The Universe and My Baby


In a funny way, the Universe has always been about not giving a damn.  When it had finally reached singularity, and all mass, energy, opinions and pet peeves had finally arrived at a single all-encompassing truth, the Universe promptly said “Screw it” and violently erupted the entirety of itself out in an ever expanding sort of fashion, not unlike The Sex Pistols decimation of their own stage, instruments and very selves, for honestly, no reason at all, other than, perhaps, to say “Fuck You” to no one in particular, and simultaneously, just about everyone that they could think of.  That said, the Universe could think of a great many more people, by magnitudes surpassing human cognition, and typically, not just human beings.


For instance, it was in a similar sort of fashion that the Universe said “Fuck You” to my first car yesterday evening.  I had been driving home from work at the University, as per usual, when it died very suddenly in the middle of the intersection of Broadway and 3rd and where it just so happened to be T-boned by a 4 ton truck carrying Christmas trees.  While I am sure that the Universe does not care for my well-being, I am certain that my car was the intended recipient of the alleged “Fuck You.”  While my car may have been a victim of your average “drive-by” “Fuck You” I firmly believe it was predominately out of spite.


You see, my car and the Universe had been acquainted for quite some time, long before, I assure you, I had become acquainted with my car.  The Universe has a way of bringing things together, and the things in question here happened to be myself and my Chrysler LeBaron Convertible.  She was a standard V6, ever sporting a white top, purred like a kitten and came from 1991 by way of Auburn Hills, Michigan.  Her name was Baby…


We met in the Summer of 2005 just after I graduated high school.  There’s an old saying, “Nobody puts Baby in the corner” I think Jefferson said that…  Anyhow, someone did.  Baby and The Universe had gotten into a fight years earlier and finally the Universe couldn’t take it, gave her driver a stroke and fortunately for Baby he made it off the road and to the hospital before it affected the remainder of his cognitive functions now.  A nice guy, says “cheeseburger” in place of most adverbs.  Baby was sitting the corner of the parking lot of his friend’s gas station and garage.  A guy named Kitten.  He was not a cat.  Don’t ask.


My father bought Baby for me, as a gift for surviving reform school.  Despite having been sitting in the corner for quite some time she rode terribly.  However, for the first time in my life I took care of something.  I took care of Baby.  I took her home and cleaned her up, put in a new clutch, and she just purred for me, I tell you, purred.  I tell ya, it was love, pure purring love as we explored the route 16 with the top down, blasting Kim Wilde’s “Kids in America” while the mountains and the trees looked on, jealous and well intentioned.


Well, The Universe would have none of this let me tell you, when The Universe makes a decision, it does not like things going against it.  Call it- Karma.  It may take awhile for what goes around to come back around, but I assure you it does, it has and it will continue to do.  Which is why you find me today in this very hospital bed, with every bone in my body broken and but my spirit unharmed.  Despite all this I find that the fact remains that I am indeed alive, while sadly Baby is quite dead, as a doornail might be had it been T-boned by a Mack truck, and therefore can extrapolate from this event that The Universe was not saying “Fuck You” to me, but merely everybody, and more specifically, my Ba…by…


The End.


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