Here is something NO ONE should ever do. This is something that was referenced in yet another Heavy Metal magazine. Considering what that was about, you should be showering me with money, presents, and gifts. None of you came through yet. You are the most ungrateful race of beings this Universe has ever known. But you gawk at my car like you have never seen Jesus before.
Is there a single soul alive that is deserving of sacrificing yourself by willingly and knowingly driving down a gauntlet in a car with no armor, wearing no safety equipment, with only my faith to protect me? No, of course not. I did what I did for EVERYONE. To save everyone’s souls. But that was it. There would be no need to do that again. Although this is comparable to the booby-trapped room, this certainly tops it.
I was making my way across Texas, the goal was to make it from El Paso to Houston (first stop on the Back to Basics tour) in one day. I had been shot in Tuscon and removed what was in that wound in El Paso. I locked my keys in the car in El Paso, like Succubus told me I would, and told the locksmith “Muchisimas Gracias.” I felt like such a fool.
The cat did jump on my car, as I predicted, before I left El Paso and I told it I was “coming.” I took a few pictures of it but not one right on the windshield. Leaving around 4 AM should have left me enough time to make it through despite a few more assassination attempts.
|This is one of the pictures. Color and contrast enhanced.|
I get to Saint Anthony’s in Pecos county on a Sunday, as per priest’s dream and knew the Ford dealership would be closed so that purchasing a spare key would not be possible. I took some pictures of the place and the “This is not Pussycat Homeworld” picture I have in my album is reference to that point in time right before the Big Shot.
|A Treo shot enhanced for emphasis.|
I drove my car slowly down that part of the road, still part of I-10, not weaving or accelerating, or in any way trying to avoid the shot. I was praying about as hard as I could. Then suddenly, “WHAAAM!” even louder than I can yell. The car shakes violently but inexplicably does not swerve hardly at all. The violence of the impact should have flipped the car, sent it off the road, or at least lifted the tires off the ground. None of that happened and for a moment I thought I was dead.
In my perception of it, I could have been dead and in a scene like “Heaven Can Wait.” I would be driving in the clouds and some person would have told me I did not make it. But that did not happen. I kept driving along as the fenders and suspension continued to creak and moan loudly. This went on for over a minute as the car “absorbed” the impact of something that would have destroyed a tank or a helicopter.
As I reached a local convenience store I get out of the car to inspect it. “Smoke ’em, if you got ’em” and I lit up a cigarette as I realized I had cheated death in the most extreme way. Figuratively, I crapped my pants; literally my underwear stayed clean. I give myself some credit for that. I notice a piece of over-spray above the rear window had been chipped off. At that point there was no other damage that I could discern to the car and I was in shock to put it mildly.
I load up on some munchies and continue to Houston, still on schedule. By the time I got to Houston there were a couple more attempts and I record the damages on camera. I made it within the day. You can decide whether that is a sign of heroism or stupidity. At this point I cannot understand it all, because now it seems like a complete waste of time.