Saturday, April 11, 2009

Top 10 Side Benefits of Getting Your Car Stolen

10. You get lots of people feeling sorry for you. If you're a normal human, and most of us are, then you must acknowledge that there is a weird pleasure derived from people feeling sorry for you. When I was a kid I would sometimes fake a malady (stuttering, asthma, knees are permanently locked) to conjure up this feeling in other people. The weirdass thing about that is that they weren't even feeling sorry for me, but for a fake projection of who I pretended to be for a few minutes. I know Freud would have a field day with that, but I'm just going to try and keep it really surface and hope that you've done similar things. You have, haven't you?

9. Self-righteous anger. There is nothing better than pure indignance, amen? You see, so many situations in our lives are covered in shades of grey. Your buddy is being a jerk to you? Sure, but that's because you drank too much and were making a Royal Ass out of yourself. But having your car stolen is 100 percent black and white: I did nothing to deserve this and my anger at the injustice is as pure as Himalayan 2-pack cocaine. And I think I get extra portions of self-righteous anger because I drive a POS. I think that if you drive a very nice car then you must sort of expect it to get stolen, hell, maybe you're even a little flattered. And if you have a really nice car then you have really nice insurance coverage and a theft doesn't set you as far back as it does a cheap-skate like me. Seriously, who wants to steal a piece of crap car? A think a silver 2000 SL2 Saturn qualifies as an official boring grandma car, so what the hell?

8. You get to get a new car! (But of course unemployed people are exempt from this benefit, and so we move on.)

7. Self-indulgent Violent Fantasies. I must confess that I enjoy it when my mind wanders to what I would do if I ever found the punk who stole my car. And fantasies are so great because they don't have to correspond to reality at all. Because of course in reality if I ever found the guy I would be too scared to do anything. The guy is probably much bigger than me, is probably better with a knife and gun than I am. If I ever crossed his path in a dark alley he would probably make me regret my decision to be born. But not so in my fantasies. First off, in my fantasies I look a lot more like Bruce Willis circa 1988. Second of all I am able to dispatch opponents in creative and surprising ways with relative dexterity and grace of movement. In my mind's eye I toy with the perp as a cat bats the mouse about the face and paws. It gets a lot worse from there, and my parole officer might be reading this. Sorry.

6. OK, actually, that's it. I could only come up with four side benefits to having your car stolen. But if I come up with any more I'll be sure to get those to you. Since I said these were the top 10 benefits I am contractually obligated to list out the rest of the numbers. But please read no further, there won't be anything written for the final five.






You just had to look, didn't you? I'm not going to lie, that kind of gets on my nerves. Why couldn't you just listen to me?

p.s. No I don't have a parole officer. I guess sometimes I'm hard to get and I've been told that too many people actually believe it when I say stuff like that. So no, there is no officer Coharski who checks in with me every Monday and who also, I think, follows me in secret to make sure I'm staying out of trouble. This man does not exist, and even if he did, he has not been my parole officer for the last three years that I have been out of prison. I didn't even go to prison for money laundering—I'm making that up—so it would be physically, legally impossible for officer Coharski to call me every time I'm one freaking minute late for our meeting.


jennyroseanne said...

And you seemed like such a nice, innocent guy when I let you marry my daughter. Good thing I didn't listen to you but read on to the end ...

jennyroseanne said...
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