Maybe you'll avoid parked cars in purgatory: Grandma's Story.

SO LISTEN. I’ve got a bone to pick with a Catholic.

I got my new car in October. She’s a red Jeep Cherokee with a tan leather interior, v8 engine, bunch of fancy woodgrain shit on the dashboard, and listen, she can flat get up and go. She does not waste time peeling out of red lights at Kingston Pike and leaving those other silly cars in the dust … just to slow down 20 yards ahead for next stop light or the slow poke Buick motherfucker all in the way. Based on this description alone, you’re probably thinking, “oh snap, this car is way nicer than Jen should drive. This is like a bonafied ADULT automobile .. I really see Jen in more of a like Ford Taurus circa 1998 or a volkswagon Golf circa any year volkswagon golf was made.” And you would be right. Can’t believe it myself, frankly. UNTIL around finals time (cue the very sad slow piano overture) … it was the saddest of all days. I was being super studious (procrastinating, per usual) at a quiet carrel in the library (coffee shop, down the street from the miserable library) when I went out to get some fresh air (smoke a cigarette, obviously). It was then that I saw it. Somebody had hit Grandma (that’s my car’s name, did I mention that?) right in the front bumper. I am not talking about some little bitty dent either, I am trying to tell you that they smacked her right in the mouth, fucked up the bumper big time, plastic all torn off and smashed up and SHIT IT PISSES ME OFF TO EVEN TYPE THIS. ok. (turn that piano music off, we’re done being pensive now.) I’m not real sure how many people have heard me bitch about this, but there was a handful of days when I was bitching up a storm to anybody who would listen. I’d be hollering about “my new caaaaaaarrr,” “somebody smacked her right in the mooouuuuuth and leeeeft. No note with a phone number, no note with a ‘kiss my ass’, no nothing.” This was obviously a BD (big deal). So (getting around to why I’m needing to bitch at a Catholic), I had no idea where grandma had been assaulted until my brother, who apparently moonlights as mcguyver/sherlock holmes, finds little bits of little parts of what used to be grandma’s mouth directly outside my mom’s house. NOW - my mom lives right across the street from (bring back that fucking piano, real loud this time) SAINT JOHN NEWMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH. That’s right, I parked my car outside my mom’s house, went inside to practice my FAMILY VALUES YOU CATHOLICS HOLLER ABOUT SO MUCH and all those Catholics are all massing it up in there and one of them really gives it to Grandma good and flees the scene. BAM, kaPOW, case closed.

So. Now is the time when I go all V for Vendetta/Boondock Saints (pls note the Catholic pun) on behalf of Grandma. I am prepared to take it to the fathers and bishops and popes and what not. I will recount my story as politely and rationally as I just described it here and then get to the part about getting my retribution in the form of these three reasonable requests: 1) payment for reconstructive work on grandma’s mouth 2) pain and suffering (that’s for me) and 3) a simple apology. Except when I go to say, “thank you for apologizing, I forgive you” it’s really likely to come out sounding more like, ” …. yeah. so can somebody please show me the bible verse that says ” we do not accept amongst thou brethren whom are gayest or lesbianst but lo, very truly i say unto you, those among ye who do fuckest upest shit which does belong to you and then flee the scene, ye are righteous and holy forever amen” thus saith the Lord” One of those St. John Newman folk best be doing some serious confessing and/or getting their purgatory pants on cause are fixin to do some long sitting. Grandma, I will never forget your unsolved assault and will never stop fighting for justice. Imma make shirts and organize fundraisers and all that shit, whatever it takes.

Justice for Grandma.

Welp, I feel a little better. Grandma’s still a babe, even with her big ole gap tooth smile. GILF, all the way.