A Zero Point or Parking Ticket License:

I line up to parallel park on a street that I frequent for coffee with blinker flashing and reverse lights in gear.  The vehicle behind me is on my tail so I can't reverse into the spot and park.  I reverse a tad bit after idling for some minutes while more traffic lines up down the street behind the vehicle in my rear view.

The driver of the vehicle behind me pulls out and flips me the finger through her passenger window as she crosses the double yellow around my vehicle.  Some ten vehicles that were behind the vehicle in my rear view who flips me off cross the double yellow to pass me who is trying to park.

It is not the first time that someone flips the finger at me while crossing the double yellow to go around my parking a vehicle on a street.

In SFO once upon a time, I am parking and a driver in a european make crosses the double yellow.  My driver side bumper nicks the passenger door of her vehicle.

The woman driver stops and calls police when I tell her that police in SFO will not write a report unless there is human injury.  Besides, she crosses the double yellow to drive around me while I am parking with signals and reverse lights in gear.

Police show up and tell her what I tell her about police in SFO not filing reports for "ding-a-lings."

Another time in SFO, I cross the double yellow to drive around a rail car and a policewoman pulls me over issuing me a ticket for a moving violation.  I go to traffic school, as is also the law (to go to traffic school) in California: but, not here.

I notice that most drivers here cross double yellow lines to drive around a parking vehicle.  An exception is emergency vehicles, which I notice stop and wait for idling vehicles with signals to park instead of crossing a double yellow.

I have yet to notice an emergency vehicle here stopping traffic for a driver who crosses a double yellow.  I notice tickets for jay walking and running red lights, but not for crossing a double yellow in an event where it can be avoided.

Next door to the coffee shop, there is a post office outside of which a big postal truck stops double parked morning and evening.  Drivers cross the double yellow to drive around the postal truck without flipping off the postal worker.  The same is true for beer trucks and other delivery drivers.

I have a "hurry up and wait" sticker on my bumper.  Is that irksome?  

Natural Selection:

My girlfriend and me are on a rope suspension bridge in a Zimbabwe crocodile park when I drop three leaves successively that I pick up off of the bridge boards onto a 25 foot crocodile's head amidst other adult crocodiles in a below, concrete pen.  The crocodiles are to be shipped off to Europe as handbags.

The crocodile under the bridge on whose head I drop the leaves lifts its head off of the concrete pool after the third leaf lands on its head and I say to my girlfriend "stand back" at the same time reaching for her right shoulder on the suspension bridge.

I stand at my girlfriend's left looking over the rail, reeling at the prospect of what the below crocodile is about to do.

The crocodile leaps up, arches its back, flexes its tail and a tooth or two in its enormous mouth catches in the chicken wire of the suspension bridge rail on which my girlfriend and me are standing ten feet above the below, concrete pen full of adult crocodiles.

We hustle off of the bridge when the bridge doesn't fall down into the below crocodile pen as the crocodile on whose head the leaves land hangs by it's teeth in the chicken wire rail before sliding back down into the concrete pool missing its catch.

In another part of the crocodile park after dropping leaves on an adult crocodile's head, baby crocodiles pile themselves in corners of concrete pens and scramble over walls onto grass where tourists are now running in different directions as several baby crocodiles try to escape.

African workers grab baby crocodiles by tails off the grass and hurl them back into concrete pens when my girlfriend and me leave the park.  We decide that it would be prudent to leave.

My girlfriend and me are sixteen years old at the time of the crocodile park visit in Victoria Falls. We board a shuttle by the front gate of the crocodile park and are sipping cold beer and eating crocodile meat over dinner at the five star Victoria Falls resort later that day relieved to not be a crocodile's lunch.

The Reason for My Life Everyday:

I am idling my vehicle outside of an in town, coffee shop that I have been frequenting for fifteen years drinking a coffee and three fire engines and an ambulance pull up on the block with lights flashing.

A cook at the restaurant across the street is standing in a doorway of the restaurant in the morning before the restaurant opens and I yell across the street to him amidst the cacophony of traffic inching by parked emergency vehicles and ten firefighters congregating on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop over what ends up being a supposed gas leak, according to a sign on the coffee shop door to not smoke because of a potential gas leak.

"Don't touch Mike!" I yell out of my open driver side window.

Mike, the cook at the restaurant across the street, smiles and nods his head at the inside joke I yell to him over a time I eat at the restaurant and then poke Mike in his pot belly as a friendly gesture when he says "don't touch Mike!"

"This is more action than we've seen in ten years," I yell at Mike.

Mike nods again.

Another pedestrian jaywalking from the side of the street on which I am parked idling my vehicle drinking a coffee in heat on a cold day outside turns when he hears me yell across the street to Mike, the cook.

"What the fuck did you say to me, mother fucker!?" the pedestrian yells at me with ten firemen surrounding my vehicle on the sidewalk turning around to see who is yelling.

"I'm not talking to you.  I'm talking to him," I yell back pointing at Mike, the cook, smoking a cigarette in the doorway of the restaurant across the street and a few paces from the pedestrian now on the sidewalk across the street.

The pedestrian yells another epithet at me that is inaudible to me sitting in my vehicle and looks back at me in my vehicle a couple of times as if he is going to start a fight with me by traversing the street to me and ten firefighters holding axes and crow bars.

Mike shakes his head looking once at the pedestrian traversing the street to near where Mike stands in front of the restaurant vestibule, then enters the restaurant's glass door while the pedestrian walks off down the block ignored by myself as he is about to escalate what I have lived for all of my life and is the reason for my life: to wake up just this morning and be called a "mother fucker" for no reason at all.

