So, You’ve Crashed Your Lexus In The Woods…


Okay – cool out. It’s not the end of the world… Well, maybe it is for her – but it’s too late for her. HEY! Look at me. Don’t get all Ricco on me here. This isn’t your fault. There are a lot of people to blame for this one. I mean – look at her – she’s the one who told you that she needed a ride home. She knew you weren’t cool to drive, but she fucking kept riding you, right? Oh God – is that her eye? Hold on. Just breathe.

Okay, so let’s figure this out… We probably only have fifteen or twenty minutes until the cops get here. You know what you should do? Drag her into the driver’s seat. Don’t look at me like that – I’m serious. Even if she’s alive, she’s a vegetable; the ninth shot of vodka left her wet-brained anyways – you’re not the bad guy here, got me? She’s dead, you’re alive – survival of the fittest. Are you bleeding?

Okay – you’re bleeding. It’s not that bad. It looks bad, sure, but it’s not that bad. No, don’t touch me. I know it hurts. Oh, shit. Do you have your keys? We might need to wipe them down to cover your prints.

Wrap it up, wrap it up. If you don’t tie that off, you’re going to bleed out. Fuck – are those sirens? Jesus – okay, just leave her in there… Do you have a lighter? Give me that rag… I have a plan.

Burn away the problem.

At All-State, we take it upon ourselves to make sure that you have the wherewithal to withstand the stress of dousing a rag in oil, lighting it on fire and pushing it into your gas tank, igniting your Lexus into a conflagration of shame and regret after you drunkenly crash into the woods on your way home from the company Christmas party, with the new girl from the PR department bleeding, if not dead in the passenger seat.

You’re in good hands.


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