Yesterday was my last day at my old job. Some people from work took me out for some drinks. I came home, had some more drinks, then went out to the best damn honky-tonk bar in Winnipeg.

I came home and went to bed. Life was very good.

This morning the doorbell rang. I got dressed quickly and dragged myself down to answer.

A friendly fellow was there holding a small piece of paper with some handwritting on it. I was then blinded by what I saw over his shoulder.

Holly was laying on her side. I had not looked at the paper and was ready to strangle the person in front of me. I assumed he was the reason for Holly’s re-parking job. (Holly is my scooter.)

In the next few moments I heard what had happened.

Some asshole driver of a red car with a loud muffler apparently shows up in the neighbourhood once every few months or so. He peels out and makes enough noise to wake people up.

The gentleman in front of me had been trying to get the license plate number of the person for quite some time. When he heard the noise coming he came outside.

As he came out he saw the car stop a house away from my scooter. Then, rather than peeling out, slammed it in reverse and plowed into Holly knocking her over.

Holly now has cracked pieces on the road, scratched side panels, busted lights and reflectors, and the rear fender is busted completely off. The handlebar panel is loose and the rear wheel appears to be out of place. The engine runs fine though.

My neighbour, bless his heart, filed a police report which, by the way, is confirmed by other complaints of a loud, reckless vehicle in the area. He did get a license plate number but it does not match the type of vehicle it is registered to. I added my info to the police report and will be taking it to a Manitoba Public Insurrence adjuster later this week.

Because it is a hit-and-run I have to get Holly accross the city to a “special” adjuster because hit-and-runs are more easily frauded.

My heart is broken. My soul is crying. My rage is untameable. And my love for humanity is questioned.

Holly is an object. A thing. Something replacable. But she is the closest thing I have that resembles love. If my priest, the justice of the peace and my parents did not forbid it I think we would already be married.

I don’t want to kill or strangle anyone right now but I sure as the rain hits the good and the evil people of the world would like to destroy something the driver loves. Something like his testicles or penis. Or make him watch the Sound of Music for 48 hours straight. Even if you like the movie, there is only so much Julie Andrews one person can take.

At this point I live in a world of fear and apprehension. On the one hand I would like Holly to be written off. Then I could move on. Have closure. On the other hand I would like Holly and us to live together forever. We should have many many happy years together left.

There should be a tax on stupidity. A tax on the stupid and another tax on the parents of the stupid. Maybe then procreation would be something people think twice about.

Eugenics sometimes sounds like such a wonderful idea.