Gout, Groans and Gripes

I suffer, albeit infrequently, from gout. Gout is a form of arthritis characterised by rapid, painful swelling of joints, particularly in the extremities. It is far more common among men than women, but can affect women after menopause. My particular form is inherited (usually maternally) and results in high uric acid levels. I usually don't have much of a problem with gout, so long as I avoid certain foods, such as: large amounts of red meat and organ meat, any seafood that turns pink when you cook it, too much alcohol or (particularly true) caffeine.

I haven't had an attack of gout in a long time, and (I admit) I have indulged in much too much caffeine lately, which frequently triggers an attack. I have had way too many energy drinks lately, and colas (non-decaffeinated)and, about a week ago, I woke up and my right elbow felt like red-hot needles had been shoved into it. It was red and swollen (see above picture: this is today, much better). The whole week, it hurt like hell. Gout starts with a sharp, burning pain that devolves into a dull ache that becomes a stabbing pain every time you flex the joint. Finally, the entire area itches like crazy, and when you scratch it, it gets worse. That is gout. I'm stuck with it. I could take allopurinol, but that's another expense.

So, of course, this week, every drunk, lunatic and generally annoying person seemed to come in. Maybe the same number came in and I noticed it more, because I was so miserable:

- There was the drunk who comes in all day long, jabbering on his cell whilst trying (and failing twice)to pay for his purchases using his debit card. Even with the assistance of myself and a customer (there was a line) he only succeeded on the third try. He never stopped jabbering. He came back later, still drunk, and insisted that I give him the balance on his card (which, of course, I can't do). He came back later and tried to make a purchase (which I had to void), but his money had run out.

- There was the guy who was going to buy a bottle of Grey Goose, but couldn't make up his mind, so he went to ask his wife about it, so I had to void it off, which required calling a manager, and then came back and wanted it, after all.

- There was the stupid cow who set a half-dozen items on the counter and then discovered that she had nowhere near enough money (she was buying for other people), which required me to void it off (see above). After she left, I remarked, "What have we learned here? When you send someone out for party supplies, send the one who can count!" That got a laugh from the line behind her.

- There was the guy with the cane who always smells like a septic tank (no kidding), and who pays me in loose change for Thunderbird Red. Most of the coins look like they have been corroding in a sewer, and his bills always smell like a sewer, too. I have to hold my breath when I wait on him.

- There was the bum who buys one can of Steel Reserve Malt Liquor at a time, drinks them on the bench in front of the store, and comes back for another one, until he is incoherent. It is illegal to drink on the premises, and I usually tell him to leave, but I was so miserable,
I really didn't care, so I left him alone.

- There was the weird little guy who mumbles to himself and once screamed, "I get a crazy check!" at me. He is so unbelievably rude that, this past week, I actually told him that he had better acquire some manners if he wanted to keep buying his booze from me.

Well, the gout is getting better and so is my temper. This week-end was gorgeous, unlike last week. There are more monsoons on the way. Dad's memorial service is on Friday. I still have stuff at the storage place. Life is a bitch, as usual.

For information on gout, go to http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/gout/DS0090.

Sturm und Drang

Last night, we had the worst storm since Hurricane Gustav. I got home about 10:30. Josh had texted me earlier and asked if he could come over. I said okay, because I was going to stay up late anyway. I got home and there was nothing to eat but a few leaves of lettuce and three eggs. He brought over two packages of chicken ramen and he had ramen and I had ramen with an egg in it, which was all I had had to eat all day. Poverty really, really sucks ass.

We sat up for awhile and watched Adult Swim. He asked if he could stay over, because there was supposed to be bad weather that night, and I said okay, because I didn't mind the company and, anyway, there had been a severe weather warning on television. I checked the weather on the net and it said that severe thunderstorms and high winds were expected. He went to sleep. I went to sleep around 1 or so.

Josh and I are good friends, but, lately, he has been demanding more and more of my attention. I don't mind giving it, when I can, and he can be good company and fun sometimes, but sometimes he can be an emotional drain. He has been talking a lot about getting a job, but he doesn't seem to put much effort into it. I told him about a place that was hiring and gave him the manager's name, but he just keeps coming up with excuses to not go. He could get the job by showing up. He just won't show up. All I can do right now is try to figure out ways to try and motivate him. I can't solve his problems for him: I have enough of my own.

