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Send to FriendSpeed limits are a joke in and of themselves, if you ask me. They are completely useless. People don't get into car accidents because they are going to fast. They get into accidents because they are stupid fucking morons who don't know how to drive! And anybody who thinks it's because it's people are driving too fast is an even bigger moron than those assholes who got in the fucking accident to begin with. And what's with this bullshit about them forcing you to pay for car insurrance? That's another crime on the part of our government, robbing us of our freedom to make our own choice as to whether we feel like paying for that shit or not. And it only makes it easier for insurrance companies to treat all their customers like shit and still not lose any business. It's completely ridiculous, if you ask me. Why should we be allowed to have any insurrance anyway? If you get into an accident, it only means that you don't know how to drive but were still dumb enough to get behind a wheel anyway. You're a fucking moron, and you deserve the financial burden for your stupidity! You deserve to be ruined financially, you deserve to be injured, hospitalized, and then bombarded with hospital bills, and you deserve to die, as far as I'm concerned! If I ever become dictator, car insurance will be illegal. Yeah, and drinking and driving will become legalized as well (I refuse to believe that drunk driving has anything to do with accidents no matter what anybody says - if you know how to drive, then it shouldn't matter if you're drunk, high, or whatever). And the only speed limit imposed on motorists will be how fast their car is capable of going. How anyone can believe that "collisions" are caused by anything other than pure human stupidity is beyond me.
Anyway, I was plowing down the empty road at 60 miles per hour (with the car completely within my control), at three in the morning, and then suddenly I heard a police siren warbling from behind. I looked behind (I had ripped off my rearview mirror years ago, because I fucking hate mirrors!) and saw red and blue lights being splashed against the buildings, a police cruiser racing toward me. Like any good citizen, I pull over to the site of the road, rather than continue driving and wind up getting slapped with a felony-evasion charge on top of the speeding ticket and whatever else he was planning on slapping me with. I even turned off the radio on my own, before he ever had to ask me. Pull my license out of my wallet - registration's in the glove compartment, so I pulled that out as well. And the officer pulled his cruiser slowly to a halt behind my car, a mere inch away from my bumper, his flashers still splashing red and blue light all over the place, sure to attract any gawker that doens't know how to mind his own fucking business.
"Sir, I'm gonna need to see your license and registration, please," said the officer, as the beam of his flashlight burned my overly sensitive, bloodshot eyes. I handed my license and registration over to him willingly, trying to hide how nervous I was in this cops presence. He took them, and then went back to his cruiser. And then I sat and waited about five minutes, the longest five minutes of my life. Yes, I was scared, I'll admit that. I shouldn't have been scared, I know; I shouldn't have had to be, anyway, but I was nonetheless. I thought of the weed I had stashed in my glove compartment. I wanted that now more than ever - I had gotten high earlier in the night, but it had long since worn off by this point in time. Perhaps another toke would calm me down again, but there was no way in hell I'd be dumb enough to light up as long as that oppressive pig was watching my every move. So instead I was forced to sit it out, cold sober, wondering why in the hell they had to be such assholes and outlaw drugs anyway.
He came back and handed me my license and registration forms. "I have you clocked at 60 miles an hour," he said, once again flashing that burning beam from his flashlight in my eyes. I threw my arm in front of my eyes, but they still burned. I looked up at him, squinting, wondering if he would let me off - I wasn't giving him a hard time; I hadn't opened my damn mouth once for anything. Maybe he would let me off. It was three in the morning anyway, so it wasn't likely that I would've posed a hazzard to any other motorists (according to, I would think, that absurd mentality that believes that speeding is a major cause of accidents); why not just let me go? But he hadn't. Instead, he handed me his ticket, the fucking prick. I had broken the law, and thus, putting all other facts and circumstances aside, completely disregarding them, I had to be punished, and that was that.
And then came that one devastating question that fucked the entire situation up beyond repair: "Do you mind if I do a quick search of your vehicle?"
