...ta ta ta ra ra manah manah..ta ta ta ta...manah manah'....
I'm on my way home, I pass by the giant "Mc Flurry", I'm listening to Beck's "Guero" CD..all is good, I'm on time...I've just got this gigantic cough that's killing me, but I'll be home early...

::tires screeching and a HUGE BAAAAAAANG!!!!!!!!::<

Quarters go flying, I jolt in my chair. I have no idea what just happened. It takes me a few seconds to realize, that I have been hit from behind. My car, you sick people. Someone has just crashed into me.

I look in my rearview, I'm shaken, I see that the lil' drawer where I keep my change and flung open and my change has splattered everywhere, and I can only think of two things:

1. My van is totaled
2. I'm gonna kill this muthafucker for driving so close.

I get out. The guy, yes it's a guy, gets out. He smiles. Don't smile you ass. And get this, he says:

"I'm so sorry. I'm in a rush to pick up my grandkids. I'm late".
My answer:
"Well look what your rush has done. We are all stuck in traffic. We all wanna get to our destinations in one piece".

I go around to take a look at my "Death Van".
Nada. Zip. Zero.
Death Van is A-OK. Not a scratch even.

I guess I'm getting a hang of this Jesus-robe-hanging-bit.
I tell him to be a little more careful and I go home.
Not without having to control my nerves and my heart and my headache and shaking hands all the rest of the way.

I pick up Miss C, I get home. I rush downstairs to tell my folks about my accident and as I walk in I stumble upon this:

My mom is resting her elbows on the kitchen counter, she is standing over the garbage bin with a stick in her hand, peering into the garbage bin.

I of course, cock an eyebrow and go:
"Err..umm...uhhh....hey?...what's with the garbage observation-project?"

"I'm on my second shift"

"Ok. You're second shift of Prozac? Zoloft? Valium? Second shift of what?"

"There is a Mickey Mouse in the garbage bin. Me and your dad sprayed "flea" on it and we've been takling turns watching over the bin so when it tries to get out, we can kill it".

"How much flea did you spray on it?"

"A lot".

"I don't think it will be crawling out anytime soon.."

My dad walks in...
"The Mickey Mouse? Sure it'll crawl out..and we'll kill it."

Ok. It's nice to see that they know that there is no "I" in team....and they can at least kill Mickey Mouse's together....