So, about 2, I am waked up with what sounds and looks like an artillery duel outside, accompanied by gale-force winds and driving rain. Josh sleeps through most of it, until one really loud thunderclap wakes him up. He looks around and then goes back to sleep. I just sit up until it lets up, around 4. I wake him up around ten and send him home. It rains most of the day.

Around 1:30 in the afternoon, my boss calls me and asks me if I can come in for 3 instead of 4, and I say yes. It is raining lightly when I leave for work. I get my check and discover that, amazingly, after I pay the bills, I will actually have enough to buy food and stuff. Yay! So, I pay a couple of bills and go to work early.

I am supposed to get off at 10, but one of the managers asks me if I can stay until 12, because they are short one person, so I shag grocery carts in the pouring rain, which is getting worse by the minute, until 12. I load up on cheap pot pies (fifty cents apiece!), but some actual real MEAT on sale (I'm giving some to Travis and Fernando)and ride home in moderate rain. By the time I get home, I'm pretty soaked, but the light show was awesome.

Anyway, I ate a pot pie (chicken and broccoli), the last of my lettuce, a real piece of MEAT and had some wine. It's still raining, but I'm dry now. It's supposed to storm tomorrow, too.

No real point to this one, sorry. More like a diary entry. Anyway, it was a hell of a storm!

Pease Porridge Hot ...

The other night, I was just thinking and wandering around on the internet (as I am wont to do) and I suddenly remembered an old children's rhyme that I learnt around (it has been that long) 50 years ago. Boys and girls used to chant it, but the versions were slightly different, and the girls had a clapping game that went along with it. The whole version went like this:

Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold,
Pease porridge in the pot, nine days old;
Some like it hot, some like it cold,
Some like it in the pot, nine days old.
Can you spell that with four letters?
I can: T-H-A-T.

The thing is, that the girls never learnt the last bit of the rhyme, because they used it for their clapping game. The boys all used the last two lines because the whole purpose was to find another boy who didn't know the rhyme and trick him, hopefully in front of his friends. I wondered whether or not this rhymes was still around, so I asked customers about it all night last night.

I found that most men or women about forty or above were familiar with the rhyme, and that some of the men knew the last two lines, while none of the women did. When I asked younger customers, in their twenties or thirties, I found that only a few of the men were familiar with the rhyme at all, whereas over half the women were. None of the women I spoke to were familiar with the last two lines.

I have made pease porridge before, and felt nostalgic for it. If you have never had pease porridge (it is virtually unknown in the Southern United States), it is a thick pea soup, usually made with split yellow peas, onion and spices, including cardamom, which gives it flavour. I decided to look up a recipe for it and found one on the internet, and, oddly enough, was redirected to a page for Some Like it Hot, a 1959 Billy Wilder comedy starring Jack Lemmon, Tony Curtis and Marilyn Monroe. The title was taken from the children's' rhyme. I never knew that.

The story is essentially a farce which deals with two musicians who witness a mob hit and are pursued by the mob (including George Raft, who played gangster roles in the 1930's). They hide from the mob by dressing in drag and joining a women's orchestra, after which all kinds of highjinks ensue aboard a train.

Wilder had the worst time with the young Marilyn Monroe, who was always forgetting her lines, so that pieces of paper with her cues on it were stashed around the set, on pieces of property, behind cabinet doors or anywhere she would be, out of the shot. He swore he would never work with her again. The film garnered six Academy Award nominations, but lost out to Cecil B. De Mile's spectacular, Ben Hur.

All that from a children's rhyme. When I get paid on Thursday, I am going to collect the ingredients and make up a pot of pease porridge. The rhyme about it being in the pot "nine days old" is accurate": the stuff will last forever in the fridge.

Dear Mr. President

I recently draughted this leter and sent it to President Obama at whitehouse.gov. It will be interesting to see if anyone answers it, and what the answer may be. I also forwarded a copy to the Opinions Editor of the Local newspaper, The Advocate (not to be confused with the gay-oriented magazine of the same name. I just want to see how important us po' folk really are to the powers-that-be.


Dear Whoever Reads This For The President:

We all really appreciate the efforts being made to help stabilise the economy, but I have one question about these bailouts.

I recently filed my income tax for the calendar year 2008. I was supposed to get $1008 back on taxes, which I desperately need because I am very poor. I made just over $13,000 last year, working for a corporation which, like so many retailers in America, will not let me work full-time so they won't have to give me benefits.

Imagine my suprise when I got a letter from the IRS informing me that, due to a previous debt to the US Department of Education, all of my tax return was being kept by the government. I was not aware that I still owed the Department of Education anything, but, if the government says I do, than I probably do.

