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5:55 a.m. - 2003-06-03


I neglected to add the addendum to yesterday's entry about our vacation to Hilton Head Island.

Saturday morning I woke up at 2 a.m., not being able to breath because my sinuses where swollen shut.

I laid in bed for the next four hours, tossing and turning, mouthbreathing like an asthmatic pervert.

At 6 a.m. I woke Susie up and told her to get up and get showered because I had hardly slept and wanted to get on the road, get home, wrap my chubby little fist around a Dristan inhaler, shove it up my nose and inhale the sweet, sweet goodness that is antihistimine. Or however you spell it.

She groaned and lumbered toward the hotel bathroom to shower.

In my infinite wisdom, I decided to take Andrew back to my sister's subdivision's playground in order to let him expend a little energy before we stuck him in a car seat for seven hours.

We did that and were on the road by 9:30.

Driving home, I kept feeling worse and worse. I couldn't breathe, my nose wouldn't stop running and I felt miserable.

Seven hours pass and I make it to our exit off the interstate. Three more miles and we're home.

Did I mention we're in a rental car?


Well...we're in a rental car.

I get to the exit and I'm stopped at the bottom of the exit hill at the red light.

A car comes up behind me and rolls to a stop.

I look in my rearview and I see the female passenger put her seat back in a reclining position. She's about 18 years old.

I see the male driver grin as he unbuckles his seat belt and rolls over on top of her.


This f'n dipshit slowly takes his foot off the brake, neglecting to put the car in "Park" as he begins making out with his little honey.

Making out at a red light.

And slowwwwly rolling toward our rental car.

I'm yelling "Shit! Shit! You idiot! Shit!"

It doesn't work.

I lay on the horn.

As he hits the rental car.

I look in the rearview and he shoots up out of the passenger seat, a look of horror on his face.

I put the car in park, throw my door open and I'm livid, peeps. I don't get too pissy about a lot of things in real life...but dammit all to hell...I had traveled over 1,000 miles in the last 48 hours and not one little thing had happened to this rental car.

I get to the last three miles and some dumbass punkassed punkity punk who can't wait to french kiss his little girlfriend loses every ounce of common sense and rolls into my car.

I'm fucking LIVID.

I get out of the car and storm back to his.


" there any damage?" he says like the little bitch he is, afraid to get out of his car and confront this hulking pissed-off, stuffed-up, tired old man.

"Yes, there's damage!" I said. "You took your foot off the brake and ran into me! Of course there's damage!"

"Do you want me to back my car up so you can see the damage?" he asks.

"I want your insurance card," I demand. "I need to see your insurance card."

His little girlfriend is ordered to start sifting through the glove compartment for his insurance card and he hands it back to me, literally shaking.

I write down all the information on the trunk of my car as the light turns green, yellow and then red. Punkassed Punkity Punk is sitting behind the wheel, too afraid to get out and check out the damage.


The damage.

Well...heh...there wasn't really any damage.

I mean, a fraction of an inch of paint seemed to be missing off the bumper.

Other than that, it was fine.

I gave the insurance card back to the kid and really wanted to say something that would teach him a lesson.

My mind was racing at the speed of a crippled turtle though and I couldn't really think of anything.

"Don't EVER let me catch you making out at a red light again," I said, wanting to embarrass the two teens.

You I'm on red light patrol or something. Like I sit at red lights, waiting for this numbnutted nerd to come back and tongue-wrestle with his lady.

The kid didn't say anything. I think he was on to me and realized I was just being an asshole and not really concerned about the car.

Anyway, took the car back to the rental place and they didn't even bother to check it for scratches and dents, so we're in the clear.

Meanwhile, there's some kid in town that is living in fear of me and will probably have some sociological hangup about making out with women from here on out.


Here's something weird.

We had Wyatt's family get our mail for us while we were out of town.

Yesterday after I got home, Wyatt and his little sister who's 3 came over to deliver the mail.

I answer the front door and they're standing on the porch.

Wyatt hands me the mail and I thank him. Naturally, he wants to hold a conversation because he firmly believes that every adult wants to spend every waking minute talking to him and entertaining him with the art of pointless conversation.

"Where'd you guys go?" he asks.

"Hilton Head Island," I said, looking over at his little sister.

The little girl was standing on my porch, holding her crotch like she was a gangsta rapper.

...While a puddle began forming at her feet. I happpened to notice the stream of urine going down her legs.

"Are you okay, honey?" I said, not really knowing what else to say.

She stood there and stared at me with a sad look on her face.

Now, I'm in a predicament.

Do I sweep this kid up in my arms, soaking myself in her urine, and running her to our bathroom as she leaks pee out all over my carpet so she can squeeze the last few droplets into my toilet?

Or do I stand there and let her finish on my porch?

So I stood there, staring at her as she stared at me, soaking her hand and my porch.

I really had no idea what to say.

"You're okay," I said, hoping that would at least keep her from bursting into tears.

Her mom starts walking over to our house to make idle conversation.

"I think we've had an accident over here," I grin at Mom.

"Nah," she said. "Everything's fine."


Your daughter's up here pissing all over my porch and is frozen in embarrassment. That's "fine" to you??

So Mom's in my front yard asking about our trip while her daughter's letting a gusher go.

It was almost like the opening minutes of "Carrie" except the girl was peeing and didn't start her period in the girls' shower at school and I wasn't rushing around the house trying to find Susie's Maxi-Pads to pelt her with.

Finally, Wyatt spoke up.

"Mom...Sis peed all over their porch."

Thanks Wyatt.

Mom is in a serious state of denial.

"No she didn't," Mom says. "Come on kids, we need to eat dinner."

I wanted to say "Look Mom...there's a puddle of urine on my porch, your kid's legs are yellow and flies are swarming around her kiddy coochie. If she's not peeing on my porch, she just had one helluva orgasm."

Alas, I just said goodbye to them, waited until they went back inside their home, grabbed the garden hose and hosed down my porch.

Seeing as I couldn't think of anything to say while this kid flooded my front porch, I've taken the liberty to come up with the ...


10) "Oh my God...YOU'RE MELTING!"

9) "Can I get fries with that?"

8) "Alright...who ordered lemonade??"

7) "Waiter, there's a fly in the urine on my porch."

6) "That's it. Santa's never coming to your house ever again."

5) "Good Lord, kid... are you part Great Dane?"

4) "When you're finished, do you think you could go take a dump on my neighbor's porch?"

3) "Wait...lemme get my camera. I know some pervs that'll pay top dollar for this shit."

2) "Mail AND urine? Gosh, it's my lucky day!"

And the number one thing you don't say to a kid accidentally urinating on your front porch:

1) "God hates you now, you stupid little fucker."

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