It adds insult to injury when you step in a wet piece of gum, and there’s a pile of dog shit underneath it. A triple whammy is when the dog shit happens to be on top of a land mine.
Don’t you hate it when you’re being crucified and a mosquito bites your nose? And then you sneeze and give yourself whiplash? At last, in an effort to be kind, a centurion runs up and tries to help you out by smashing you in the nose with a hammer. Thanks for nothing, buddy.
Or what if you’re driving to take some clothes to the dry cleaner’s, when you spot an Asian woman waiting at the bus stop. Naturally, you have to take a moment to check her out. You’re not driving very fast, and it has to be the one time since your last fender-bender ten years ago that you’re not wearing a seatbelt. You hit the car in front of you, smash your nose against the steering wheel, capture the woman’s attention by honking the horn with your face, then get sued by the driver who got hit by the taxi driver you hit by giving him whiplash? The capper is that the woman turns out not to be so attractive after all, but that doesn’t stop her from laughing at you and your bloody nose, which you’ve added a white mustache to with a crumpled wad of Kleenex as you gesticulate to the other two motorists involved, neither of whom appears to be hurt (the guy with the whiplash is obviously faking it), although they’re clearly amused by your ludicrous plight.
Let’s say you get indicted and after a long, publicized trial for a multiple first-degree murder you not only did not commit, but were framed for by your former boss, the same guy to fire you after stealing your wife, you’re convicted and, since you’re black and poor and living in the greatest country in the world, you get sentenced to the electric chair (a few states still use it–lucky you). Since it’s America and the trial has generated unprecedented ratings, selling even more magazines, products advertised in between segments of TV news broadcasts, bumper stickers, T-shirts, and novelty coffee table humor books than even the O. J. trial, your execution is televised and, moments after you’ve had some officious ponce powder your nose for the cameras and bright lights, you sit down and emit a peculiarly disembodied blast of flatulence that emanates not from you but from the whoopie cushion set down by the exeuctioner as the crowning prank before he fries you right before the networks cut to a commercial sponsored by Kentucky Fried Chicken (which you’re able to see posthumously from your new vantage point in hell)?
Or else you’re a bride all dressed up for your wedding, with five hundred guests there attending the event, and the groom never shows up? Not that that stops the wedding planners from snapping lots of pictures of you sobbing in your wedding dress and videotaping the whole thing for posterity. Maybe that will guilt-trip your lame-ass fiance into marrying you after all.
Or maybe you’re a woman who’s been knocked up by some sap who claims he’s still in love with you and wants you to have the baby even though you’re only nineteen? And to prove his affection he drives you to the abortion clinic and drops you off there to go through the whole procedure alone because he’s too much of an unimaginative chicken shit to come up with a white lie to tell his boss so he can get out of work without compromising his and your privacy?
Luckily, these aren’t the kinds of things that happen to most of us every day, but who among you can say you haven’t been through something like this? The key is to keep smiling through clenched teeth, fantasize about reciprocating your assailants’ torturous contumely, and have a nice day in spite of it all.