My question is this: if our country can use my tax money to bail out huge corporations and forgive their mega-debt, why can't you guys forgive my paltry little debt and give me my $1080 back? I assure you, I will not use it to buy an expensive condo, join a country club or vacation in Aruba. I will use it on mundane things like paying my rent and utilities and putting food in my mouth and the mouths of my two cats. Where is MY economic stimulus package?

I await your reply.

Sincerely yours,

Carl L. Thayer

March Madness

Well, today is St. Patrick's Day: Erin Go Bragh! I am celebrating by cleaning the bathroom (why the hell I started this, I will never know!), which is turning out to be a real task, as the walls are filthy with years of soot from the deadly gas furnace (see previous post). It is a beautiful Spring day, bright and sunny and about 20 degrees (68F)outside. I have the windows open, and a gentle breeze is blowing. The only problem in my life today (other than that I am totally broke until Thursday) is that, apparently, Yin is about to come into heat, so Yang is beginning to act like he wants to mate her. I fired off a quick SMS to Kyle, telling him that the time to fix the cats is NOW: I do not need kittens. I hope I hear back from him soon, because I don't know where I will scrape up the money, otherwise: my next check is already spent on bills.

On Saturday, Travis and Fernando and I went down to watch the annual St. Patrick's day parade (see above photos). We walked there in the drizzling rain (suitably Irish weather)and stopped in a nearby pub for Guinness (Travis had lager, instead)and watched the parade go by for awhile. Another place was serving meat pies and jambalaya, so we ate and hung out for awhile, before walking back to State St. I had to go to work at 4, so I went home, showered, changed into riding clothes and headed for work.

The whole parade route, down Perkins rd., was a total mess. There were beads and cups and trinkets strewn everywhere! It was as messy as any Mardis Gras parade I have ever seen, even in New Orleans. I was appalled. I was more appalled after I passed Acadian Thruway and a pickup truck with two little shits in it passed me, screaming obscenities, like: "Get off the fucking road, motherfucker! Fuck you, faggot!" Yeah, I know: I should be used to it by now.

But I hadn't gone half a mile when a second pickup, full of rednecks passed by, and the one on the passenger side leaned out the window to shout expletives at me and threw a fucking beer bottle at me! Of course, he missed by twenty feet or so; the bottle landed in the grass on the side of the road. They had a keg in the back of the pickup. I memorised the license plate and wrote it down when I got to work, but then it got misplaced. No matter: the cops wouldn't have done anything, anyway.

So, that kind of sucked. One of these days, I am going to catch up to one of these fuckers and beat the living shit out of him. I am so tired of this crap! Here I am, minding my own fucking business, riding to work in the fucking rain and not one but two pickup trucks full of inbred, trailer-trash cretins have to fuck with me, within the space of one half-mile on one of the busiest streets in the city!

I have said it before, and I'll say it again: Baton Rouge is in no way bicycle friendly.

Peace. Out.

William Rissler Thayer 1924-2009

It is my sad duty to report the passing of my father at age 84, of complications due to Alzheimer's and rectal cancer. He died peacefully: he had just finished breakfast (he always loved breakfast) and went back to his room and just died, just like that.

We didn't always have a great relationship, particularly when I was a teenager. To be blunt, he hit me a lot. I used to think he hated me, but I understand a lot more about it, now. I was his oldest child, and he didn't quite know what to do with a pubescent and then teen boy, especially one who really didn't like to be told what to do very much (and still don't)and wouldn't necessarily always see his point of view. Our family situation was very volatile as well, due to my mother's mental problems and alcoholism. I don't think he really wanted to hurt me so much as he felt like he had to strike out at someone, and I was handy.

But, in so many other ways, he was a wonderful father. He was intelligent and well-read (as was my mother) and willing to discuss just about any topic with his kids, no matter what it was. I don't ever remember being told that I shouldn't ask about something, or that I was too young to know about a subject. He discussed things with me on a peer level, even when I was a child, and was tirelessly patient in his explanations of things.

He involved me and my brother in all manner of "projects". We worked on the family cars, did carpentry and plumbing and painting and were encouraged to build things and use tools. He helped me build my first stereo from a kit when I was 12. He took us on outings to all kinds of different out-of-the-way places to see things that he had discovered and found interesting. He had a tremendous influence in the formation of my intellect.

In later years, especially after my mother died, in 1997, we became very close. We spent a lot of time discussing politics, ethics and current events. He had a keen, incisive mind that could quickly cut to the meat of any question. I greatly enjoyed long talks with my Dad.

