Looking Out The Window Essay, Research Paper Looking out the window, a sign on the side of the road reads, ?speed limit 25?. I think it should be much higher, but I suppose residents of the road want to get out of their driveways without being smashed by a speeding car. I look down at the dashboard, which is covered with beer cans (there?s no bottles because they always end up finding their way out the window and onto signs and other objects), various coins, and assortments of waste products.
Looking Out The Window Essay, Research Paper
Looking out the window, a sign on the side of the road reads, ?speed limit 25?. I think it should be much higher, but I suppose residents of the road want to get out of their driveways without being smashed by a speeding car. I look down at the dashboard, which is covered with beer cans (there?s no bottles because they always end up finding their way out the window and onto signs and other objects), various coins, and assortments of waste products. Directing my gaze away from the hideous sight of the trash, my eyes wander away and focus in on my speedometer. The pretty little numbers that encircle it go from 0 to 100. As my eyes wander, so does my mind. I think to myself, ?Why do speedometers go up to 100 if the highest speed limits are 55?? But I suppose that I put mine to use quite frequently, at the moment its pushing 85. Raising my eyes to look back at the road, I see a sharp right turn coming up very soon. As I come upon this drastic bend in the road, I stomp on the brakes while swiftly spinning the wheel clockwise. The tires squeal as the rear of the car slides into the opposite lane. I bring the back of the car to join in the lane that they both should be in. I continue down the long slab of asphalt that lies ahead of me. People on the side of the road point and stare as I thunder past them in my chariot. Quite a distance ahead, the traffic light at an intersection turns yellow; signaling to me to slow my automobile so that I will be able to stop once the light turns red. Bringing the auto to a complete halt, I admire the scenery around me. A blue Taurus, a green Jeep Cherokee, and an ugly 1975 Buick LaSabre are just a few of my fellow travelers of the road. The light flashes from red to green. I gently depress the gas pedal at first, but quick as a bolt of lighting, impatience gnaws at my sanity. After I?ve had about all I could take of this slow speed travel, I thrust my foot into the pedal, pushing it in as far as it will allow itself to be pushed. Cruising at a leisurely pace of 60 mph, and still accelerating, I peep the rear view mirror. Much to my dismay, I spy a white car with a row of red and blue lights atop of the roof. Behind the wheel is a large man in a blue uniform, with a cheap badge. Checking my speed once again, I come to the sudden realization that I?m traveling at about 70 mph on a 30 mph street with a pig (otherwise known as an officer of the law) behind my speeding car. Casually I try to lower my speed in the hopes that the pig hadn?t noticed I was going 40 miles above the speed limit. The chirp of sirens and the flash of colorful lights beckon me to the side of the road. I gently drift to the side of the road and come to a complete stop. The pig fiddles with himself in the car for a bit and then finally opens the door, actually he just cracks the door open a bit. He finally opens the door completely, and steps out. As he does this I take my good friend, mr. .45, and place him behind my back. Just in case officer dunkin mocha wants to cause trouble. After he closes his door, he pulls up his pant and adjusts his belt. He begins the walk to my car at the speed of a rolling donut, as if he were chasing after a Boston cr?me that had fallen from his clumsy hand. Looking into my mirror, I realize that there was a morning snack he was chasing, but it was cruller. The cruller had toppled onto its side right beside my door, and as the pig arrived next to my window, he bent down to pick it up. Thankfully he was facing me when he did. Bringing himself to an upright position, he taps my window with his nightstick. I slowly roll down my window until it will roll down no more. ?Good morning officer, what seems to be the trouble on this wonderful weekday morning?? is the words that come sarcastically from my mouth. He notices the sarcasm, for ominous gray clouds hover above in the gloomy sky. He replies in a very annoyed voice, ?license and registration.? ?What,? I speak aloud in a fake surprised voice, ?no please? Where are your manners, Pops?? ?Gosh darn it you little punk, just do what I say!? Slowly I reach behind my back, grazing mr. .45 as I reach into my back pocket for my driver?s license. I pull it out my license, but rather than give it to the pig, I look at it myself. ?Wow,? I exclaim aloud, ?this is an old picture, just look at that hair. My god, I?ll have to go change that picture, I look terrible!? ?Listen up you little sh*t, gimme your f*ckin license right now before I kick your sorry *ss into a little bloody piece of sh*t!? ?What does a bloody piece of sh*t look like?? I ask him as I hand over my license. Looking at it himself he says, ?You?re right you do look like sh*t,? ?I still look better than you.? A low rumbling ?grrrr? is the defeated reply from the round man outside the driver?s side window of my car. After looking briefly at my license he throws it back at me, and asks in an attempted tough sounding voice, ?Do you know why I pulled you over?? ?No officer, I haven?t the slightest idea of