One second I was on my way to the post office to mail in the Stang extension request and the SubGenius tax payments, just turning the corner in my Honda onto a nice sleepy old residential street, admiring the sunny weather, and the next second I was looking at a big shiny pick-up truck heading straight at me at about 60 mph. It was definitely not supposed to be there, in that place, doing that.
When one is suddenly thrust into a SERIOUS CRISIS, the mind goes into hyper-paranoid mode, somehow revving up so fast that everything seems to be happening in slow motion. An amazing number of lightning fast calculations went through my head. There was a split second of cognitive dissonance as part of my brain refused to BELIEVE that this truck was going so fast, in the wrong lane, and heading straight at me. But the other half had already looked at the situation from every possible angle, and the inescapable conclusion was that there was NO WAY that I was NOT about to be hit by a truck going 60. The only question was, WHAT COULD I DO to turn a negative into a positive? Was there any way to be hit LESS FATALLY? And the sad answer to that was NO. I was about to have a head-on collision with this truck and if I came through this one, it'd be a MIRACLE. Then my mind had time not only to become resigned (!) but to even wonder if by some ironic twist, I had goofed up and was now going to DIE for it. Did I run a stop sign? No, I thought, HE has the stop sign. In fact, even if I wasn't in his path, that road he's on ENDS here and he's gonna crash into something no matter WHAT. Then I got just plan mad. My last thought before the collision was essentially, "SHIT! I just hope I don't end up in a wheelchair, all broken to pieces and paralyzed, just because of THIS STUPID DRUNKEN BASTARD." My life did NOT flash before my eyes.
Then I was in the nightmare zone, every part of my body seemingly being battered by every part of the car. Time was NOT running slowly anymore. THIS was happening VERY VERY FAST! I didn't have time to ponder about being dead or crippled. It didn't even HURT... it was too VIOLENT for PAIN to REGISTER.
I was conscious the whole time. My head was bouncing off things like a Super Ball but I don't think I was ever knocked out.
My car was spinning backwards, back into the road I'd been turning off of, and I could hear a loud crash somewhere behind me, and then another crash that had more "crunch" to it, and then everything was REAL QUIET and I was sitting there HURTING ALL OVER.
But I appeared to be still alive and in one piece. I was dazed and shaky, but immediately started trying to sift through the damage reports coming in from all corners of my body. I thought, "Just remember, you're a writer, you don't need legs... but do the HANDS WORK? Or is my NECK BROKEN!??!?" My arms worked... My neck felt like I'd been hit by a baseball bat on one side, but I could turn my head. My legs still had feeling... in fact my knee was killing me. But the scary part was my whole lower back. IT DIDN'T FEEL RIGHT. So I sat tight, remembering my ambulance technician training from 20 years ago, which was mainly, "DON'T drag the victim out of the car, thinking it's gonna blow up any second like in the movies, because you'll probably be FINISHING the job of breaking the poor sucker's neck."
I was ABSOLUTELY AMAZED that I wasn't DEAD. But even through the amazement and UNUTTERABLE RELIEF that I wasn't HIDEOUSLY MAIMED, one of the first thoughts that came to mind was, "Maybe I can get a new car out of this! Good thing I didn't tell 'em to install that $900 A.C. compressor yesterday..." (The Honda I was driving was in bad shape; I had just taken it to the shop to get a bad noise and burning smell fixed, and they had told me it would cost $1,500, at which point I said, "No, I need a second opinion.") My next thought was, "IS THERE ANYTHING IN THIS CAR I DON'T WANT TO BE CAUGHT WITH?" Of course, there wasn't, but you know how paranoid cops can make some people even when they haven't done anything wrong.
Witnesses came running up, asking if I was okay, telling me to stay put, 911 had been called... I was trying to just stay calm and make doubly sure that all my parts were intact. I kept thinking, "DON'T go into shock... merely sit here... that's it, tremble. Just don't freak out. MAINTAIN." But things might be worse than they seemed. INTERNAL BLEEDING? And where's my briefcase? Oh, on the floor... but I realized I couldn't SEE right. Everything was all blurry and ill-defined. I thought, "BRAIN DAMAGE! No wait... where's my GLASSES?" I put my hand to my face and realized I was no longer wearing them. They became a main concern. If I can't see right, I can't think right. They didn't seem to be anywhere in the car. A nice lady who had witnessed the whole thing spotted them about 10 yards away, in the middle of the road, with cars full of rubberneckers and gawkers crawling by, my specs within inches of their wheels. The lady rescued them and brought them to me. They were bent totally out of shape and scratched all to hell.
The ambulance and cops showed up real fast. They told me to sit tight and tried to open my door so they could check me out. It was stuck and they had to yank on it real hard. I looked back over my shoulder -- slowly and cautiously -- and saw that the rear door on the driver's side was punched in about 3 feet and the window was GONE. The car was a LOST CAUSE.