I was appalled by the question. What right did he even have to ask it? It was shocking, and not just because I had a ziplock bag of weed stashed in my glove compartment either, though it was certainly a very important factor (and the main reason I felt it prudent to grab my registration papers before the officer had gotten to my car and asked for them). "Yes, Officer, I do mind. I got my ticket - I'd like to be on my way now, if you don't mind."
"Sir, this will just take a moment."
Bad enough he had busted me for some bullshit 3am traffic violation, but now this prick wanted to violate my constitutional rights as well, and that's just plain wrong. I mean, I don't give a shit if this was somebody else - big deal if another schmuck gets his civil or constitutional rights violated. It's not my problem at all. But in this case, it was my rights that were being trampled on, and I was outraged.
Still, through it all, I somehow managed to keep a friendly demeanor. "Please, Officer, I'm tired and would just like to go home. I'll slow the thing down a bit if that's what you want, but since I already got my ticket, could you please just let me go already? I don't have any illegal substances or weapons or anything like that in my car, so there's no point in searching it at all."
"If you've got nothing to hide, then you'd gladly allow me to take a quick peak, buddy."
"Fuck you, man, just let me go already!" I snapped at him finally; the hell with all of this nice-guy crap. I had taken just about all that I could from this son of a bitch. "I'm outta here."
"If you drive off, Mister Bastard, I'm gonna get your ass on so many felony evasion charges--"
"Fuck your felony evasion charges!" I shouted. "I'll report this to your superiors and get it so they fire your ass on the spot if you don't let me go right now!"
He tore my door open, and grabbed my shirt, yanking me toward him. "Hey, what the fuck are you doing?!" I screamed as I was thrown out of the car.
Then he was searching my car, his ass hanging out from the door, waving in my face. I could see the hammer of his service revolver jutting upward from his holster, and I knew if I could get it, I would be able to take control of the situation and be allowed to go on my marry way, my constitutional rights perhaps spat on, but not yet pissed and shit on. I've never been much when it came to physical hand-to-hand combat (just take a look at my painful experience at that underground fight club a few yeras ago), but if I had a weapon, that just might give me the edge I need to get out of this situation alive and without having to go to jail when Officer Douche Bag finally found that bag of weed in the glove compartment.
I went for it. My sweaty palms felt the cold metal of his gun, my fingers fastening around it, and quickly, I pulled it from his holster. He felt the sudden movement, the gun being ripped free from his possession (I guess I'd make a lousy pickpocket), and turned his head for but a second before I quickly pulled the trigger. My entire arm ached from the force of the recoil as the tremors surged through me. The sound of the gunblast was deafening; like a hundred bolts of thunder going off at once, and the passenger side window was caked with the officer's blood and brains. I had hoped I hadn't awoken anyone else up within the vicinity, not because I cared about disturbing their beauty rest but because I didn't want anyone to call the cops on me, or see what happened and be able to testify as a witness in a trial, should it come to that.
And then I stood there, motionless, not uttering a sound, for what seemed an eternity. I couldn't believe what had just happened. I had just killed him. Just like that, I tore his weapon from his holster and shot him, the bullet entering in a slightly upward diagnol angle into his throat, and then exited just above the base of his skull. I could see the blood and brains and bone splinters smeared against my passenger side window now started to run; it would surely need to be washed off and soon, or else it might dry and never come out. I felt a sense of terror as I looked at the officer, dripping more gore over the upholstry of my seats, and I was thankful that I never had any passengers when I drove. I never invited anyone for a ride, and no one wanted to ride with a freak like me, either. There was a sense of exhileration I felt; I had finally done it. I had finally taken a life. It would be perhaps my first step toward erradicating the whole of humanity, were that my goal, were I ever that ambitious (and sometimes I wish I were). Perhaps it wasn't premeditated, or done in cold blood, but on impulse, and through fear - but it was murder nonetheless. I finally had blood on my hands. It was that one final act that would truly separate me from the rest of the slugs I am forced to associate with on a daily basis.