why you decided to delay me on my way to work. Mind informing me why I?m sitting here on the side of the road doing absolutely nothing?? ?I pulled you over because your stupid *ss left your turn signal going.? ?And you pulled me over for that? What a waste of my time. If you don?t mind I?ll be leaving now.? ?No, you won?t I didn?t say you could leave.? ?Ok? whatever? ?now get your punk ass outta here now, I?m sick of looking at you.? Rolling up my window and turning up some music, I turn the key that has been waiting eagerly in the ignition. The engine roars, and I shift into first gear. Then I apply pressure to the gas pedal, and pull away real smoothly. I reach behind my aching back and take mr. .45 and put him back to where I usually keep him. Continuing on my way, I think about how much I hate cops, especially small town cops. I have no respect for them, most are pricks and they don?t really do anything. The majority of small towns don?t have any serious crimes. So the cops just go around heckling people for stupid *censored*, like I just was pulled over for. City cops are a different story; they actually have a real job. The city cops actually have to deal with serious problems of crime and protecting the safety of the citizens of the city that they work for. I could have gone on thinking about cops but I was almost at work, so I decided to think of something else. Something happier, something pleasant, something that would make me seem friendlier to the people around me at my place of work. And you may ask, where do I work? At the local garage and gas station, the Hess on the corner of Brandon Boulevard and Moni street, that is where I earn my money to pay my bills and other various expenses (you?ll learn about these later). I pull into a parking space around the back of the Hess, in the space I usually park in. I lock all the doors to my car and put anything that might appear to be of value, slightly out of paranoia but more out of habit. After doing this I pull out a stick of gum from the pack of doublemint in my pocket. After I finish it, I open my door and step outside into the cool air of the morning. A thin fog has begun to settle over the area, the forecast said it was going to get worse. I actually like fog, it is mysterious and you never know what is waiting just beyond what you can see, it might be good it might not. It?s just so great to walk through the fog and feel the thick mist on your skin. I think it?s the greatest feeling when you the air is almost a substance and leaves you wet after walking through it. It wasn?t like that yet, but I hoped it would get like that. I walk up to the door to the building with the big green Hess sign. I pull the door open and step inside. It was a small rectangular room with a wall of glass in front and on the sides. There wasn?t much space needed inside because all that was sold inside was soda, some snack foods, and tobacco products and accessories. After standing in the doorway admiring the small cozy area that surrounds me, I walk over to the desk on the opposing side of the room and plop a squat on the soft cushioned office chair. I reach into the one of the drawers of the desk and pull out a magazine to read, because for the time being no one is at the station to be waited on. The magazine is one of my favorites, its called Thrasher It has a lot of stupid articles that gives the magazine character and style, which is why I read it. Most of the day goes by mostly uneventfully. Shortly after I came into work, another employee showed up to help me with the scores of annoy customers who often come to the station to fill up their cars. Every now and then a car would pull in and I would have to get up and go pump their gas. Only a handful of customers came into the building to buy something. At about 6 p.m., I finally got off work. I walk out of the store and around to my car. The people filling in for me were out front taking care of a couple of customers. I walked out back. I stand outside the driver side door for a few moments in the dense fog. The fog had gotten worse as the weather forecast had said it would. The fog was so thick that I could barely see my hand a few feet away from my face. I think of what I?m gonna do for the night, and then the thought flashed into my head. I was thirsty. I stroll back around the building to the front door. The reason for my doing so was because I wanted to get me a frosty beverage from the fridge. I schnag a 20 oz bottle of yellow 5 (otherwise known as Mountain Dew) from the icy grasp of the metal white shelf that it had so peacefully rested upon just moments before I came along. I toss a crisp dollar bill onto the top of the desk to pay the expense of my purchase. After buying my drink, I promptly exit in an orderly fashion. I proceed to my car and open the door, tossing my sody-pop into the car, followed by myself. I stab the ignition with the key and turn it to start the car. I pull away from the gas station, and start off down Moni Street. Where I was headed now was to my house on Haley court. I open the bottle of Mountain Dew and take a swig, a rather large swig. After cruising along Moni Street for about 10 minutes, a stoplight appears from within the mist. Seeing no one coming from any direction, I turn off of Moni Street onto Haley court. It is now that I begin to start feeling a bit odd; particularly weird was the strange things that I kept seeing. Things around me were beginning to seem warped and far away. Not taking much notice of this at first, I continue