Crazy Wacky Driving Drive Drive Guy Story with the Driving and the Wacky and the Hey Hey

It was lovely, lovely day yesterday. Man, was it nice. It was so nice that I decided to throw a tape in the VCR, record my stories (L.A. freeway chases) for the day, and hit the road.

As I'm driving around the hills of Hollywood, a sign by the side of the road catches my eye. It was a Stop sign, and so I did. The next sign I saw, though, was a little more intriguing to me; that sign said, "Caution: Deer Crossing." Now, I'm a modern man living in the cradle of civilization, I'm smart enough to know certain things, and one of those things is that there are no deer running around in Los Angeles. Starlets whacked out on goofballs, maybe, but no deer.

Or so I thought. I say that because, as I follow the bend in the road, I look up to see a deer. That damn deer.

Many things popped into my head in the second after I saw that deer in the midle of the road. One thing was that since "deer" is both singular and plural, that sign may be referring to just this deer, and not a whole herd. Because like I said, there are no deer running around in Los Angeles. The next thing to cross my mind was, "What the Hell do I do now?"

I have since learned that the best method for getting a deer out of the path of your car is to flash your lights and hold down your horn. As we all know, a deer gets caught up staring at the headlights, and doesn't move. The flashing breaks the hypnotic spell. However, what the creator of that plan failed to realize, is that while a deer is frozen staring into the headlights, the driver is frozen staring at the deer. Which I was... that is, until I hit that miserable bastard.

So I slam on the brakes, stop the car and say, "Well, I hope the car's not damaged." I undo the seatbelt and say, "Well, I hope the car's not damaged." I step out of the car and my tune changes instantly: "Damn, I hope that deer's dead!" Because what if I just nicked it? It'll be snorting around, going, "Alright, Chico, you want a piece of me? I'm standing right here, pally boy!" Or even worse, what if he's just lying there spitting up blood and suffering. You know, this isn't like a fly where you roll up a newspaper and swat it once to kill it. This is a half-ton mammal... I'd have to hit it 200 times easy just to stun. And besides, I didn't have a newspaper, and I'd be damned if I was going t roll up a mint-condition Green Hornet issue 14 (the only paper product in the car). Lucky for me, the deer was dead. Unlucky for him, but lucky for me.

So now what to do? I had no clue. I had nothing to bury it with, so that was out. I figured I should say a few words, a eulogy of sorts, but what to say was a different story. "Hey, dumbass, wish you didn't spaz out in the middle of the road?" "Oops, sorry I know how to drive?" I figured neither of those would do. So, I took a deep breath and said the one thing that made sense, considering where we were. "Forget it, deer, it's Chinatown."

Now I'm thinking I'm in the clear, but I'm not, becuase out of nowhere, like the Children of the freakin' Corn, a group of kids appear. And these are no ordinary kids, no sirree, Bob. These are hysterical kids, crying at the top of their lungs about the dead deer that lay in front of them. Half of these kids were crying and screaming that I killed Bambi. The other half were of the opinion that I killed Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. I figured I had to say something, so I called the kids to me, I pointed them toward the deer, and we shared a moment of silence for the deer. Then I told them it was Rudolph, because of its blood-red nose.

Well, that got half the kids to quit crying, but it didn't help the noise situation, because the other half started crying twice as loud. Like that would bring Rudolph back to life. Morons. But, whenever a group of kids start crying, a crowd starts to gather. I decided to make my getaway.

I got to my car, and tried to start the car, but as luck would have it, I left my keys on the deer carcass. Why I put them there, I'll never know. After a hurried minute of trying to hotwire my car with a copy of Run-D.M.C.'s "Tougher Than Leather," I went back to get the keys. That's when I saw the cop.

Now, the policeman was trying to find out what was going on, so I started pointing at the biggest kid around, saying he was the one driving and hit the deer. Of course, crying kids pointing at "the bad man" can be very persuasive, so the cop came to me and started asking questions.

"Is this your car?" Yes, officer.

"Have you been drinking?" No, I have not.

"Are you currently using any medication that may hinder your driving abilities?" No, I am not.

"Sir, why are you driving through a petting zoo?"

Sometimes it seems like there's no right answer.