So heading home from D&D last night, I kinda f'd up my car. In my defense, I was going slow, and it was that stretch of 78 with the high school on one side and the Bell's on the other, which isn't the place where you're on the lookout for deer. Unfortunately, had I been keeping my eyes open, I probably wouldn't have hit that drifter.
Oglethorpe County is pretty quiet, and even though I hit this guy just a few hundred yards from the police station, there was no one around, and no one came to my aid. Not a single car passed the entire time I stopped, turned around in the Subway parking lot, drove back to see what exactly I hit, and realized the lump on the side of the road was a grizzled old man in a torn-up Army jacket. Figuring I had some time to think things through (on that stretch of road, you can see any cars approaching from either direction), I pulled into the high school parking lot. Granted, I was in my lane when I hit the guy, who may very well have been drunk and stumbling in the road for all I know - he literally came out of nowhere, so I don't now if he jumped in front of me, was standing there the whole time, I just don't remember - so legally, as far as I knew, I was in the clear. Then again, I'd never killed a guy and gotten away with it, which has been on my 'Bucket List' ever since I saw the delightful (though very sad ((though very life-affirming)) ) movie of the same name. Just as my resolve hardened, the guy started coughing. He was still alive. Dammit.
I'm not one to make a plan and not go through with it, so I dragged Chuck (by this time, I was calling the guy 'Chuck' - not his real name, I just needed something to call him as I muttered to myself) back into the street and drove back around and parked behind the Subway, giving me a decent view of the street while obscuring my car. Chuck more-or-less stayed put like a good boy, but only one car came by, a big SUV, and it was in the other lane, missing Chuck altogether. The SUV didn't stop, so either they didn't see him or didn't want to run over what I now imagined to be homeless vet hitchhiking home to be with his daughter before she succumbed to the bone cancer (I was sitting there for a while, so my imagination wandered). Come to think of it, I don't know why I had to sit and wait for someone else to run him over, thus absolving me of any responsibility. Moot point, anyway, as I lost patience with the waiting game, peeled out of Subway, and ran over Chuck myself a good three to four times before heading back home.
Now, my car was pretty messed up from the initial impact, but as I left Chuck behind (Ever run over a log? That's what it's like ((the first few times at least)) ), I realized he got the last laugh, as my alignment was clearly out of sorts. As I cursed his name, as I cursed Chuck for not only denting the shit out of my front end, but also making my steering wheel go all wobbly, I realized the mechanic's going to wonder what I did to my car. I threw out my first idea, as it's hard to get up to ramming speed in a parking lot, plus those mechanics are pretty spry and not always drunk. But then it hit me, but not literally, as that would be to convenient: Deer! All I had to do was hunt a deer using the contents of my car (old fast food for bait; ice scraper as a crude stabbing instrument, etc.), prop the body up in the road somehow, ram it at a good twenty to thirty miles, and wala (walla? Wholla? What's the spelling there?). I hit a deer. Not a drifter.
It took a little while, and there was next to no moon, and the stench of the apparently freshly-hit buck on the other side of the road drove off most of the other deer, but by mid-morning I was filling out paperwork with the insurance company to get reimbursed for the no-fault collision with a deer. Turns out Chuck's congealed blood was extra sticky, giving me the added benefit of exrta deer hair in the grill! And that's how I got away with involuntary manslaughter.