down the road until the familiar sign of the packy bursts through the fog. I slow down my car to turn into the parking lot. It is now that I become very aware of not seeing things right. Trails appear behind my hands as I move them, my heart is racing. I don?t know what is happening to me. Freaking out more than before, I look out the windshield and a huge blue bear is sitting about 10 feet away from the front of my car licking a street sign that says, ?do not enter?. In a panicky fashion, I turn on the car and pull away from the strange mammal. But as soon as the engine purred to life, so did the bear. It begins rushing towards me; I swing the car so that I back into the street, barely missing a BMW that was driving by. The bear turns and runs towards me once again. I press the gas very hard and speed away, but the bear continues pursuing me. I continue accelerating as fast as my car will allow; the bear is keeping up, even though I?m going 65. The bear bares his oblivious teeth as he stomps a car in his pursuit of your humble narrator. I speed down the road, everything becoming nothing very quickly. Buildings emerge from and melt back into the fog, and the bear still follows. After a while of driving at 95 mph, the bear fades away into the gray blackness of the foggy night. But still I continue driving fast, because the bear might still be following me. Out from within the fog appears a big rock in the middle of the road. I smash into the large stony blockage in the road. I get out of my car, not knowing why. I stand looking at the rock in the road, and suddenly it opens up. And would you believe what came out of the rock, an immense guava snake reared up and starts hissing at me. I run into my car and grab a flare gun from the back of my car. Rushing back around to meet the menacing beast, I point the flare gun at the reptilian monstrosity that stands before me. After squeezing the trigger of the flare gun, a streaming sphere of sparkling sapphire light shoots from the gun and bursts into the creature. Collapsing after receiving such a blow as was delivered, it lay on the ground gasping and struggling to survive. Fearing that it might rise again and bring harm to me, I reach for mr. .45, good old mr. .45 who was always there for me when I needed him. I aim the gun in the general direction of the hideously beautiful snake, and fire repeatedly at it. After getting pounded with at least 7 bullets, the physique of the animal lay still and bleeding a thick fluid that looked like blood, except that it isn?t red like its supposed to be. Instead it is a nauseating swirl of all the colors imaginable, swirling towards the infinite nothingness of some strange void. By now all has become nonsensical, and soon scary hobgoblins surround me and stare at the body of the snake. A few of them start towards me, so I raise my gun and shoot them. Two more dressed in uniform charge me, I lift my gun and they lift theirs. One of the hobbier hobgoblins in uniform grunts something to the other, and he shoots me. The bullet tears through the flesh of my arm, but I don?t feel it, I only see it. I look back up as they fire again, this time through my hand. I shoot back at the evil beings, but miss. I slowly being pulled down into the ground and then all fades to black?. When I finally come to, I?m in a hospital room hooked up to all sorts of wires and monitors. I raise my arm and see a large chunk of flesh missing and on my other arm there is a hole in my hand. My arm is fine and my hand works the way it should, but I am generally feeling a bit weak. A young nurse walks into my room, and before she has a chance to say anything I ask, ?What happened to me?? She replies with, ?You have been unconscious for a week. You were shot by two police officers, that is why you have a hole in your hand and that wound in your arm…? She goes on to explain to me that I had crashed into a chartreuse Kia Sephia (it?s a crappy Japanese wanna-be jeep) and that I shot the man who got out of the car. I had also shot a few people who had come to see what had happened. Then the police had shot me, and I had fallen unconscious. After searching my car, they found an opened bottle of Mountain Dew. But the opened and partially empty bottle of Mountain Jew that had been partially consumer by myself before this whole strange ordeal had taken place didn?t solve the mystery of what happened. They had tested the drink for any possible substances that might have caused me to do what I had done. And amazingly enough, they had found that the drink contained a significantly large amount of Lysergic Acid Diethylamide (otherwise known as LSD or acid). This extremely powerful hallucinogenic drug is what caused me to see what I thought I saw but didn?t actually see. In a couple of days, I was taken to court over the deaths of the people I had shot. I was not hit with anything serious because of the drugs found in the drink I had purchased without the knowledge that it contained such a drug in such an amount. After this trial, I went on to sue Mountain Dew for having LSD in the bottle of soda that I drank. Which cost the lives of innocent bystanders, a man involved in an accident caused by the LSD, a few cars, and scars, both physical and psychological, that have been left on me by this tragic and unsettling occurrence. I won the trial against Mountain Dew, and still reap the benefits of the money I have received in return for having suffered through that experience.
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