Anarchy is alive and well.

So I woke up this morning to the usual sounds of our neighbor Frank's car backfiring. This wouldn't be so bad, but it happens all the time - at all hours of the night. Frank is a nice guy, with a rather shy disposition, but he simply keeps the strangest hours. And his beat up jalopy is simply the noisiest car on the block. Another neighbor once yelled at him in a fit of rage, and Frank just dove into his house, quivering. But his wife does make the best cookies - she brought them to the last block party.

I digress.

At breakfast, my wife gave me the mail from yesterday, and I found the shocking (and I say that with all the sarcasm that I can muster) notice that the League of Fairness simply was not allowed by some legal technicality to reimburse me for the car. They did, however, send me a signed picture of Mighty Mighty Fred and Eddie the Eagle - smiling like the cheap saps they are, along with an offer to tow away the battered wreck.

This is stupid, but I figured that it didn't really matter - so I had the wife give them a call.

An annoying way to start the day!

After a wonderful breakfast (I am married to the best woman on this planet!), I got dressed and headed to work on the pink bicycle. The teenagers on the corner hooted with derision as they normally did, but I simply zoomed by, imagining me hitting MMF with the car, and have him fly two miles.

Happily wrapped up in this wonderful daydream, I was nearly run over by a black Corvette that flew down the road. The car was weaving around, and I saw a young man leaning out the window - holding some sort of firearm. I pulled the bike to a stop, and simply stared as the car turned the corner on two wheels. More criminals - what a surprise.

As I sat there watching, I was completely flummoxed to find myself hurtling to the ground. As I lay there for a moment, stunned and bleeding a bit, I saw a man getting onto the bike. I shouted out "Thief!", but he merely grimaced and flashed a police badge at me.

"Sorry, man! Police emergency!"

And without another word he began to pedal down the street on the bike, disappearing around the corner, waving a automatic in the air. Presumably he was chasing the car, but I had no idea how he was going to catch it.

But the jerk took my bike (or my daughter's bike)! He couldn't just stop one of the many cars in the intersection, or go off on foot, or call a taxi - he had to use a pink bicycle.

I arrived at work late, and suffered through a fit of rage from my boss when he saw me come in - only to have it transform into a fit of laughter as he found out what happened. I hate my job.

I called the Urbanopolis police department later that day, and found out that Detective Jack Steel was the one who took the bike. Apparently he managed to use the bike to stop the criminals he was chasing, and somehow cause a five car pileup at the same time. The police informed me that the bike was missing at the current time, and that they would get back to me. I snidely told them that my daughter would cry for weeks, and slammed the phone down. (She likely won't even notice the bike missing).

It's just a pink bicycle - but at the same time, I don't understand why the police have these powers over the people. My aunt's car was once requisitioned by a police detective duo, who proceeded to chase down the criminals while she was in the back seat - and she never even heard an apology! There is no authority over these idiots - the police receptionist sounded as if she was laughing when she told me about the bike! Supposedly I should be grateful that I helped stop crime. Buy your detectives their own bike with my tax money, and I'll be more grateful, lady!

I should write a letter to the editor of Urbanopolis Times, but my wife assures me that it won't do any good, and we don't need to attract the attention of one of the dozens of serial killers in this city.

It's two AM, and I should be in bed, but that stupid car just backfired again. One of these days I'm going to throttle Frank, nice guy or not.

Still outraged,

Jay

Oh, joy.

This past week has been an exercise in frustration.

On Thursday, I heard noises in the garage at around 2 AM. Dashing out in my bathrobe (which has a Mighty Mighty Fred pattern on it - sue me, my wife bought it for me for Christmas, and it's cold!), I saw a couple of hooligans breaking into the garage. I ran outside and threatened them with a bat and they dashed off - holding something.

Horrified, I saw a hole smashed into the garage door, so I popped back inside and dialed the police. They seemed very eager to come help out - I was very impressed with their diligence. In fact, a squad car showed up only ten minutes later, and four police officers piled out. One of them came up to me, mumbling about the rash of thefts in the area, done by the Sparrow and her gang. I hadn't heard of the Sparrow hitting our part of town, but I was agreeing with him when I heard laughter from inside the garage.

Upon entering, I saw two of the officers standing on the metal that was once my car and the other taking pictures. They were posing in the standard MM Fred poses. It was nauseating, and I admit that I had an "old man" syndrome as I roared for them to get out of my garage. They had the decency to look a little ashamed, and left, telling me that the pictures were for evidence.

Grrr.

