King of Space #17

I was on my way home alone after a nice late-night dinner at the Cheesecake Factory with my good friend. I was happily full from Chicken Marsela, garlic mashed potatoes and this great hot french bread and sweet wheat bread smeared with real butter that melted into each crumb. I had two glasses of St. Michele house Chardonnay, which massaged my stressful day away. I drank freshly-brewed iced tea and enjoyed a couple refills. Lastly, I ended with this rich, hot coffee swirled with a touch of cream and a slice of pumpkin pecan cheesecake topped with freshly whipped cream. Ahhh....I was sated, satisfied and saturated, ready to jump into bed for a long, restful night of slumber and dreams of hog heaven.



Then I get home and, once again, some FUCKER has parked in my second parking space. I wasn't using the space. But it's MY space. Not theirs. Not to borrow. Not to steal. What if friends showed up unexpectedly from Paris and needed MY space? I own the fucking space. I was trailer boy who lived his adolescence in a mobile home (that means trailer). I am not trailer boy anymore, and this condo-owning mother fucker does not cotton to strange ass bites taking my hard-earned extra space!

I always have to write some threatening, petty note and put it on the anonymous and ill-parked car's front window just under the windshield wiper. "Don't park here ever again. This is not your space. Expect to be towed if I see you here again."
I was tired. I was full. I was pissed that I was again put in the position that I had to write some sniveling note.

Suddenly, it came to me. I didn't have to write any note. The space is mine to do with as I will.

I focused on the trespassing overgrown SUV's front left tire. I saluted, readied myself and assumed the position. A river of ice water with lemon, St. Michele house Chardonnay, freshly-brewed iced tea and rich java with cream gushed from my loins like the broken dam of my pent up anger unfurled all over the skid-proof tread of that offending tire.

I pissed on that tire. I marked my territory. I claimed my space. I wrote no notes. I am the King of Space #17!

I adjusted my equipment and zipped up my fly as the flood receded on the cement parking garage floor. I turned and walked up to my lair. I had thought I was thoroughly satisfied from that sumptuous meal, but pissing on your problems and claiming your space is the ultimate satisfaction. I stripped down to my naked manly glory and commanded my bed as the lion does the jungle. I slept like the King of the Beasts after a hard day's slaughter. I slept like the King of Space #17 and dreamt of captaining the rivers of the world and conquering my piece of the universe.