On Purpose

Wednesday

Dear Stacy Garcia's Diary,

Today was an ace day. Woke up extra early and managed to liberate a cherry 89 Nissan Civic from the slums of Calabasas. I tell ya, best car to come out of Dayton, Ohio since the Mitsubishi A6M Zero. After my lucky find, I freshened up at my local Target; they've got all the soap I could need, and it really cuts down on my water bill. I was gonna take a trip over to Santa Monica, the desert air there always helps with my halitosis, when I saw her.

She was driving this cute little Excursion in the lane next to me on the eastbound 405, singing to no one in particular while hiding behind a pair of sunglasses 3 sizes too big for her face. I had to get to know her, and I did so in my usual way. I got in her lane behind her, and waited until we hit traffic. Hitting traffic is the only thing you can rely on in Los Angeles, apart from Communist Raids and the Government Food Drops. Once we slowed down, I gently tapped her rear bumper; as softly as a scorpion kisses her newborn young. We both pulled to the side of the road, it was time to make a new friend.

She was all kinds of excited to meet me. Kept going on about how she "only had a permit", that the car was for her "sweet-sixteen", and how her mom and dad are "going to kill her when they get back" Apparently, I wasn't the only one being naughty on the 405. I told her not to worry, that it was "only a minor accident." that "there was no need to get insurance involved." You know, the standard crap you say when you're trying to pick up women. All I needed was her "information" so I could cut her a check. Of course I didn't have my check book, what kind of nut carries those around? She gave me her name, address, and telephone number. It was a date!

After a day filled with executive reports and business meetings, I visited Stacy in the early evening. Just as I thought, she was living in a four-story mansion in Winnetka. She was probably trying to score drugs in a  Bel Air project when I hit her car, what a stuck-up little bitch! I walked up to her front door and let myself in, rich people never lock their doors. It was a nice place; hardwood flooring, pool table, gun locker, indoor pool, nativity scene, bowling alley, hair salon, car dealership, Chinese foot massage, library, underground garage, public storage, amphitheater, carrousel, dome, launch pad, mausoleum, brass throne... Living here, no wonder Stacy grew up to be a fine, upstanding 14 year-old.

She was even more excited to see me this time, and boy, was she shouting. Jumping up and down, talking about calling the cops. I used the tire iron from the Nissan to help quiet her down some, and shut up that godawful music of hers. Seriously, you think giving a guy your number is crazy? Stacy lay on the bed, eyes wide open and shaking like a leaf. I caressed her head and told her that everything would be alright, that I was there to help her, that everything would be alright, and  I'd be right back. I went down stairs and grabbed a knife from the kitchen, it looked kinda funny, but I figured it would do the job. Would you believe that I caught her trying to sneak out the window? Silly girl, with a head wound like that, she was in no condition to sneak around. I used the tire iron to calm her down some more.

I used the knife to cut Stacy open. She whimpered a little and made a mess on her bed, but didn't complain, what a trooper. From her I took 3 hearts, 1 lung, 17 spleens, 5 ovaries, 2 brains, a sense of satisfaction, and 3 arms; the stuff would make for a hell of a BBQ. Why are they loading kids up with all of these extra parts nowadays? She's laying on the bed next to me as I'm writing this. She doesn't look too good, but I'm sure she'll be fine once the bleeding stops and her breathing starts. Anyway, I'll be taking this diary as a memento of our date. I don't have permission, but I'm sure Stacy won't mind. Anyway, I've got to get out of here and catch the fireworks tonight. It is, after all, It's Guy Fawkes Day here in the U-S of A! I'll be taking Stacy with me, I'll even let her ride in the passenger seat of the Nissan! Just waiting for her to get out of the bathroom. Anyway, until next time, diary!

Love

Your Typical Los Angeles Commuter