I've had a lot of trouble catching the bus to the office, but my daughter Susan said I could use her bike to travel. It's pink, and it's embarrassing, but I just don't care anymore.

And Bob got promoted at his job, he told us - so not everything is bad news. He's now captain of a wing at Jackamony Prison. He is in charge of some of the worst criminals this country has ever seen - hopefully he'll stop the rash of escapes that has happened over the past several years.

Well, forget the car, forget the hoodlums, and forget the stupid police - tomorrow should be a better day. I need to get some sleep now.

The straw that broke the camel's back.

I'm so angry that I can barely see the keyboard right now. I just - I just can't take it anymore.

But what frustrates me, what irritates me to the core of my being, is that no one cares. Nobody!

I've taken it, I've tried to be someone who just sits around and has a good attitude, but enough is enough.

You're probably wondering what has me ranting and raving. I could barely breathe tonight, I was fuming, so my wife recommended that I start up this "blogging" thing. So here I will document for the world my woes and tribulations. And probably no one will care.

Okay.

Okay.

Breathe, breathe, breathe.

So why am I so upset? It all started today as I went out for lunch. Now today in most parts of the world, people are celebrating St. Patrick's day. They are having a good time as they pinch other folks who are not wearing green, and they eat Irish food and toast one another over the joys of friendship.

But here in Urbanopolis, today will be remembered as the day that Mighty Mighty Fred took down the Vile Crusader. The day that Mighty Mighty Fred said "enough is enough!" and dealt a mighty blow that knocked the Vile Crusader two miles into an abandoned warehouse across town. Tonight, as I watched the news, all the newscasters could do was proclaim their love for MMF. A parade is already scheduled for this upcoming weekend, and I heard that the Vile Crusader is being sent to the Jackomony Prison over in Fuller County.

And I might cheer, too. I mean, I'm glad that the Vile Crusader was stopped. He did put a bomb in City Hall which would have killed many people, but thanks to MMF's sidekick Eddie the Eagle, the bomb was stopped.

So the wife tells me to be thankful. Innocent lives were spared today, and probably in the future.

But I'm still mad - and I'll tell you why.

Just one hour ago, I had a knock on my door, where stood a bunch of giggling teenage girls. I assumed that they were there to spend time with my daughter Mabel, but instead they wanted to know if they could have a souvenir. I literally threw them off the porch and went back inside, fuming.

You see, the mighty blow that sent Vile flying for two miles? I actually saw it close up. I came out of my office, preparing to head to McDonalds for a quick bite, when I saw Mighty Mighty Fred land right in front of me. Like the rest of the innocent bystanders, I scurried out of the way, but turned around and saw Vile Crusader coming screaming down the street. He was shooting those white electrical bolt thingys out of his eyes, and things weren't looking so good.

And that's when MMF hit him. And hit him hard - it would have been the grand slam of all time.

But what is so troublesome is that he used MY CAR to do it! I just got the new 09' BMW last year for a good price. The wife and I saved up for a long time, and it was my dream car, and I loved driving the smooth ride to the office each day in what I called "Black Beauty."

Well, Black beauty, after having connected with Vile's torso, now looks like a hunk of scrap metal. I stood there in shock, after the initial blow. Citizens around me were cheering as if a great victory had been won - but at what cost! MMF dropped my car and took off into the air, going after the baseball he had just walloped.

I immediately called insurance, but apparently "acts of superheroes" isn't covered in my policy. I then tried to get in touch with the League of Fairness, but their receptionist told me that they wouldn't be able to get back to me for a week or so. So what am I to do in the meantime? Joe's Towing Service charged me $250 to tow the piece of metal home, and I have the saddened remains in the garage. And now these girls wanted a piece of the fender!

My second oldest son Jack has just informed me that perhaps we can get some of the money back by eBaying the car parts across the web. Perhaps. I think I'll let him handle that - it's about time the boy got a job.

I'm taking the bus to work tomorrow. I'm very tired of the city's policies regarding superheroes. I'm glad that the villain was defeated, and all, but what about my car? I'm out thousands of dollars, and no one seems to care.

Perhaps if you read this blog, you might have a suggestion. What should I do next? Email me at jayselav@gmail.com, and I just might start a grassroots program in this city to reign in this wanton destruction.

Typing this has seemed somewhat therapeutic. I have to get going now. My brother Bob and his wife are coming over for a nice game of Bridge, and he says he has some exciting news about his security job at the prison. Maybe he can cut Vile's rations or something. That might make me feel better.