He was a veteran of World War II, and worked on the Manhattan Project, which developed the Atomic Bomb. He met and worked with people like J. Robert Oppenheimer, Enrico Fermi and George Kistakovsky. He was a great crusader for liberal causes. When the fundamentalist organisation Operation Rescue surrounded a local women's clinic in an attempt to shut it down, Dad took his two weeks' vacation to stand in the hot July sun and help defend the clinic.
That was my Dad. He detested authoritarianism in all of its guises, and was always outspoken about it. He saw no difference between the enemies he had fought in World War II and their modern counterparts, despite what they were calling themselves these days.

I lived with him and cared for him for about a year, before the Alzheimer's got too bad and he had to move to assisted living. It was heartbreaking for me to watch this splendid mind decay slowly into ruin. Alzheimer's is cruelest to those who love the one with it. He never once thought anything was wrong. He died happy.

As St. Thomas More remarked, when asked if he would go to heaven: "How could God refuse one who is so blithe to come to him?" My Dad was a man of strong faith. I know where he is now, and I'm sure he's stirring something up there, too.

My Economic Stimulus Package

Had fun Friday night: I was actually off on a week-end! Hung out with friends. After I paid rent and utilities I only had a few dollars left until next Thursday. The only food I had in the house was a couple of cups of potato flakes, half a stick of butter, a few leftover components of MREs and two bottles of lager. Between Friday and Monday, all I had to eat was a bowl of (horrible) spaghetti, a bowl of mashed potatoes and some crackers.

When I got ready to leave for work Monday, there was an envelope from the IRS, but it wasn't the brown kind that a check comes in, it was a white one. When I opened it, I discovered that my tax return of $1080, which I was counting on to put me ahead on bills had been turned over to the Department of Education to pay on a student loan that I thought had been paid off long ago. I never received any communications from them about it, they just took it. So, now, I am not getting shit back, and I am fucking broke. That's my Economic Stimulus Package.

Right now, the US Government is in the middle of bailing out every big corporation and all the rich motherfuckers that put us in this mess, to the tune of hundreds of billions of fucking dollars, every bank and lending institution that put greed ahead of sense and faces bankruptcy and every goddamned, ass-licking, haemorrhoid-sucking corporate officer that is responsible for this mess, and paying for their fucking golden parachutes, and I can't even have my motherfucking $1080 so I don't have to live in abject poverty and can maybe, maybe get a hot meal. Is there something wrong with this picture? Huh? WHY CAN'T I JUST HAVE MY FUCKING MONEY!!!!!!!!!!

You know, I hate to say it so early in this administration, but I haven't seen or heard anything about stimulating my economy. I don't want to be a nay-sayer, but all the money seems to be going to people who make a hell of a lot more money than I do. There is talk about paying off mortgages and bailing out people so they don't lose their houses, but I can't afford a house. I haven't heard anybody step up and say, "Hey: let's help this poor guy pay his rent!" I haven't heard anything about anybody doing anything to help the underpaid and underemployed to secure a living wage and benefits. You know, I doubt if I will.

I know it's awfully early to start saying things like that, but I remember the Reagan administration with the "trickle-down" theory: all I got was trickled on. So, is all this money slated to go to all those people who have so much more than I do supposed to "stimulate" the economy so that I will make more money and get benefits and not have to go without eating to pay bills? I'm sorry, but I just don't buy it. I'm sorry I didn't foolishly take on a mortgage I couldn't afford or betray the trust of the employees and stockholders of a multi-billion dollar company and utterly destroy it. If I had it to do all over again, maybe I would. Such behaviour is rewarded in our society.

I scraped together some change and got lucky: I won $2 off the Monopoly game at work, which gave me enough money to buy three cheap frozen dinners. I ate one of them last night for dinner and one for lunch today. I ate the last one tonight for diner. I have a little beer left, and then I will have nothing until I get paid, Thursday. Thursday, after I pay what I owe on rent, maybe, just maybe, I can buy some food and have enough to wash clothes on Sunday. Thirty-six hours without food is easy for me. I just don't see why I have to do it, when so many others don't have to. I guess they are just better than I am. I hope they sleep well at night. I won't at least for awhile.

When it rains ...

Yeah. Only, this past week, it's been raining diarrhea.

