As the title which most likely has lead you here states, today, February 9th, I raced a celebrity as I was cruising home from class. It started off like any other day; I slept through my Business class only waking periodically to check my watch, followed by me wading through the acres of rice that plaques this school to get to my car. If I had a dollar for every time I wanted to stab myself in the face with a shoehorn at the sight of some pile of bad taste that someone calls their "car" then well, I would have several dollars which I would probably use to buy more shoehorns. I get to my car and slink through the parking lot to the stop sign that leads to the main road when I see it: An older Viper GTS with two guys in it. "Cool", I thought to myself as I zipped my pants back up and kicked the crossing guard out of the passenger seat. I pull out into traffic and give chase. I catch up to the solemn Viper and look into the driver's eyes.
Ever since I was small I have had a recurring dream, and in this dream I am walking down a beach. On this beach there is a lamp, and as is standard practice for when you find a lamp, I pick it up and rub it. The lamp begins to tremble and shake, as lamps do, and I am confronted by a magnificent genie that allows me one, and only one wish. I bow before the genie and tell him that what I want more than anything else, more than world peace, more than the cure for AIDS, more even than the abolishment of hunger worldwide is the chance to meet David Duchovny. Yes, the actor from the X-Files. Well friends, it seems the genie took enough time out of his busy schedule of spying in girls' highschool bathrooms to grant me my wish.
In the Viper next to me is David Duchovny and a male passenger, which I can only guess is his gay lover. We lock eyes for a moment before he speaks: "Nice car". David Duchovny just told me I have a nice car. I return praise and before I have time to finish David hits the thottle and is gone. Hell yes. I arm my nitrous that I installed earlier this week and give chase. I catch up to them at a light where I had to struggle for position next to Big D (the nickname I decided to give him since we are on speaking terms now). He signals that it's a go and I give a crooked but fierce smile. The light turns and we both take it easy in first at first, but I drop the hammer once I'm rolling because I'm on drag radials. I get about 1/2 a car on him before we shift to 2nd and he starts to pull me again. I spray and stop his pull a little bit but he is still there behind me, like a spectre of what good television used to be, right on my tail. We shift to third and I wind it out a little bit before I let off, with him a nose a front. His car seems to be glowing, it's like the car God would drive if he were David Duchovny. I pull up next to him and he motions for me to pull into the next gas station to talk.
Incredible, I just raced an obscure celebrity and now he wants to talk to me. I secretly hope that it's not so he can ask to borrow $20. We pull in and him and his passenger get out. His passenger doesn't walk over though, he just switches seats with David and is now in the driver's seat. David walks over with his right hand extended for a hand shake, I oblige. He asks how I'm doing and I return the formalities, to which he smiles and brings the tire iron he was hiding behind his back over my head and bludgeons me with it. I feel no pain, it was too abrupt to harbor any reaction, that is, until the second hit came. He cracks me across the face and I go down and out, for how long I don't know. I awake to the sensation of spindly fingers all over my body. It's David, he's searching for my keys. I lock eyes with him again, I see the hate in his eyes. Hate for me or the entertainment industry that forgot about him I don't know, but all I remember thinking was "Goddamnit David Duchovny, God damnit" as he aimed his pistol at my head and drove away in my car, with the Viper close behind.
Ever since I was small I have had a recurring dream, and in this dream I am walking down a beach. On this beach there is a lamp, and as is standard practice for when you find a lamp, I pick it up and rub it. The lamp begins to tremble and shake, as lamps do, and I am confronted by a magnificent genie that allows me one, and only one wish. I bow before the genie and tell him that what I want more than anything else, more than world peace, more than the cure for AIDS, more even than the abolishment of hunger worldwide is the chance to meet David Duchovny. Yes, the actor from the X-Files. Well friends, it seems the genie took enough time out of his busy schedule of spying in girls' highschool bathrooms to grant me my wish.
In the Viper next to me is David Duchovny and a male passenger, which I can only guess is his gay lover. We lock eyes for a moment before he speaks: "Nice car". David Duchovny just told me I have a nice car. I return praise and before I have time to finish David hits the thottle and is gone. Hell yes. I arm my nitrous that I installed earlier this week and give chase. I catch up to them at a light where I had to struggle for position next to Big D (the nickname I decided to give him since we are on speaking terms now). He signals that it's a go and I give a crooked but fierce smile. The light turns and we both take it easy in first at first, but I drop the hammer once I'm rolling because I'm on drag radials. I get about 1/2 a car on him before we shift to 2nd and he starts to pull me again. I spray and stop his pull a little bit but he is still there behind me, like a spectre of what good television used to be, right on my tail. We shift to third and I wind it out a little bit before I let off, with him a nose a front. His car seems to be glowing, it's like the car God would drive if he were David Duchovny. I pull up next to him and he motions for me to pull into the next gas station to talk.
Incredible, I just raced an obscure celebrity and now he wants to talk to me. I secretly hope that it's not so he can ask to borrow $20. We pull in and him and his passenger get out. His passenger doesn't walk over though, he just switches seats with David and is now in the driver's seat. David walks over with his right hand extended for a hand shake, I oblige. He asks how I'm doing and I return the formalities, to which he smiles and brings the tire iron he was hiding behind his back over my head and bludgeons me with it. I feel no pain, it was too abrupt to harbor any reaction, that is, until the second hit came. He cracks me across the face and I go down and out, for how long I don't know. I awake to the sensation of spindly fingers all over my body. It's David, he's searching for my keys. I lock eyes with him again, I see the hate in his eyes. Hate for me or the entertainment industry that forgot about him I don't know, but all I remember thinking was "Goddamnit David Duchovny, God damnit" as he aimed his pistol at my head and drove away in my car, with the Viper close behind.
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