Sister #1 was hit by a drunk driver last night. Teen niece was in the car with her. Sister spent most of the night in the hospital and, after a healthy dose of morphine, was sent home where she slept, according to her, better than she has in years. Too bad it takes morphine to do that. Niece was examined and released. Both are “okay,” thank God, but I lectured them to monitor their health because injuries can lie dormant.
The car is pretty much totaled. She was turning left and Drunky turned right wide into their lane and slammed into them. He, coward that he is, took off but someone followed him home. The police were called and a small militia showed up. The car in the driveway was generously detailed with paint from Sister’s car. The police entered the home to search for him, but he was found cowering in the bushes, reeking of alcohol. As of this writing, he is in jail.
I got this news halfway to Washington, D.C., where we drove to visit relatives. I was so consumed with the revenge fantasy of splitting this guy’s head open with an axe that I missed a turn off and got on the wrong freeway.
The penalty for this crime is far too lenient. If you drive drunk, you a child molester. You are a murderer. You eviscerate puppies. I despise drunk drivers have NEVER had any sympathy for alcoholics.
Here’s an oldie but a goodie.
Alcoholism is not a disease and I resent it being treated as such. It’s an insult to people who are actually battling a disease. Labeling it as a disease makes it sound like something you could helplessly fall victim to. Something that couldn’t be avoided. Horseshit. You can’t quit cancer. You can’t quit leukemia. But you can sure as hell quit drinking. I’ve seen it done plenty of times.
I don’t know of too many diseases that will allow you to go out on a Saturday night, party your ass off and then drive head-on into a van full of kids. I’ve had alcoholics in my life and do you know what? They tend to be a bunch of big fucking babies. As soon as they stumble into a room, they have to be the center of attention and need to be indulged and mollycoddled and understood because, after all, the poor dear has a disease. If you love an alcoholic, get ready to suffer. And you will continue to suffer until he/she decides to do something about it (if ever). Or, conversely, you could leave them.
Ptuy. Fuck ‘em. Losers.