to go to prison. Or even county jail. Or even a Mayberry jail, for that matter...and my daughter would have to walk the 18 blocks home.

I take the wanker, I am older and wiser, option. I start the car...roll up the windows...turn on the A/C...and...seethe...casting kill visuals every few minutes, his way. He knows. He definitely knows that I am a recessed violent person and that my main brain wants to commit violent acts...on him. He knows. I know he knows...he knows I know he knows, and part of me wants him to open his no lipped mouth and say something. Part of me. But he doesn't.

And now here I am, sitting there, waiting for my beautiful daughter, introspecting, and who-hawing my psyche and wondering just why I want to end this miserable cretin's life, or at the very least, stick that cigarette in his hairy nose...lighted end, up. Because I realized that my inclination was to confront this Old Milwaukee guzzler. I wanted to yell in his haired ear that I did not quit the weed many long years ago just to be fucked up by his weedness, sorry ass. And that his liberties do not include causing the misery of others. And then after killing him I want to know just who in hell did he vote for...assuming that his sorry butt could read well enough to vote. But I know, KNOW, mind you, exactly who he voted for. Because it was at that moment of realization that I noticed the sticker. That sticker. The one that really gets me going, even more than tobac my face. The one that speaks of liberty, and rights, and how we all should attend presidential speeches with our side arms, strapped around our dicks, because GOD says Jesus would have. The NRA sticker and it's companion sticker..."This truck protected by Smith and Wesson." It is at this point that I realize, he is sitting there thinking, "if that motherfucker says one word, I am going to blow his fucking sorry ass away." Meaning, me.

Sometimes, one has to adjust, and punt, and shut the fuck up.


PENolan said...

My dad had a one of those little Toyota pick-ups and it became my brother's. I don't know who got it when he sold it at 175,000 miles. I loved driving it too - except I wasn't so good with a stick shift at the traffic light on a hill. I wasn't so good with my favorite fiancee's Trans Am and that tree either, come to think of it.

I bet that ugly bastard wouldn't have shot you. He might have coughed up a bunch of nasty-assed germs on you, though, and you'd be sick all winter. You showed wisdom and self-restraint. Nice work.

Mr. Charleston said...

Jesus JJ. Let's see. First you equate driving a toy truck with driving a real one, for what reason you don't make clear. Then you get your pants in a wad over someone parked - on the other side of the street - smoking a cigarette. And then you fantasize about killing his sorry ass all the while proclaiming yourself a mature and gentle soul.
You need a break! Dr. Charleston prescribes... take two blondes and call me in the morning.

the walking man said...

Uh they both are awfully slow trucks if the get respectively 25 and 2.4 mph. How many decades did it take to drive 275,000 miles at 25 mph? I would have thought you meant mpg but then it is your rant after all and I wouldn't want to further upset you by pointing out factual and typographical errors.

Hmmm what (puff) should I say (puff) about the situation (puff). Hmmmmm. So all smokers (puff) are banned from the Jaded world of J? (Puff)Personally I think that the $2.25 cent tax I pay on a pack of cigarettes gives me some claim to the outside common spaces. Inside your house cool, no problem, I pay the tax to the government not the homeowner.

And while I drive two Honda's over 15 years old each and abhor trucks like the one in the picture I would never tell someone they have no right to drive one. They pay fuel taxes and are legal on the road and I never get my underwear in a knot over them either. just don't hit me or otherwise infringe on me because I know attorneys that will have your lunch.

I actually know myself well enough to say that if I was this strongly opposed to the old man with no teeth and a couple of NRA stickers I would have gone and had a conversation with him.

But then I wasn't there J and this is your rant.

Mango Girl said...

Some people are very scary.

otin said...

Is this a Ford endorsement? LMAO!

Doug said...

I know where there is a 70's Ford pickup for sale that I am kinda interested in, but it's two wheel drive, likely a 300 six. Probably can't manage more than 15-18 mpg (Canadian). If it has been smoked in, no big whoop, but I don't smoke anymore, either (quit six months ago), after 35 years of it. Breathing is not as easy as it used to be, but I'm using my bicycle as therapy. My doc calls it "forced cardio" :-) and says I should feel better after one to two years...

You did the right thing, until you buy yourself a nice Glock for the glove compartment ;-)

jadedj said...

