A Day At The LaBrea Tar Pits

As to be expected the day at the tar pit did not pass quietly, probably the reason being that I was involved in it. Some negro lads, approximately 8 feet tall and maybe 11 years of age, decided that Cecily was not attractive enough or young enough, or perhaps not black enough, for their universe and so began calling her names. I was of course quite relieved by this because usually all the name calling during a public outing is directed at me and I was happy to be a witness to some hostile events rather than be the target. Cecily was not quite so relieved as I and in fact became belligerent, not at the negro lads, but at me! "Are you going to let them call me that?" Before I could answer in the affirmative one of the negro lads then directed yet another remark to Cecily, but with me as the subject matter; something which up to that point had not happened. So far Cecily alone was the target and brunt and object of the remarks, statements, inquiries, accusations, hypotheses, suppositions, guesses, preposterous conclusions, and derision. Now it seemed I was to be dragged into it. "Are you with that dilapidated fucking fool?" I gestured surreptitiously and with great agitation for Cecily to tell them no, that I was not with her. She would have none of it. "Yes, we are together, what are you going to do about it??" she inquired of the young darkie tribesman. "HAHA we goan fuck hiz ass, bitch." This remark was to prove his undoing: nobody calls Cecily a bitch but me and people we've had over to the house at least twice. It is my custom to carry used D batteries with me at all times in public. In my hands they are more lethal than a room full of Muslims in the throes of sanctity. Reaching down into the leg to extract one of the lead-lined projectiles from one of the pockets which God had specifically designed for the purpose, I removed one D battery, and while making it comfortable within my right hand while disguising things with my left, I stood and ascertained the degree of injury I wished to inflict. There is a rule in the universe which states that when me; steel resolve; a projectile; and a live target .....when the the four of us unite, as they had just now done.....a wonderful change takes place in the Cosmos. It is like a switch is closed that brings Creation to a silent and onlooking standstill to see the wonder about to occur. The wonder always being a dead-on-target obliteration of what I consider to be the annoyance of the moment. In this case an annoyance I believe who's first name was Chakweenta. A Dark Lord of the Sith conducting electrons through his arms from the Ether and out through his fingers at an oncoming train to vaporize it does not so-cause such an interruption in Time and Space and the Dining-Comfort of the Angels as does the intersection of Me; Steel Resolve; a Projectile; and a Living Target. It is not even a situation involving anger, vengeance, or an emotion of any kind, really. It is more like a Natural Law that is about to unfold for the entertainment of the onlookers, the satisfaction of myself, and the misfortune of the target. It is as if it is an inevitablity of cause and effect for the fulfillment of my soul, and apparently the reason I was put here on earth And also, of course, for the everlasting woe of the source and instigator of the conflict. The enclosed photo shows me at the moment or two before what not even an earthquake could have stopped or derailed in any way. It shows me at the moment or two when I am examining for the last time an intended target, and, as it were, taking a final mental picture of what he, she, or it looked like during it's last moment or two of normal existence which was about to be changed by me personally via the intersection of, as I believe I mentioned before: me: a hurled, fired, or propelled object: irreversible resolve: and of course, a living, breathing, organic, able-to-suffer-and-die target. I had ruled out death for this youngster. I had calculated my chances of killing him with impunity at zero. I would have been immediately pounced upon by all present in their knee-jerk reaction to exercise bad judgement regarding the nature of justice. Pain - physical, emotional, and psycholgical - would be his lot. All the energy sent by the sun not being directly utilized by the Earth was for one instant utilized by me, resulting in my posture having been explosively morphed - and then being returned to my previous attentive, upright stance - the only noticeable alteration being my having become the possessor of one less D battery. That's how fast it happened. That's how fast it always happens. Oh, yes, this has happened before, for some reason. This battery was now in the possession of the outside portion of the negro lad's ankle, but it had only made contact long enough to merely dent it, not sever it, and transform the outer, thin skinned portions of the anklebone into, as it were, particles, rather than anything you could properly call "a functioning ankle." His screams frightened the other two, less oratorical, lads, and they both looked at each other, and at me, in some confusion and spiritual disarray. I had already another D battery in one of my hands and I was hoping one or both of the word-warriors would charge me. But instead they fled. The remaining, anguishing negro youth was furiously calumniating my reputation, my sexual orientation, which he could not possibly have known unless Bernard had told him, my seniority of age in the community, and also my scalp, the fact that it is mostly hairless. I delight in furious name-calling by an adversary. It means I have made an impression upon him, and we all love attention, do we not?....so it is win-win. We have both noticed each other. If the win-win scale was imbalanced in any way it would be only by the fact that while we were now both noticing each other equally, I was noticing him with considerably less pain than what he was noticing me with. I hoped to now unbalance the scales even further. I approached him with the confidence that an African wild dog approaches a zebra it has run to exhaustion and watched collapse into the dust. In fact my own prey was collapsed into the dust himself. He had taken one feeble step upon his foot after he and my D battery had made contact and apparently what little of the support structure in his ankle the battery had spared, the weight of his body had collapsed it and he was now on the ground, basically helpless, except for his vocal cords, and his astoundingly limited vocablary, and his endless promises of my impending destruction. While he was elaborating on my impending destruction I dragged him by his bad ankle over to the thick fence surrounding the tar pit. Releasing him i grabbed a central portion of the fence with both hands and pushing my lower self upward and parallel to the earth, my legs even with my back, I then allowed them to fall back into the bottom of the fence while wrenching my hands toward me at the instant my feet made contact, thus making the contact as violent as possible. To my own amazement this actually pushed the subteranean portion of the fencing through the earth and out into the empty space of the sandbagged reinforcement. This hole at the bottom was for my associate's benefit, not my own. For my own part, I was able to scramble up the strong and sturdy ladderwork and step over the poor and half-hearted prongwork at the top and decend almost at a leap to the other side. The side where the tar pit was: the million-year-old graveyard for mammals even more primitive and dangerous than the one about to visit it now. Reaching under the fence I pulled the now hysterical-with-hatred imbecile under some of the prongs and through others that had been thoughtlessly left too low for easy passage, and picking the gangly, screaming, threatening - soon to be extinct - socially- misunderstood lad up by the front of his clothes and holding him somewhat upright, I then pushed him like a long, heavy, gesticulating medicine ball into the methane and asphalt and ground-water spring of Pleistocene Eternity. Naturally he couldn't swim. No surprise there, that would have involved a period of learning. I was now basically through with the exercize and while he was thrashing and creating a flailing hurricane of noise and spray and black goo like a surreal and out of control fountain, I scampered in the opposite direction, against the sudden flow of human traffic heading toward the drowning future fossil and climbed up and out the fence down by the abandoned-by-tourists plastic mastadons and jogged unopposed toward the far-distant parked car. I called from my phone to Cecily's phone and gave her my location, and she was able to reunite with me without incident or suspicion or delay. The end. Just another day in the life of a loose cannon, I guess. Call me nuts, ok, but it sure beats life in the old folks home.