I staggered out and told the ambulance guys and cops that I seemed to be basically okay, but that my back, neck, and shoulders all hurt, and my head had been bumped around a lot. They all kept asking my name, address, date of birth, etc... I was thinking, "If I can answer these questions, maybe that means I don't have a concussion." (My son has TWICE gotten concussions that caused temporary amnesia.) The cops were about to WRITE ME A TICKET for having lapsed auto insurance, but I luckily had the updated "proof of insurance" (required by law, here) in my wallet. I started getting the severe shakes about this time. Too much adrenaline all at once has nasty side effects.
They asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital. I figured, if I'm damaged and might suffer permanent disabilities from this, which could get EXPENSIVE, I damn well better do this by the book. I was already thinking in terms of litigation and insurance. Plus, I didn't want to get back home and then find I was pissing blood. So I said yeah, take me to the hospital.
I asked what happened to the two guys in the truck that hit me. I figured they must be dead or badly injured. But after hitting me, the witnesses said, the truck crashed through a fence into a yard, and then into a house, and then they jumped out of the truck and RAN AWAY. The cops found a 40-ounce in the car... as well as PICTURES and IDs of the two idiots! So at least it wasn't a stolen truck, and they'd probably catch these two hit-and-run boys sooner or later. Leaving the scene of an accident, and failure to render aid, is a FELONY.
An ambulance guy strapped me to a board and put a neck brace on me, and they stuck me in the van. I was joking with the guy while he poked and prodded me . I told him my wife had been REAL SMART to make me help her plant those three trees an hour ago, because I didn't think I'd be much good for shovelling this week. When I laughed, however, I felt an ominous STITCH on the left side of my lower back. Like a broken rib maybe. He poked around back there and said it might well be a cracked rib. I was finding that it hurt a lot of exhale sharply or inhale big. That creeped me out. I had 'em phone my wife and tell her I was okay, but they were taking me to the hospital.
At the emergency room they kept me in the neck brace until they determined by X-rays that my neck wasn't broken. Then they scanned me all up and down my back, made me pee in a cup to see if there was blood in it, and gave me some muscle relaxer pills, and pain pills with codeine. I'm on those right now, so if this is written a little fuzzily, that's why. I did get a great big bump on my head, and massive bruises here and there, especially where the seat belt dug into my shoulder. But if I hadn't been wearing that seatbelt, I'd probably be a drooling vegetable now. I mean, I'd be drooling much more COPIOUSLY.
My wife and daughter picked me up and we stopped at the scene of the accident on the way home. My Honda had already been towed to the city pound. The people whose house had been hit were outside picking up pieces of fence, and we went over and talked to them. It seems that one of the miscreants, the one who hadn't been driving, had returned and talked to the cops. The truck belonged to his uncle, who had been driving, and had been drunk on 3 beers. The guy already had three D.W.I.s, and now he's a hit and run felon to boot. But he's easily findable, and the best thing of all, miracle of miracles, is that HE HAS INSURANCE, so I'm probably not out a car.
My lawyer thinks we can sue the bastard for some money, too. I'm inclined to do just that, since that bastard left me for dead and ran.
So I'm sitting here all tranked up and not even hurting, although everybody says tomorrow I'll feel like... well, like I've been hit by a truck. Had to cancel the Easter visit to my folks, but at least I can try again to catch up with alt.slack. Last night there were 800 posts when I started... I got it down to 450 but I'll bet there's a new 200 or so. I don't even want to think about the email. But I'm happy because McConville at SUNSite says my insane SubG Web Site Plan is just exactly what they were hoping for -- a whole lot of crazed ideas that are technically IMPOSSIBLE. But best of all, they actually ARE possible, using state-of-the-art Web "scripts" that only a few people know about yet. (Let me put it this way, McConville is writing an instructional book about Virtual Reality Markup Language. ) Their boss has ORDERED them to accomplish this thing, so that SUNSite can enter it in an Internet contest and blow the socks off all other advanced web designers.
I think the Church may have lucked out majorly.
There was an OMEN about these wondrous events yesterday, when I sat down to throw together the taxes. I had to look at both the Stang and SubGenius 1993 returns, which were not done at the same time. And I discovered a WEIRD COINCIDENCE that I had not noticed before.
You know how 273 is the SubGenius MAGIC NUMBER -- loaded with synchronicity, like 23 is for Discordians, only rarer? Well, in 1993, The SubGenius Foundation PAID $273 in taxes, while the Stang family GOT BACK $273 in overpayments.