PE---Restrained old man machoism, that is, a realization of one's physical limitations...not wisdom...but thanks for the kind words.

Mr. C---Hells bells C, you are talking this blogging shit way too serious. Read the disclaimer at the head of the piece. And did I not say DON'T TAKE ME TO TASK over the truck trashing? Jeez. Lighten up man.

Wm---picky, picky, picky. I am a little surprised that you and C didn't pick up on the humor of the situation...two old geezers, machoing it.

The smoking thing...tell me why the guy couldn't have rolled up HIS window and inhaled his own poison. That shit carrys a long way, and regardless of your rights, it's bad for others. Therefore, the common good should prevail. Oh, and I am surprised a humanist such as yourself would invoke smokers "rights" simply because they pay taxes. As far as going over and talking, when you see the stickers, the vehicle, and the know he ain't one for "discussing". I know myself and my temper well enough to avoid that situation. It was totally potential dynamite. That is part of what this post is about...keeping a tap on my temper...and shutting the fuck up. I tried write about it in a humorous way, but evidently failed in the attempt.


Otin---Dude, it's a commercial for hand guns.

Doug---I guess the bike doesn't work for you in the winter, huh? I do remember you mentioning quiting smoking, so I assume you know what I'm talking about with the damned second hand smoke. When one is a smoker, one doesn't realize just how foul it is to others.


Doug said...

I'm gonna do my best to ride all winter. If not, it's only a mile to walk...

It's when you finally notice the smoke while still a smoker that you realize, "this shit is evil."

Mr. Charleston said...

Nay, nay, JJ. The only one who lacks humor here my friend is Y-O-U. Me and Walking Man give you all kinds of fodder for wise ass remarks and you drop the ball. It appears my diagnosis was correct. You need a break. Take two blondes and call me in the morning.

Tom Harper said...

The only pickup we ever owned was a Mazda B2200. Great ride. It was 17 years old with over 200,000 miles on it when it got stolen. (Don't get me started on that...)

Punch said...

I drove a Viper this week end, no smoke except from the tyres. It gets 13 mpg, drove about 50 miles on a 1/4 tank of gas. It was a hit.
Smoke is very interesting. I use to smoke, unlike walking man i quit when the price went to $1.65 a pack. For a while i put the bucks in a box and at the end of a month i would have a noticable amount of dollars to spend on blondes.
BTW a month of not smoking is wiped out by one blonde for one evening.
But she will leave you gasping for air.
Also the Buick Park Avenue is much better than the Viper for humping blondes before smoking.

jadedj said...

C---In the interest of brevity, and resisting the urge to catch a Greyhound down there and finding your smart ass self...and depriving you of your knees, with a baseball bat, of the wooden kind...for the rest of your cotton-mouthed life...see my remarks to P, below.

Tom---Tell us...don't hold back...nobody else does here.

Punch---Except for the smokes...these are things of which I known nothing...vipers, vixens and the other "v" thing...which one can get from I'm told, by a certain teller of tall "tails" who goes by the name of a fine old Southern South Carolina.

Mr. Charleston said...

So, there is some life in the crochetty old fool afterall. You better bring more than a baseball bat mother fucker. Down here we like the sound of .357 magnums, especially from the window of our Ford F250 pickups while burning rubber and smoking a joint AND blowing the smoke in YOUR direction.

the walking man said...

J...Humanist? Now that is funny, Personally I regard myself as a far left liberal domestically and a centrist externally. I pay taxes (too many) and I do not have high regard for them that abuse the social safety nets brought about since 1935. and I do have faith in what some term a supernatural world.

You are correct though that the payment of taxes do not confer rights inalienable, but they do support the health and welfare of the population at large of which I am a part. Smokers have been driven from the buildings and now driven from the shelters close to the building. I think the rest of the outside places are pretty much up for grabs.

Uhhh I suppose I could take the two blond cure but I personally like my nuts where they are and I know that the old lady would have them in her fist if I was cured in that manner...and that is no joke.

jadedj said...

Wm---points well taken...especially the cajones threat.

intelliwench said...

Since this comment thread is light on feminine perspective, I will share what I do in similar situations: cast a curse on the offender's sorry ass.

(I also have a voodoo doll of the administrator who keeps refusing my salary increase.)

jadedj said...

intell---thank last, a straight talker.

A good example of "voodoo economics".

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