Death Machines

A few days ago I was driving down the freeway. It was unusually uncrowded, and I came upon a cement mixer. I was in the fast lane and the mixer was in the slow lane, but it was going fast enough I stayed behind it about 4 or 5 car lengths.

Then, suddenly, a cloud of dust exploded out of the bottom of the cement mixer and I watched like it was slow motion; the blown tire wrapped itself around the wheel base once more before pulling free and shooting out from underneath the truck.

It was headed straight for my brand new windshield.

I slammed on my brakes and felt my car fishtail. I let up on the brakes and straightened myself out. The remains of the tire had come within feet of my windshield. I finally came out of the dust and watched the mixer pull over and the driver get out to examine the damage.

These sort of things always happen to me, and I always say that God hates me, but my Lover Boy always says that if I had only done something different the result wouldn't be the same.

The night I told him about my accident he said, "Okay. It's official; God hates you."