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Same reason all the projects in the world have nice balmy names -- Sunny Side, Cabrini Greens, Pine-Crest. Nobody would want to live in a project called Your Mom's on Crack -- Or Drive-By Lanes, or There's a Body in the Dumpster Heights... we need to hide our vices in robust words that stand for valiant affairs for peaceful lies.
DEAD TO THE WORLD
The funny thing about near-death experiences is they're not funny. Death has no permanent residence. But he does prefer to vacation in some places more than others -- Syria is a favored vacation spot for the grim reaper. One thing you can count on is he'll be at the last place you put your feet for their last step. He's quicker than email when it's your time to clock-out on Earth.
DISCLAIMER: Language because that's what I felt at the time it was happening.
My first near-death experience goes a little something like this... hit it!
I started my little gang and even created about 50 pages of literature, because every upstanding gang that is a valuable asset to society's decadence needs literature to instruct their foot-soldiers in their criminal conduct. I ran around declaring a gang that no one's ever heard of and it attracted members - because most wanted the prestige of being in a gang. Only one problem, I attracted every nerd this side of the Mexican border. Within a month I had created the largest weenie machine outside of an electronic diaper convention for pedophiles one could imagine.
They came far and wide to join the ranks of a gang that absolutely knew nothing about being in a gang. But I was chief and that was that. Until I claimed we were under the 6-point star and the Folks banner. Which attracted real gangbangers to quickly punch holes in my phony gang. The force was not with us and my members couldn't even fight with a plastic light sabers in a plastic bag.
The first wave of G.D's showed up in small numbers of about 30 and decided they were going to beat my Uncle up as he was collecting mail - but he had stupid smarts and challenged them all. It was probably the PCP talking. But nothing came of that; they seceded to his bluff.
So guess who gets lined up to shut me and my weenie machine down? More wannabees just like me. The first time they showed up they did what any professional hitman would have done, called the phone and threatened me that they were coming over. I segued to the protection of my brother. What does he do? He answers they door to three bare chested dudes ready to rumble and yells, "It's for you!" My brother's a douche. The whole purpose of having him answer the door was to look like I had some badass beefcake brother that would rumble in the jungle with me. Nope. He opened the gate and fed me whole to the lions.
So I stashed a blade, came out making sure they saw the knife. They breathed some threats out of their sewer lids. My reply was that I'd cut the first one on the porch. That kept them at bay. My dork turf consisted of four weenies that lived in the neighborhood. I thought five made a good number. But if you put us five together, we were like that cartoon robot -- we formed one giant Poindextor -- or maybe a mad Urkel after he's had a wedgie, or an all paid cruise with his head in the toilet bowl.
As luck would have it -- few days later one of the wiener's showed up saying the leader of the wannabe G.D.'s had conveniently come clear across town to play basketball at 10:30 at night. Wow! What an unlikely coincidence that this couldn't possibly be a setup? What luck I had? Awesome! Time to toast the turd. And the crap head that relayed this information just happened to go to the same school as this leader. Couldn't be a setup, no never. I wasn't one to back down in the face of adversity -- so I grabbed a shadow blade and collected two more members of my Urkel squad and headed down to the park to make a batch of Cool-Whip out of this clown's face.
On the way to the park, Crap Stain asked if he could see my blade. I gave it to him. I figured he could hold onto it -- I had Dumb and Dumber for backup, probably wouldn't need it. When you have matchsticks for arms like I did, I had to swing first. I got this. It all happened so fast, I never thought about asking for the knife back, nor would he have gave it back.
First ninja observation -- the dude was by himself. Who plays a game of basketball by themselves in a neighborhood clear across town? That data seemed to be a fleeting rain drop off a windshield. I was set on ass whoop mode.
I get down there and wannabe leader steps out saying, "What's up now, bitch?!" To four people?
I advanced to attack and suddenly noticed -- I was alone. The three bad breath bandits with me were gone out of sight. But two more shadows came running barreling at me full bore. I turned around to see a glimmer of something -- then time began to crawl. Something metal and shiny was in full swing to my face. Trademarked Louisville Slugger. I could even see the grass stains painting a picturesque landscape picture on the metal. I was about to be jumped -- and I had a metal bat about to play ball with my head.
IMPACT COLLIDED... my size. This ogre's size. The equation was momentum times two to move an object my size was overkill. I couldn't count how many rotations my body made before finally landing on the ground face down. Feet. Fists. And rage rained down from above. I was beat before I even hit the ground. Then, my head was lifted up as more blows came from the side. The main guy doing the beating was a big guy on the football team. I couldn't count how many times the right side was hit. It was somewhere in the range of infinity. I used to fight a lot in St. Louis. I saw the principle more than I saw my home room teacher, but there's was nothing left to fight. I was beat first blow.
Finally, numb and dumb, I grabbed onto the grass knowing I had to get away from me being a punching bag because he wasn't stopping. With all I had, I pulled up with the grass and ran. I made it across the street. Vision was blurred by blood. I got hit with the park trash can the minute I got into the neighbor's yard from the park. I went down. And someone was watching too many gangsta movies to hit me with the damn trashcan.
Truck of muscles continued to rain down on me. By this time, there was nothing left. My head just went right, left, right, left.... All I could do was nothing but watch my own ass whopping. Someone yelled, "I think he's dead!" Thank God! I'm dead. They can stop the beating now. I was wondering when death was going to show up.
Car screeched up. Doors opened and closed. And I laid there staring at the stars wishing one would fall on that car leaving in a hurry.
Then the two faces of Dumb and Dumber looked down on me. These two did have superpowers after all. They could disappear in the blink of an eye. Crap Stain was gone verifying he set me up with them. Then, one of the rubes said the dumbest thing -- well, they were dumb, but they said, "Are you alright?"
Great! Just great! Someone Babe Ruthed my melon, then a guy three times my size beat on me for a few minutes and had a heat-seeking trashcan nail me -- I'm fuckin' fantastic!!! Let's go buy dinner. Idiots. What a bunch of clowns without a traveling circus!?!
That's when I noticed I could only talk outside the left side of my mouth. Body wasn't responding. And my right eye was black.
Oh, you haven't heard nothing yet. The next two days would literally bring hell to my doorstep, freak the doctors out, and make my brother a Buddhist. Well, he was a pacifist already when it came to backing me up. I was as close to the living dead as you could imagine.
Next blog -- Donald Trump and his toupee. No. The Near Death Experience Continues...
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