Okay. I ran all around the place getting the money to feed the never-sated appetite of the giant leech that is Entergy. I almost paid my phone bill, which would have left me with about $4 until I get paid tomorrow (which is, like, all spent), but something told me that I had better hold on to some money, just in case. I went home, cleaned house little, wrote the last post and posted it, took a shower and got ready for work at 3, as I had promised a co-worker I would come in early for him as he had to study for an exam and write a paper for tomorrow. Good thing I did.

Well, when I checked my bike, just prior to laving, about 2, I found that my front tyre was flat, again. Remember, I has just put a new tube in on Monday. I walked my bike over to the Bike Shop (which is, fortunately, in the next block). We pulled the tyre off the wheel and discovered that, somewhere today, I had run over a nice chunk of glass which had embedded itself in the tyre, ruining it, and puncturing the new inner tube. Good thing I had $40 on me, because the parts cost $36, leaving me with $4 until tomorrow. Shit.

Repairs were finished about 2:30. I called my buddy and told him I was leaving the Bike Shop and might possibly be late. I took off for work (as it was, I made it in 14 minutes).

I was on Perkins, coming close to my turn on Balis. I signalled to change lanes to make a left turn and the stupid little bitch behind me did exactly what the stupid bitch behind me on Friday did: she pulled out behind me and cut me off! I know I should be used to this: it happens all the time. I said some unkind things when I reached the intersection, but she was too involved in conversation with her passenger to notice me. I was fucking furious.She wound up in he same lane I had been in. If she had let me change lanes, she never would have had to. She wound up at a fucking red light, anyway.

It was pretty dead at work. I did get one loony. This guy comes in a lot and buys 40s of Old English Malt Liquor. He babbles and talks to himself a lot, and usually stinks. He came in once, earlier, and creeped one of my customers out by babbling suggestive stuff under his breath. He came back later, for another 40, and kept murmuring something that sounded like "kick your ass". I finally said, "Excuse me?" to which he responded by saying:

I ain't talking to you! I'm talking to myself! If I was talking to you, I'd tell you I was talking to you! You'd know it!"

I gave him his change, whereupon he crumpled his receipt and tossed it in the air and screamed: "I get a crazy check! I get a crazy check!"

I told him I thought it was well deserved and that he should leave at once and not come back to the store that night. When he didn't leave, I called for security, and one of my coworkers, who stands about 6'6" and weighs about 300lbs. showed up, so he left. Everything went smoothly after that, until I got home.

Well, I still don't have electricity. This sucks. Tomorrow, after I get paid, I get to pay those fuckers at Entergy another $38, after which maybe, just maybe, I will have power again. I would call the Public Service Commission, but they are scared shitless of Entergy and its suits.

Incidentally, in Canada, the $10 bill is called a "loony", because it has a loon on it.

Of course, after that, my phone bill and rent, which I won't have enough money to pay in full (meaning another $50 late fee), I won't have money for food, or anything else. Life sucks when you're poor.

Fucking Stupid-Ass People

I hate to tell you guys, just past the Darwin Bicentennial, but Natural Selection has ceased to function, at least where human beings are concerned.

Tuesdays are usually slow. Tonight was no different, only it was a parade of freaks. I really appreciate the attention of the bums and panhandlers, many of whom show up simply to use me as a moneychanger. The ones who actually buy something (Heaven Hill Whisky and Thunderbird Red Label feature prominently)also pay in loose change, crumpled piss-smelling singles and pocket lint. The result tonight was that, in loose (unrolled) change, I counted $14.50 in quarters, $7.50 in dimes, $4.20 in nickels and $1.62 in pennies. You could have sewed that in a sack with a Mafia hit and dropped him in the Gulf: he would never have come up for air.

Then, there was the guy with the credit card that wouldn't work, so he left, and I had to void the purchase and then he came back and wanted to use the same card again (we had already run it four times) and I told him no, because if it didn't work the last four times it won't work now, and he got irate and so I said you know there's an ATM in the store and he finally came back with the cash after an hour or so of wrangling over this whole affair.

Then, there was the girl who bought butterscotch schnapps and Bailey's Irish Cream and then dropped it in the parking lot, so he had to come back and get more. For some unexplicable reason, she brought the dripping bag back into the store and set it on the floor, where it leaked Buttery Nipple all over the place, which I had to mop up. Why?

Got up yesterday and, lo, and behold, there was a money order from Bridget for $150. Yay. Only, I found out with the last one, that just about nobody in the universe will cash the bloody thing, especially my store, who issues them. The official policy is that they can only cash them if you have both the money order and the stub, you know: THE STUB THAT THE FUCKING SENDER SAVES FOR HIS RECORDS? So, today, Travis and I went to his bank, Chase, only one of the biggest, richest and most powerful banks in the fucking country, and they won't cash it, even if he has the money to cover it in his account. They won't even accept it as an item for deposit.