So we know that all these things were MEANT TO BE. The Luck Plane SLANTED JUST RIGHT at the CRITICAL MOMENT to prevent Dobbs from having to pay interest to the IRS, due to his scibe-accountant being in a coma and not filing the corporate taxes on time. I am ALIVE TODAY only because it saved "Bob" about $30 in late filing fees.
PRAISE THAT MAN DOBBS!! HIS PROMISE RINGS TRUE
Rev. Ivan "The Unkillable" Rasputin-Romanov Stangovich
----------------------------------------------------------
Subject: Re: Staring the Reaper in the Face
From: jlyons@haven.ios.com (John)
Ivan Stang wrote:
: ((Follow-up from 4-18-95: My back still hurts. The idiot's insurance
: company hasn't called me yet. I'm going to rent a car anyway. The culprit's
: GIRLFRIEND keeps trying to call me and tell me how SORRY he is and would I
: please not press charges. EH EH EH. Yeah right, babe. I'll BET he's sorry
Hmmm....perhaps the two of you could come to an...ah...ORAL
agreement...
--
| John | If you'd like to make a call, |
| jlyons@haven.ios.com | please hang up and dial again. |
----------------------------------------------------------------------
From: ricky@usenet.nerdc.ufl.edu (Captain Midnight)
Ivan Stang (i.stang@metronet.com) wrote:
: When one is suddenly thrust into a SERIOUS CRISIS, the mind goes into
: hyper-paranoid mode,
Damn it, Stang! You were just about to be "embraced by the light"
and you ducked! Make the best of it. You just had a near death
experience and THAT should be worth A WHOLE BOOK. You were TOSSED
around in the Alien Wrath-Entitie's frying pan and Dobbs musta
scooped you out. Praise "Bob!"
So tell us. Is it true? Did you see the driver of the truck in
a flash -- that HIDEOUS GRIN -- that UNNATURAL GRIN -- that BAD
GRIN. Was it NHGH at the wheel? Is NHGH the the SubGenius Hermes?
(Hermes led the psyches of the Greeks down to Hades, you know...)
: one of the first
: thoughts that came to mind was, "Maybe I can get a new car out of this!
: Good thing I didn't tell 'em to install that $900 A.C. compressor
: yesterday..."
Now you're thinking like a SubGenius! Didn't you write something about
how a SubGenius reacts to getting a flat tire? The SubG notices that
it makes a REALLY COOL do-wop do-wop do-wop rhythm right in beat with
the music on the radio.
: My lawyer thinks we can sue the drunk for some money, too. I'm inclined to
: do just that, since that bastard left me for dead and ran.
Make HIM PAY. That ol' Po' Bucker aughter be RIDING A BICYCLE for the
rest of his life. DAMN. Don't let him come out after ME. I've seen
the type. They got the pickup truck and it's MADE IN AMERICA.
Check with NENSLO. He had to share a hot-tub (or a sauna or a sweat
lodge or a Turkish bath) with a pair of REACTIONARY ol' Redwood chopping
Poebuckers -- he suffered through listening to them TALK ABOUT TRUCKS.
: So we know that all these things were MEANT TO BE.
Yeah, they're in the SKOR alright. So, was all this what you
call the "Zen of Terror?"
.......................TEAR.ALONG.THE.DOTTED.LINE.......................
Epopt of the Exploding Head of JFK Licensed to blaspheme the Gods!
My skull is bigger on the inside than the outside!
Send $1 to SubGenius Foundation, P.O. Box 140306, Dallas TX 75214
----------------------------------------------------------------------
From: clavis@phantom.com (Grand Clavister)
Stang is my ShorDurPerSav for the next few minutes.
El Clavisto Grand-ay
(Who Just watched "Roger & Me" and is now full of piss and vinegar)
--
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
FOR A DI-RECTORY OF DEVICES, PRODUCTS AND SERVICES, SEND $1 to O.L.I.N.Y.K.,
P.O. BOX 2559, GRAND CENTRAL STATION, NEW YORK NY 10163-2559. SENDING ONE OR
MORE KEYS WILL MEAN MORE STUFF. A LARGE SASE WILL NET YOU SOME CRAP AS WELL.
THE GRAND CLAVISTER OF NYC IS THE FIRST G.C. OF THE CHURCH OF THE SUBGENIUS.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
From: mesmith@cris.com (Mark E. Smith)
In article <v02110105abb9503c524a@[192.245.137.197]>,
i.stang@metronet.com (Ivan Stang) wrote:
>
> My lawyer thinks we can sue the drunk for some money, too. I'm
> inclined to do just that, since that bastard left me for dead
> and ran. It could just as easily have been a pedestrian or a
> kid on a bike. It's probably time his life got ruined before he
> ruins somebody else's.
Now I'm going to get flashbacks, man. This may not make any
sense, or it may be embarrassingly obvious, but here goes.
