Do not take this blog seriously, and don't drive and read!

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

I hate getting shot

            The shooting in Austin, Texas was quite disturbing to me personally. It was not because I was upset by those poor souls who were shot, but rather the fact that I got shot! The events leading up to me getting shot were rather strange, but I have no problems in my recollection.
            It happened on a Wednesday. I was visiting my friend in Austin, Texas. His parents had a wedding anniversary and they were going out on a dinner date.  My friend, Travis and his wife Lynn were to accompany them to the eatery.
            I decided it would be best that I got a hotel room and just “chill out.” Little did I know the events that would unfold?
            I took the interstate and I was listening to Jethro Tull on an “oldie’s station.” That’s when the strangest thing happened.  I was not drinking, although I had a fifth of “Jack” in the car. This trucker on my left pulled over too soon and he cut me off to the point where I twirling out of control.  He never saw me and he just kept on going. I wasn’t concerned about a traffic report.  I was more concerned about myself and “My Jack.” I skidded around three times and I came to rest at the bottom of a telephone pole. The outside of the car was dented but I was just happy that the pole did not fall on my car.  I quickly exited the car. It was not just to survey the damage, but in my mind it was a matter of “life or death.”
            I scratched my head and thought, “Wow… that could have been the end of me.”
            Just then another car from the opposite side of the rode crossed the median. I have no IDEA what caused this action but I jumped out of the way in just the “knick of time”- as they say. The car crossed the curb and smashed into the top of my car. It was an older lady. Her car was literally sitting on top of the car. I thought to myself, “Oh great, I’m not sure how I’m going to explain this to the insurance company.”
            Then someone, who appeared to be following her,  jumped out of a Suburban and shot the lady three times with a pistol. I never knew they had it because it had a silencer on it. They were in ski masks and she was slumped over the wheel—(ON TOP of my car).
            I think it might have been a “hit.” DO You reckin’?
            By the time the police got there, I didn’t know how to explain the events that had just occurred.  I played dumb, because if it was a “hit” I wanted nothing to do with it.
            They asked the same silly questions over an over.
            Finally, the “bucket truck” arrived and began to move her car off mine.  As this was happening, I had a weird feeling.
            And sure enough, THE BUCKET TRUCK accidentally hit the telephone pole. It all came crashing down.
            I’m not sure why they didn’t turn off the electrical current going to those wires, but after it was all said and done, there were about 20 poor souls that had gone home to meet their maker.
            I was smoking a “cig” on top of a car and got to see all this craziness transpire.
            When I got a cab back to my room at the “motel.” There were lots of kids “partying.” They were all celebrating “Prom Night.”
            That’s when the three gunmen came walking up and started blasting holes in the windows of the “motel.”
            I was out on the porch when the “three” masked gunmen arrived.
            At first, I was thinking, “YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME?”
            Let me say this, I AM NO HERO! But I was alarmed by their actions. I quickly ducked behind the building hoping the three shooters would just pass.  Then I heard the scream of a young girl.
            Her name was Christy, and I had met her when I went to the “ice machine.” She was so sweet. The reason I knew her voice was because she wanted to be a songwriter.  She sang a few bars of a melody I knew and truly impressed me!  That “high pitched” squeal told me she was in trouble.
            Without hesitation, I came from the back side of the building and started yelling, “HEY you coward assholes, you want somebody to shoot.. SHOOOT MEE!!  Come on you pieces of CRAP!  SHOOT ME!”
            I got my wish and it happened pretty quickly. I had picked up a handful of rocks. I chose the largest rock and chunked it at the kid in the grass firing incoherently. It hit him in the back and he dropped his weapon; then, I threw a rock at the boy who was shooting into the windows of the motel. The rock hit him in the back of the head.
            I shouted, “YEAH! How does that feel?”
            He turned toward me with his gun, & pointed it directly at me. As I started to duck, I heard him say, “YEAH, how does that feel?”
            I felt a stinging in my neck.  I felt my left ear ringing. I was able to look up and as I tried to pick up a rock, I could not lift my right arm.  He laughed.
            I was able to speak while I held the left side of my neck. AND I said, “Hey I’m a cop.”
            Of course I was lying, but I wanted him to stall. I wanted him to think about it.
            I wanted to live.
            I said, “You might get out of jail in a couple of years. You’re a juvenile.  BUT, if you kill me you’re going to spend the rest of you life waiting to be “fried’” This is Texas, and they like to fry cop killers!”
            HE SAID, “Well, I’ll get fried and I’ll see you in hell! Then, we’ll both know what it feels like won’t we?”
            He pulled the gun up toward me and I said my last prayer for my family.
            Just then, I heard a voice.
            A cop shouted, “Police, drop the weapon!”
            Out of the corner of my eye I saw him twirl around. His gun was facing the officer and I knew what was coming next.  He fell to the ground.  The stream of blood seemed surreal. It flowed over toward me. I wanted to move out of the way but I couldn’t.
            The dead boy was there.  I was there. Nothing else needed to be said.
            Only a prayer came from my lips. It was a simple prayer… one for him and one for me. I prayed for his forgiveness and I prayed for mine.

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