A Convicted Felon - I did NOT key Baxter!

   Last night, upon a very lonely walk home, I came under a very scary kind of feeling. That awkward, wish-I-had-eyes-in-the-back-of-my-head feeling. I felt like I was being followed. It wasn't a comfortable feeling.

   Like above, only less cartoony and more like possibly getting raped.

   I did what any safety-loving pedestrian at midnight would do; I began to walk faster. My peripherals were reacting crazily, keeping an eye out for suspicious movement or threatening persons. My vision had increased into a full one-hundred and ninety degree arc, giving me a fighting chance if anything were to try and jump at me. I kept my pace, feeling my already overworked and under-rested legs burn with the fast walk. Then, the sound came.

   Indeed, that was my first reaction. But replace adorable-ness with a near-miss bowel movement.

   The sound I heard was the usual sound one hears when walking; the light, seemingly non-threatening pitter-patter of footsteps and shoe soles. An in tandem clacking of someone at least twenty feet behind me. I kept my pace still and even tried to go faster. Who or whatever it was, it proved that it was determined to catch up to me.

   This is what I assumed my future would hold.

   Sure enough, the sound became clearer and clearer, and their presence more so. Then - a burst of noise! the sound of denim scratching on itself as legs moved the material back and forth rapidly. The air felt bothered as the person only three feet behind me makes a run towards me. I felt myself react, mostly on instinct. I threw my right arm out towards him, with my keys in between my knuckles in my left. He pounced, but so did I.

   Similar, but instead of adorable, more like two grown men about to hit pavement.

   The last breathes he utter easily were "hey ma-" as I was now on top of the man, my left hand wolverine style at his neck, the key between my knuckles gently poking at his throat.

   Kind of like this, only more key and less rape-looking.

    "Who are you?!" I yelled, inadvertently spitting on him. "What do you want from me?!"

    He obviously wasn't going to talk. I jabbed the key more in his throat, growling threateningly at him.

   "Are you Baxter? Did Ronnie send you? This is Bull! I told him I'll have his money for the horse in a week, the impatient bastard!"

   Baxter looked back at me, with what I assume was a 'I-am-pissing-myself' look.

   "You go tell Ronnie that if he doesn't get off my ass, he'll what's coming to him! For example!"

    I lifted my key-hand jabbed it at Baxter's chest, causing him to both bleed from a fairly deep cut and scream because of a fairly deep cut at the same time. From there, I picked myself up off of him, feeling proud of the excellent keying I had done, gently kicked him in the head as a sign to move along. I promptly made way to whichever couch I was sleeping on that night (being homeless and all).

   The next morning, I read in the newspaper that some Kyle person was attacked via key. Guess I didn't key Baxter.


   Stay tuned for next week's blog: Things I am Not - Not going to jail for assault.


(this is totally a work of fiction with a side order of truth.)