HAVE YOU SEEN IT??

Those of you who may have gotten your car stolen at some time or another can relate to the acrimony and resentment you feel when something as essential and considerable as your personal transportation is swiped from your possession. Unfortunately such a thing has happened to one of my hags a week ago and again, although I expected to witness a raging lunatic replete with furled eye brows and erupting foam from the mouth, Sara has again floored me with her calmness. Here's the sordid story:

At 7:30 a.m. Friday morning, Sara strolled down her block and headed to where she parked her car the night before. To her dismay, there was nothing but a pile of shattered glass where her little black 1992 Nissan Sentra had stood. Considering the possibility that her memory may have been a bit fogged, she questioned if she even parked the darn thing at that particular spot to begin with (denial is a bitch isn't it?). She walked around the block to see if maybe she left her black hooptie there in a drunken stupor the night before (I added that) but to her disappointment, there was nothing...

Upset with the fact that she now had to cancel her EZ Pass and was no longer the proud owner of her "Roller Girl" skates (Sara was Roller Girl from Boogie Nights for Halloween) and mid-western-inspired music CD collection. All were left in her two-door wonder...

Immediately placing a phone call to New York City's 311 system, Sara began the dark and grueling process of reporting her car stolen. As if she wasn't going through enough anguish with her vehicle situation (and her withdrawals from her honky-tonk tunes) she was connected to a representative who really didn't give two shits about her car being stolen. Speaking to Sara in a malodorous and unpleasant tone, this representative from hell played a few mind games and verbally twisted Sara's nipples, but eventually connected her to the police for an official report. They finally arrived at Sara's home and upon meeting, the officer recognized Sara and realized if was due to a prior call that she had placed to the authorities when her car radio was stolen a few months back. Needless to say the report was done and has yet to hear anything regarding her sexy Sentra. I'm convinced that the damn car had the demonic spirit of Christine (the car from that B-rated horror flick) in it and welcomed vandals to tear it up on the regular. Her car had a history of attempted break-ins and she even had her driver-side doorlock molested beyond repair. Could this whole fiasco be a blessing in disguise?

Fortunately enough for my haggy, she was offered a vehicle from her luscious sister Theresa (more like Mother Theresa with a twist) who conceded to selling her a 1995 Ford for an astounding $1. Yes, you read that right. Theresa has come to her rescue with such a generous offer, it almost made Sara's revolting and obscene situation dissipate into emotional vapor. Theresa baby... although I haven't met you, it seems to me that you deserve a massive tongue-massage for making your baby sis smile with hope. You're lickable... yes you are.

As always, I'm tickled when a sad story inevitably ends in hope and happiness. Sara seems content with what's happened to her and if she's fine with it, then so am I. Initially I wanted to scour the streets of Brooklyn to hunt down this dirty dog so I can peel off layers of his skin and feed it to him, but I guess that wouldn't have solved her woes... only mine. Love ya Sara baby...

Shout out to Momma Diane for reading my blog on the regular and not having a coronary in the process. It's genuine hippie-esque people like you that keep me inspired to sit in front of my cuntputer and spill my mental beans for all to read...