I'm gonna tell you something you probably know already, based on
a similar experience I had in '82. If at all possible, DO NOT be
in a hurry to make a legal settlement. Not just because the case
will take a long time to worm its misbegotten way through the
system, although that is true.
Take your sweet time because, from what you've said, your
assailant has every gland he owns caught in the mother of all
wringers. He can feel things getting tighter already. His
representatives are going to start throwing lowball settlement
offers at you the way kids throw rocks at the mean neighborhood
dog -- just to get you out of their yard.
In my case, the whole thing took about two years, start to
finish. The final settlement was reached, not exactly out of
court, but in a tight huddle behind the judge's bench right
before court was to begin. Take your time; it's yours to take
now, not his.
One other thing. I never once laid eyes on the person in the
other car who caused my accident, but I did have the deep
satisfaction of hearing her scream in pain, one station over in
the emergency room, as we both had our wounds debrided of broken
glass. It warms my heart, I tell ya, to this very day.
Good luck, Rev'rend, and enjoy those pharmaceuticals while you
can.
--
Mark E. Smith <mesmith@cris.com>
Dodging nitwits for over a third of a century.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
From: subgstang1@aol.com (SubGStang1)
Subject: Re: Stang's Hard Day
Yeah, I was in a car wreck, but IT WAS MEANT TO BE, and THE OMENS ADD UP.
Firstly, the drunkenly-broadsiding idiot was fully insured. Two, I wasn't
hurt too badly; and I drive in an even more paranoid fashion now. Three,
three, three, today they declared my car "totalled," so, praise Dobbs,
they won't try to REPAIR it, but what's more:
The claim number assigned to it by the idiot's insurance company:
T-999070.
Well, I changed the last three numbers so as not to get jazzed by some
uberhacker, but the first three really were Dobbs's magic anti-antiChrist
number.
"It just doesn't stop," as Zoogz Rift told me today, after his server
ejected him for posting the prices for his INCREDIBLY BRILLIANT CDs and
TAPES, because "the Internet isn't for commercial purposes"... JESUS
FUCKING CHRIST. The Conspiracy? It is NOT a JOKE.
Don't flog me for using AOL for this post. I was only on it to make sure
that my Metronet posts were getting through to elsewhere, after all the
trouble we've been having. I don't mind spending $10 a month for that
safety cushion. Wouldn't EVER want to be cut off from my security blanket.
Although... if I dropped AOL and spent an extra $20 a month on Metronet, I
could have the vanity plates,
i.stang@subgenius.com.
But I'm JUST TOO CHEAP.
Hey... now that I think of it... you folks are all so nice to Nenslo when
he's broke ... is there ONE RICH GUY out there, JUST ONE MONIED DUPE, who
wants to spring me $400 for a memory upgrade so I can look at the Web
through Netscape instead of MacWeb, and use Photoshop and Pagemaker, and
all like that?
No?
Well, I didn't think so. I don't blame you. I wouldn't either. Obviously.
It's 'because I need to save up what few pennies we get in each week for
the PRINTED STARK FIST.
AW SHIT LET'S FACE IT, I MIGHT AS WELL ADMIT, WE REALLY NEED THAT
SUGAR-DADDY >NOW<!! I won't blow you, but Dobbs might. QUIT LURKING! SEND
THE MONEY! WE KNOW YOU'RE OUT THERE! I CAN PRACTICALLY "WHIFF" THE GREEN!
All the other cults have sugar-daddies. I know, I know, DOBBS is supposed
to be the big sugar-daddy here, but he's weirder than HOWARD HUGHES. He'll
okay half a million for hollow earth exploration, or for purchasing the
Brooklyn Bridge, but when you ask him to invest in his own fucking CHURCH,
he always acts like he never HEARD of it.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
From: sbjohnston@aol.com (SBJohnston)
Reverend Doktor S-bo's Paranoid Explanations for the Crash:
1. The Conspiracy will do anything to keep the Church tax finances in
trouble.
2. "Bob" broke his vow to never drive again (after he ran the motorcycle
into Snake River Canyon he said he was through).
3. The drunk driver was trying a new and somewhat creative way to try and
get free stuff from the Foundation.
4. The drunk driver couldn't see too well, the Pink shades he was wearing
were a bit too thick.
5. The drunk was a bit off-course, consulting a map while in motion, and
muttering "Where the hell is that damn DOKSTOK?"
---------------------------------------------------------
Steve The Reverend Doktor S-bo sbjohnston@aol.com
---------------------------------------------------------
"Shoot! A fella could have a pretty good weekend in
Dallas with all that stuff." Slim Pickens
---------------------------------------------------------
Original file name: Re Staring the Reaper in tÉ
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