So, I try the Money Center at Wal-Mart, and they won't take it. So, I go around to all the check cashing places in the area. I hit three before I find one that handles this particular money order, and they cash it for me, only they charge me $5.88 to do it.

So, finally having got the fucking thing cashed, I go down to the little store and put $60 on my electric bill, which is $20 more than I owe them. I paid the bill in full last week, only to find that they had levied another $38 in charges against me, without telling me. I had to call them to find that out. They have one of those highly convoluted computerised phone systems which is designed primarily to frustrate you, so that you will give up and leave them alone. My electric had better be on by the time I get home, or I will fucking kill somebody. My total bill for last moth was $68; so why the hell do I have to pay them $275 in deposit? God, I hate Entergy!

I believe that Natural Selection no longer works. My solution to this is that those of us victimised by the stupid should band together and develop a plan to supplant Natural Selection. I have one idea: we market a bunch of dangerous things, the kind that are flashy and shiny, the kind that idiots crave. These devices would be inherently dangerous, so that if you didn't read the instructions, there would be a good chance you would either accidentally kill yourself or, failing that, at least sterilise yourself. Then, of course, you include a complex legal disclaimer, absolving your company of all responsibility if the product is not used properly. It will take a little cleverness to design products like this, but it can be done. Of course, the terminally stupid will NOT read the instructions, much less the disclaimer, and the product will be designed specifically so that an idiot will WANT to misuse it. Great idea, huh?

Oh, to dream ...

I Got Scathed

Yeah. Remember how I almost got nailed Mardis Gras by some asshole in a truck who ran me up onto the grass and I felt, like, really lucky because I escaped unscathed? Well, Friday, I got scathed, but good.

I got paid Thursday and paid the balance of my rent and my huge utility bill, which didn't get my power back on. I found out today that this is because Entergy (the fucking shitlords of the universe)tacked an additional $25 "deposit" onto my account, which I now have to come up with, too, bringing my total "deposit" for utilities to a whopping $275. My actual power bill was $67. They are fucking PIRATES!

Got back and met one of my neighbours, who offered to loan me some power via a 100ft extension cable, so I had limited power over the week-end (enough for TV at night and charging my laptop and cell phone). Went to work for 6 on Friday and almost made it. I had just signalled to turn left into the store parking lot when I heard the vehicle that had turned on the street behind me speed up, and then heard tires squeal. I tried to get over as far as I could to the right, but the right rear quarter panel hit me and knocked me over the handlebars. Cleverly, I avoided more serious injury by letting my face take most of the impact.

By the time I could get up to my hands and knees, the silver SUV that whacked me was crossing College Drive. I walked to work, scraped, bruised and bleeding. They called the police and EMS, and I got treated and filled out reports. I didn't get a license plate, so they probably won't find her. It's hard to get a license plate when you are headed over the handlebars, towards the pavement. I worked until 10 and got a ride home. I had to walk to work the next day, but I went to work. I had Sunday off, so I did wash with Travis and Fernando and ate diner with them. I was so stiff and sore Sunday, I almost didn't go. I still hurt. I'm going to have a nice scar above my lip. It will take a long time to heal.

And all for what? Because some cunt in an SUV couldn't wait a few seconds for me to make a turn. I get smashed up, hurt and scarred while she drives away. This isn't my first little mishap: there have been about twenty over the past 40 years or so of riding a bicycle. I cannot state this strongly enough: Baton Rouge is not a bike-friendly city. In fact, a lot of drivers here are openly hostile. A lot of the ones who aren't just don't give a shit: you are just an annoyance, something in the way. You can't possibly catch up to them, so it is okay to leave you, bleeding, lying in the street. You don't drive a car, so you don't matter. Out of all the times I have been hit by cars, only three drivers actually stopped, and one of those, because she saw a police car stop where she left me. When the officer asked her why she left the scene of the accident she replied (and I quote):

"I don't have no cell phone. I was going home to call y'all."

Apparently, this was good enough for him: he didn't even ticket her. She had no insurance. I wound up in a cast for three months, lost both jobs, and got evicted from my apartment. She is still probably out there, driving her fat ass around.

If I sound bitter, I am. I also hurt, and I'm going to have a nasty scar. I hope that bitch burns in hell. I hope they all burn in hell!