And it must forever remain my secret. No one else must know of what transpired here.
There was the camera in the cop's cruister - that could easily give me away, because what I had done would've been caught on tape and used against me in court. My first impulse was to shoot the camera when I found it and be done with it - but I had gotten lucky with the first gunshot in that it didn't appear to have woken anybody up. Or maybe it did, and they just ignored it...or maybe other police officers are on their way right now and I had better act fast. I pulled out the tape, thinking I should destroy it, just to be on the safe side. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Too much sentimental value. Instead I decided to keep it for myself, so that I can watch it again and again. Anytime I am feeling down, I can simply slip this video into my VCR and relive this night once again, and it'll make me feel so much better.
There was still the body. What to do with the body?
I drove to the nearest bridge, fearing that I might be pulled over by yet another cop, whom would surely see the passenger I had riding shotgun, bleeding all over the upholstry; my nerves were frazzled and I jumped at every sound that went off. But the ride was overall uneventful. A few trucks went by, and a jeep as well, but that was about it. And then I arrived at the side of the bridge, looking down upon the river before. All I had to do was throw the body in, and home free. I'd still have to clean all the blood and brains out of my car, but otherwise, I'd get away with murder.
First I reached into the officer's back pocket and pulled his wallet, getting some of his blood on my hands, thinking in the back of my mind: I hope this guy didn't have AIDS or anything, but otherwise, completely unmindful of it. Hell, I'd had sexual intercourse with a dead corpse before, so touching one now sure as hell wasn't going to bother me one bit. He had about $200 on him - money I could use, so I took it. Hey, cops and medics do it all the time. I saw the officer's badge and driver's license: Officer Leonard Goreman, would was now permaently off duty. I chuckled at that thought. Then I took a peak at the photos his had, a few of his wife, a woman who looked as though she weight around 300 pounds, and two boys - one 11, the other 8 - smiling widely into the camera, their braces gleaming in the flash. I thought of how upset they would be when they finally figured out that Daddy wasn't going to be coming home ever again, and a wide grin creased over my own face. I dragged the cop out of the car; he was heavier than I thought he would be, and it was tough carrying him, but I managed, although he left a thin bloody trail behind. No matter. A little blood by the bridge doesn't have to mean a damn thing, right. Maybe someone got a bloody nose somehow while standing there; it could happen. Wasn't that much of a bloody trail, more like a few drops that were half-dry anyway. With a grunt, I threw him off the edge, handing onto the railing so the momentum wouldn't pull me over as well, and then watched as he plunged straight down to the river below, and out of my life for good.
The drive home was uneventful, but I was feeling a bit depressed. The thrill of the murder was gone now, and already it was beginning to seem like a distant memory. When I got home, I made sure to clean all the blood and brainst off the windows and seats. It was tough work, and it took over three hours before I was done, but I managed. And while I may not be the best at cleaning, I think I did an excellent job with it nonetheless, very thorough. I didn't stop until I was absolutely sure it was gone, until I couldn't even see a trace of it in the most obscure spaces. Although lately the car seems to be attracting a lot of bugs for some reason - think I may have to spray it down with pesticide, but I'll do it later. It's a piece of shit anyway; probably about time I got around to getting a new one.
Anyway, the sun had already risen when I was done, burning my eyes. People were starting to wake up and get ready for work, so it was a good thing that I had finished when I did, although nobody really gives a shit one way or another about anything that I do or what happens to me anyway, I've definitely got that on my side. I staggered drunkenly to my apartment (by this point, I was extremely exhausted and barely even able to stay awake). I had just enough energy to call my boss and tell him I wouldn't be able to come into work that day because I had suddenly come down with a really bad case of food poisoning. Then I dragged myself to my bedroom, collapsed on the bed, and fell asleep right away.
August 25, 2001