One, the only window on the right side of my car that wasn't broken was the small window on the right rear door, which I had just replaced on Wednesday at the expense of Nolan "Oh Shit, That Did Not Just Happen" Harris, the consequence of his intentional collision with Eric "Iron Elbow" Smith and Eric's subsequent collision with said window. I suppose there's probably also something to be said about the colliding of various shots and their respective livers, but I don't need to go into graphic detail.
Two, I had apparently gotten so used to seeing shattered glass all over the interior of my car, that it took me a good three or four seconds to realize that this shattered glass was not the repercussion of my meathead friends sparring instead of peacefully getting into my car. So, honestly, I should have been a lot angrier at the thought of my car getting fucked with, but I was so angry on Friday night that, tonight, it didn't really seem like that big of a deal. The fact that I'm actually jaded, at this point, towards my property being destroyed, struck me as funny. Not, like, "Ha ha," funny, but, like, "Wow, I'm pretty impressed at myself, that I don't give a flying fuck about broken windows anymore," funny.
There were things stolen out of my car. I've taken the liberty of listing their possible uses to the irredeemable bastard responsible for the expense of paying my insurance deductible.
1. One (1) Suction Cup Car Mount, for use with iPod® or iPhone®.
While I can't imagine that anybody destitute enough to rob my car probably has any use for something compatible with portable Apple products, or, for that matter, a car to use it in, there is the benefit of the suction cup. Sure, with only one suction cup, you might only be able to mount a hanging planter on a window or rabbit ears directly on your television screen. But, if you're a really dedicated car thief and you forcibly remove more than one of them, you could potentially move up in the seedy underworld of Newport, Kentucky as a supervillain with the ability to stick to any smooth surface. Two suction cups, with enough upper body strength, could easily move you up the side of whatever liquor store or gas station you need to reach to roof of. Sure, I know you're thinking, "That's a really stupid gimmick for a supervillain." Go ahead, look up Rainbow Raider on Wikipedia. That's a guy that fought the Flash with the power of rainbows. I don't know about you, but if I had to make a choice between getting my teeth kicked in while wearing suction cups on my hands, or getting my teeth kicked in while trying to shoot rainbows at people, I'll take the suction cup beating any day of the week.
2. One (1) Auxiliary Input Cable.
3. One (1) Auxiliary Input Cable Adapter, compatible with iPhone®.
Again, I can't imagine how somebody who probably doesn't have a car, an mp3 player, or an iPhone could use these for the purposes they were created for, but you can't really underestimate crackheads or meth addicts. Maybe the wiring could be melted down for use in a meth lab (do they have pipes?), or, for pure street cred, could be made into some form of copper "grill" to put in your mouth. I don't know what the long-term effects of oral copper poisoning are, but if you're already too stupid/addled with substance abuse to find your own fucking job in order to make your own fucking money so you don't have to break my car windows and steal my fucking things, then brain damage is probably the least of your worries at this point.
4. Approximately Forty-Five (45) Keybank® Checks, Labeled James Rockwell and Listing the Address of My Mom's House in Cleveland.
Since I've already begun the headache-laden path towards suspending my bank account and changing my account number, no one can really use my checks for much outside of rolling papers. While I'm not worried about a petty thief actually taking the time and effort into finding my mom's house two hundred and fifty miles away from here, I am admittedly concerned that the staff of whatever pawn shop or check-cashing place might, upon receipt of one of my checks, mistakenly think that James Rockwell is either a meth addict, a crackhead, mentally retarded, or, at least, committing a fashion faux-pas by trying to match up a necklace made out of an auxiliary cable with a drool-stained wife-beater.
5. (And this is the kicker) One Windsor-Newton Steel Portable Easel with Vinyl Carrying Case, Property of My Girlfriend.
This one is especially notable, as there is a statistical improbability that whoever stole my girlfriend's easel knows what the hell it is or what it could be used for. While I'd like to entertain the thought that somebody could be on their way to a new appreciation for art, I know that the easel is probably just going to be used to beat some other poor bastard in an alley for whatever reason. It does have retractable legs, so I guess it's kind of like a four-pronged retractable billy club. Actually, that could be pretty formidable. Maybe the guy should consider basing his supervillain career on that instead of the suction cups.
And that's all that was taken. Probably a hundred and twenty bucks worth of stuff, and that's a healthy estimate. There are more ironic factors in my fun-filled experience tonight; I will say that it was strange that there was a police station so close to my car, that the officer who took my statement didn't even bother bringing a cruiser with him and just walked over. Also, in the extremely unlikely case that the person who broke into my car tonight was the same person who broke into my car in Mount Adams in 2003, while they seem to share my taste in music where Gomez and Jane's Addiction are concerned, they obviously aren't huge Portishead fans.
C'est la vie. I'm going to bed.