Okay, so I was driving around a blind corner (not speeding for a change, mind you. pinky swear) on this gray, rain-soaked afternoon, when the two cars in front of me suddenly stopped. The road was slick, I jumped on the brakes, the car fishtailed and after invoking Jesus' name, Rita came to a screeching halt a mere foot behind the piece of crap, gray, clown-car shaped Cube.
Fact: I believe in God, Guardian Angels and Divine Intervention.
Fact: I do not, however, believe in the Warren Commission's "Magic Bullet" theory. That's just fucking fantasy.
I know. A declaration of faith sounds hypocritical coming from me, abuser of the Lord's name, lover of the f-bomb and Patton Oswalt's religiously irreverent Christmas Shoes but, I am a spiritual being. Not necessarily religious, but spiritual.
Shut up. I am. Swear to Dogma. You can stop rolling your eyes anytime now.
But seriously, there have been a number of incidents in my life in which I should have died, or at the very least been badly injured. My avoidance of these potentially fatal happenings can only be attributed to the grace of a higher power. A psychic once told me that very thing. She said I have a Guardian Angel who steers me clear of wreckage. I call him Guillermo. He's all tall, dark and ripply. I owe G my life several times over. Hope he gets paid by the hour, because that Dude works a LOT of overtime.
So, yeah, I believe in God, Grace, Guardian Angels, Divine Intervention and in this case, the American Workmanship of a Pontiac Vibe.