I was trying to change the radio station in the car when I ploughed into a group of lesbians because my eyes weren’t on the road. Someone had put the radio on some station that played music. I don’t like listening to music on the radio. If I listen to the radio I prefer to hear people talk. If I want to hear music I will put on a cassette tape. I didn’t get a chance to tune it in properly because four to seven lesbians flew over the bonnet and roof of my car. They had been protesting something on the side of the road while holding signs but I had been moving so quickly when I hit them that they bounced up and over my vehicle and I could not make out what the protest was about. I stopped the car just after impact. I could hear the muffled panic from outside. I finished tuning the station. The guy was reading the news and today was going to be fine. Maybe a shower or two in the evening but otherwise a fine day. I got out of the car. Outside was a lesbian battlefield of destruction. My car had busted open their convention on the side of the road like a bullet through flesh. There were bodies lying all over the road and the footpath. Their signs littered the area. I could see that they had gone to a lot of trouble when making these signs. The colour matching was exceptional. I still didn’t know what they had been protesting about.
One rather large lesbian was rolling around on the footpath. I approached her because the desire to know what they had been protesting about was eating away at me. Other people were attending the more injured lesbians of the group, some of which were up to twenty metres away from the point of impact. I had really thrown a spanner into the works on this day. The lesbian that was rolling around on the footpath was clutching her knee. No one had seemed to have noticed her because she hadn’t yet been attended to. There was a low pitched and faint moan coming from her and I nudged her with my foot. “Hey there. What were you protesting about?” I asked. She opened her eyes and looked up and me. The moaning stopped and she stopped rolling around.
“You’re the motherfucker who hit us!” she yelled and sat up. She was a large lesbian, one of the largest specimens I had ever encountered. I suspected she would have stood up had she not been so fat. She just sat there for a while, rocking back and forth trying to summon the momentum to raise that blubber encased torso. Her flat top styled hair did not move throughout any of this. It was secured and rock hard, most likely from cans of hair spray applied before the protest. It was green which wasn’t surprising and went well with the triple extra large yellow men’s polo shirt she was wearing. Her jeans were also men’s because the part where her dick was supposed to be was bulging out more than it should have been. She finally got up and I was shocked to notice that she was a whole lot shorter than me. Her excessive mass created an optical illusion while she had been lying flat on the footpath like a beached whale. She came up to my shoulders. Lifting herself to a standing position had rattled her, so I waited for her to catch her breath and continue telling me what she had started. After a few minutes she starting breathing properly again. “You motherfucker! You fucking ran us over! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
“Let’s not talk about me right now. What were you protesting about?” I asked. There was chaos and commotion all around us. In the corner of my eye I thought I saw someone carrying a human arm. The screams and cries were at times hard to talk over but I was determined to find out what this protest had been about. “You fucking retard! Read the fucking signs,” she said and walked away. This was disappointing. I watched her walk away from me. Occasionally she would hop in and attempt to run but her excessive weight prevented this from happening. She looked like an excited retard that had just been told there was ice cream but they had to go to the other side of the road to get it. Walk. Hop. Kind of run. Walk again. She stopped at a body being attended to by some of the diners that had been eating at the restaurant that was just down from the point of impact.
I went back to the car briefly. I hadn’t had a chance to check it out and noticed it had been pretty fucked up. I wasn’t really surprised. I had hit at least fifteen lesbians, each weighing over 100kg at a about 65 kilometres an hour. I wasn’t sure whether the car would be able to be fixed. “HEY YOU!” yelled another voice and I turned around. It was an athletic lesbian. This one had leathery features from years of outdoor activities. Most likely cycling and hiking, possibly some sports meant for men, too. Her hair was blonde and spikey and she was thin. If I was honest about it, she looked like she had AIDS.
“Can I help you?” I said.
“You’re the motherfucker who ran over my friends!”
“What were you protesting about?”
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Yes, I would like to know. I noticed you had a lot of colourful signs.”
“You fucking arsehole,” she said and walked away. I was beginning to think that no one would tell me what this protest had been about.
A group of people were huddled around something in the middle of the road. I decided to make my way over and ask them. As I got closer I noticed the muffled sobs and the bodily shake people do when they are crying. I peered over the shoulders of the group to see what they were gathered around. It was a lesbian. This one had pink hair and was missing an arm. She was not moving. “Excuse me, folks,” I said and the huddle parted. I felt like Moses parting the Red Sea and now I was able to get a good look at the pink haired lesbian. “So, what was this protest about?” I asked.
“Excuse me?” said one of the huddlers.
“I want to know what these lesbians were protesting about.”
“This woman is dead. She had her arm ripped off and she bled to death,” said another of the huddlers.
“Ok, well that’s unfortunate. What was she protesting about with her lesbians friends?”
“Listen here, motherfucker! Get out of here or I’ll beat the shit out of you!” said a muscley lesbian. This one was athletic looking like the other one but had more mass to her. She had obvioulsy done a cycle of roids and bulked. Wanting to avoid any trouble I left the huddle and went back to my car. I looked around at the chaos. Ambulances were starting to arrive now. There seemed to be a lot of dead bodies about and the injured were still moaning. The obese lesbian from earlier was back on the ground again, this time in a different location. She was rolling around and moaning louder. The screams had died down somewhat now that the survivors had been stabilised. I resigned myself to the fact that I might never know what the protest had been about. I was at the mercy of the nightly news and made a point to tune in if the opportunity arose.
I got back in the car and started the engine. Curses could be heard from outside and I think someone threw something. For a second I thought it might have been the severed arm, but surely they were more civilised than that. They were lesians, but they weren’t animals. Either way, the whole car was due for some panel beating now, so a severed arm or whatever was not going to cause any more damage than what was there. A few of them chased me as I drove away. It was an amusing scene. I imagined that they were actually chasing me because they wanted me to stay or had decided to tell me about the protest. As they got smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, I wondered whether they would reconvene the protest at a later date. I decided to keep an eye out in the newspaper and attend it if it went ahead. I had to know what it was about.