When Jesus is Your Fuckin' Co-Pilot!

I was making dinner tonight when I got a phone call from a nice, strange man. He told me that Mr. Bitchford had been in a car accident, and this nice man had stopped to sit with him and call me. I arrived and saw Mr. Bitchford pinned in our Miata. Freaked me out! The gas tank was up against his back! I found out later that while Mr. Bitchford was sitting at the red light, along with the woman in front of him, a geriatric (87 year-old man), came flying down the highway and hit him. He never hit his brakes! He could have killed Mr. Bitchford! Luckily, Mr. Bitchford is going to be ok. He's freaked out, upset about his car, and VERY sore. The officer came to talk to me at the hospital, and he started to tell me about the nice old man. First of all, I had already told an eight-year-old, mouthy girl if she touched me again I was going to rip her braids out. I was not in the mood for crap, especially from an Eastwickean. I told the officer that I didn't care about the old man, and that I just wanted Mr. Bitchford to be ok, and I would be on my way. He told me I shouldn't talk like that. Why? Because Jesus may fly down from his velvet throne and zap me with lightning? Because God meant for this to happen to me to make me stronger? Or perhaps I should feel sorry for the asshole because he is eighty fucking seven, and shouldn't be driving? AHHHHH! I told him that I would "be" however I wanted to be. So, now we have to try and get whatever we can for the car. You know how insurance companies never want to give you what your car is actually worth. Mr. Bitchford loved that car, and I just feel like total shit for him. This is what happens when Jesus is your fuckin' co-pilot!