Collide

Collide:(v) to hit with force when moving

I lied like a rug, therefore I assume my feet stunk.

I have no witnesses to the odor, just as there really were no “Amen-ers” to my testimony (which was really a lie).

Taking my old beat-up van onto the road, I was not entering the freeway with safety and concern.

The gentleman who was already driving on the freeway, probably using his cruise control, made the foolish assumption that I was going to honor his position,
perhaps coming in behind him.

I was yearning for something a bit more intimate.

So I smacked him in the side. Being very young, I decided to collide. So I smacked him in the side.

He was an older gentleman–perhaps in his late sixties or early seventies. He was so upset by the collision, and also how quickly the highway patrolman arrived at the scene, that I was able to come up with the story for the accident, which left him dumbfounded, bereft.

I explained to the policeman that I was already in the lane and that this gentleman came across and hit me.

The facts didn’t measure up, and if the cop had been any kind of investigative sort whatsoever he would have challenged me.

But since the older gent stood there slack-jawed, with bulging eyes, he looked horribly guilty. I, on the other hand, did my very best Shakespearean rendition, portraying much of the hurt and pain of Prince Hamlet of Denmark.

So not only was I deemed free from responsibility for the accident, but the ancient dude got a ticket.

I ended up getting a check for $450 from his insurance company to repair my van, which I chose not to do, since any part on my van I repaired would have been yelled at by the other parts, which were more terminally ill.

I so enjoyed my $450–and as far as I know, the innocent gentleman I hit went to court and spent even more money to cover the expanse of my lie.

Now, I know at this point we need a moral to the story. For instance, later on I saw the gentleman and paid him back, or I drove all night to the highway patrol station and confessed my misadventure.

None of this happened.

So I guess the true lesson from this story is, you should do things because they’re right–not because you’re expecting a payoff. And if you get a payoff, it certainly does not mean that it’s right.

“What goes around comes around.”

It doesn’t always come around your way.

Or go around, for that matter.

 

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Brake

j-r-practix-with-border-2

Brake: (n) a device for slowing or stopping a moving vehicle

Oblivion is the condition we find ourselves in just prior to the tragedy we refer to as “an accident.”

This was my situation many years ago when I was driving through the Sierra Mountains in California, completely enraptured in the scenery and infatuated with a gorgeous waterfall.Dictionary B

I had a car with a trailer attached to it. There’s nothing particularly unusual about that. But when you pull such a trailer, you require additional brakes placed on the rear, so that when you want to stop, it helps you instead of mocking you.

So having ascended a high peak, it was time to come down the other side. I remember thinking to myself, how fun this will be–just placing the car in neutral and coasting down the side of the cliff.

The immediate problem was that the trailer I was hauling was actually heavier than the car I was driving. As I was coasting down the mountain, I noticed I was picking up a little too much speed.

I tried to slow down by hitting the brakes. I quickly discovered that my brakes were no longer willing to brake.There was too much weight from the rear.

Faster and faster I careened, descending the precipice.

To my left were rock formations and to my right was the end of the road and a really big fall. Straight ahead were twisty roads which promised to send me into the rocks or over the edge.

I kept pumping the brakes, hoping they would at least consider a bit of grace to cover my stupidity.

To this day, short of divine intervention, I do not know how I finally got that trailer to slow down so I could pull off and stop.

There was a horrible smell of burnt rubber–and pee-pee in my pants.

Ever since then I have been a great believer in brakes, especially when they’re well taken care of … and you don’t ask them to move mountains.

 

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Bib

Bib: (n) a piece of cloth or plastic fastened around a person’s neck to keep their clothes clean while eating.

Dictionary B

It is impossible to escape ridiculous.

Stop trying.

The only factor even in consideration is whether you’re going to be ridiculous by choice or ridiculous by accident.

Some people prefer being ridiculous by accident. Then they can pull up lame and be the victim of circumstance.

I would always rather be ridiculous by choice. Let me give you an example.

Many years ago, I was invited to be the guest speaker at a banquet. I had just purchased a lovely white suit. Well, actually, at the time I thought it was lovely, but now it would be overstated and draw too much attention.

Yet on this occasion I wore this new suit.

When I arrived for the meal, I discovered that the menu was spaghetti and meatballs.

I am not embarrassed to tell you that it is difficult for me, for some reason or another, to take a sip of water without spilling a drop or two on my front.

It is not an issue of dexterity, but rather, the distance that must be covered and possibly, some of my nervous energy due to memories of previous spillage.

So even though as the guest speaker, I was sitting at the front table, I found a huge dish towel from the kitchen and wrapped it around my neck, hanging down the front of my white suit, to counteract what I was sure would be an avalanche of drippings from my spoon and fork.

I made me a bib.

The towel was ugly. It apparently had been owned by a child and had the picture of a bear eating a bowl of porridge.

I looked ridiculous.

But I smiled through the whole dinner, knowing I had made a good choice.

Especially when I looked down and saw my new little bear friend … completely covered in spaghetti sauce.

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