The people who throw stuff on me when I'm walking, I mean. I posted about it a week ago:
http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=show_topic&forum=105&topic_id=5150778To me, they're nothing but bullies, and if you saw that thread you might have some idea how I have always felt about bullies. Like I said, good people die all the time, so why do these fuckwits have to stay with us on this planet and take up valuable space and resources? Oh, sure -- God's Plan. Well, His plan looks pretty fucked up from where I'm sitting.
Today (well, the today that recently passed -- Saturday, on this side of the Date Line) just happened to be one of the worst of my life. So I went for one of my strolls, as I tend to do, late at night...time to think, or try to not think (
mushin no shin), and good exercise on top of it all. I like walking, anyway. And I walk a lot at night.
Sure enough, there I was walking along, minding my own business, about seven miles out from my place, when a car roared by and something hit me, hard, followed by a loud "FUCK YOUUU." I reacted with my own single-digit salute and an elaboration on that motherfucker's curse but, unfortunately, the cowards (bullies always are -- universal truth) didn't return to dispute my rebuttal, thus foiling my hopes of either getting their license plate number for the police or laying down self-defending fisticuffs, or both. What hit me was a raw egg. Made a big mess of my clothes. Hit me right at the belt line on the left side. Bear in mind that the egg had to break before it splattered, and that even an egg carries quite a wallop when thrown from a car doing 35-45 mph toward me. It hurt and I've got quite a bad welt that's going to be a big bruise. What's next...a fucking anvil?
Earlier I'd had an encounter with a carload of young women who were hanging out the windows of their car and giving me the peace sign and "Elvis! WooHooo!" That wasn't so bad. But I don't think these pelting incidents are provoked by any Elvis stuff...for one, this was the first time that I've been attacked from the front and there's no way that such an attack could be conceived and executed after seeing my face. Besides, who keeps raw eggs handy in their cars? Nope, these little fuckers are getting their jollies by cruising around and throwing things at pedestrians, and probably runners. Like I said in the other thread, I've never had this happen until I came to Las Vegas, and the affluent area I live in is infested with carloads of spoiled, white brats. I guess it's their big thrill these days, these punks, given that there're very few traditional mailboxes anywhere around here that are good for baseball-bat expeditions. May two carloads of foodthrowers have a head-on while they're distracted by laughing at the fruits of their labors. Fuckers. Anyway, there is a possibility that it's not entirely random that this has happened to me four times since I've been here, because it's conceivable that my size works against me -- it's probably the only way these dweebs could ever feel like they won a physical contest with someone built like me, and even then only because they're in a group and inside a car. Fucking cowards.
As soon as they drove by I picked up a rock about half the size of my fist, and I carried it with me all the rest of the way and have it in my room now. It's a good rock...fits my hand perfectly. It'll be my companion on these walks, at least until -- if ever a time comes -- it fulfills its mission of divine retribution. One thing was that, all the way back, I had to remain alert to every single car that drove past, and that's a lot of cars. I don't want to trivialize rape by comparing it to being the victim of a drive-by object-toss, but I am not sure I ever before understood quite so much how women must feel when they are out and about. I had to be suspicious of every car and felt basically helpless -- the reality is that I'd be lucky to hit a moving car with my pet rock, let alone one of the occupants, if I had the cause to. Even the time I was hunted by someone who wanted to kill me didn't give me the same feeling (in that case I at least had knives and rattan sticks against his machete, and we were both on foot until the police finally caught him).
Oh, yeah, I'd love a gun handy so I could start putting holes in their cars and teach them one of life's basic lessons, that you don't mess with random people because you never know what they know or are capable of. But even now, in my current angry and frustrated state, recognize that such punishment as death by bullet through the head is a little out of proportion to the crime. My rock will have to do, if this ever happens again. In the meantime, I just have to trust that they'll get theirs, whoever they are...yep, I guess it really does eventually go back to God's Plan, no matter how you cut it. Maybe it's not as fucked up as I sometimes think it is.
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