A Story About How I Met My Wife:

I am at the urologist for that particular side effect with my gf at the time who is to give me a ride home after the incision.  My gf happens to have the same last name as the doctor who is to perform the fifteen minute surgery.

Well, the nurse behind the glass makes a comment to the doctor awaiting papers for me, the doctor's next patient.  I think that another old couple in the waiting room overhears the nurse because the old couple man's wife holds up a magazine and reads aloud in the waiting room:

"A 98 year old was to marry a 68 year old and when the 98 year old man was asked what he thought about marrying a woman 30 years younger: the 98 year old says ... "yes, I'd love a sandwich."

I don't end up getting the vasectomy that day because I had taken aspirin and wore my briefs into the office before the surgery.  My gf at that time gives me a ride home.  I end up getting the surgery at a later date, but I have no one but a waiting taxi to give me a ride home after I cheat on the gf with the same last name as the urologist.

I am now married to the woman with whom I cheat on the gf who takes me to the urologist the first time.  I try to get them into a cat fight when they are both in my apartment at the same time, but both of them keep saying that one or the other would have to leave.

So, I figure: it's better to keep one woman if I can't have two and take one outside for a ride to get weed while I tell the other to stay at the apartment until we get back.  I tell them that we'll smoke.  Needless to say, the gf that takes me to the urologist is not at the apartment when I arrive back with the present woman I now call wife.

Queen Elizabeth II Memories:

I remember the first sauna that I ever experienced.  

The sauna is on the QE2 in 1980 sailing from New York Harbor to Southampton, England where I am to enroll in English boarding school for two years before moving to New York in 1983 having lived in Africa for the first eight years of my life.

On the QE2 entering into a men's room from swimming in a heated, on-deck, outdoor pool, my dad and I stand naked after showers in a brightly lit locker room when my dad beckons me through a wooden door into a dimly lit room with benches.  

I sit on a bench where my dad indicates to sit in the middle of three tiered benches along the back wall of the wood panel sauna lit by light through a window of the door to the locker room.

My dad reaches on the wall beside the door for a ladle and spoons water from a bucket on the wood-slat floor of the sauna.  He pours the ladled water onto an electric burner with hot rocks which steams and scares me to run out of the sauna thinking that it would burn.

At another time during the five day journey across the Atlantic, I venture out of a port door onto deck and the wind slams the port door behind me so that I cannot open it against the wind across the North Atlantic from the Northeast.

Thinking quickly dressed in a blazer, slacks and tie during the night life scene time on board, I grab the rail three steps from the portal door that I exit and pull myself along the rail to the next portal door which I know opens in the direction of the wind.

Pulling myself along the deck holding onto the rail of the deck on the QE2, I feel the wind lifting the lapels of my blazer and I fear that I might be blown overboard.  

I venture the 30 feet to the next portal door, let go of the rail deck side and reach for the handle on the portal door that I pull myself towards for fear of being blown overboard in a strong wind, open the door and I enter the ship's casino where I meander through adults back to my family's berth on a lower level of the ship.

I remember a few other things about the QE2 trip that I take with my dad, mom and brother in 1980, but nothing worth mentioning other than I find the children's play groups to be terribly droll and remember thinking to myself that I want to leave the group.

I have never liked papier maché.

Laying on Richard Puller's Salves (ThatHapped):

(AP) - Scientists can now confirm the identity of "Jesus." Scientists confirm records of a birth indicate one person who is the "Jesus" foretold to return to the earth by "-tt-."

It is theorised that the "Jesus" walks among us in 2014 and has since his "Second Coming," as prophesied in another confirmed "Virgin Birth" circa 1969 to a woman by the name of "Anita Job" who is last known to have lived in the Queens section of NYC employed as a maid.

Anita Job gives birth to her son whom she names "Richard" after her employer where she lived in the crawl space of a Mr. Dick Puller's town home in Queens.  Mr. Dick Puller denies all paternal responsibility saying to doctors that his maid of ten years never knew himself or another man and thus: "it is a virgin birth."

Doctors at the birth confirm the fact that Anita Job never knew a man before the birth and that birth documents show probes to her vaginal cavity, pap smears and the fact that Anita Job's hymen is in tact except for where her grown, birthed son leaves traces of his seed deposit identified as the same DNA as that of the "Jesus" ossuary discovered by archeologists.

Health staff are aghast at the sight of a bearded, grown man emerging from a vaginal cavity that the birth is kept a secret within the medical community until outside scientists divulge documentation of the birth through the Freedom of Placenta Act in 2014.

Scientists now theorise that the "Jesus" of the "1969 Virgin Birth" to "Anita Job" in Queens actually calls himself "Richard Puller" and lives in the SFO Area working as a maid cleaning toilets and offering healing services to others in the way of salves: collections of his fap and feces samples in a jar saying "it is good for what ails you.  Be blessed, my child!"

Scientists also have evidence Richard Puller's salves miraculously heal meth addict extremities from sores and yellow teeth so DNA testing is performed on a salve that one meth addict by the name of "Judas Priest" is found with in his pockets by police near a Motel 6.

Richard Puller's magically healing salves that scientists confirm "is good for what ails a meth addict" and his soap box on Sundays ordering "heathens" in Opfo to church is thought by scientists and himself to be "Jesus Like" and thus: Richard Puller is "the Incarnate" prophesied of old in liturgy.