Yesterday, I finally received my settlement from the U.S. State Department for crippling me with one of their heavily armored security vehicles as I crossed a DC street legally back in Feb. 2010. It has put me in a reflective mood, and here’s some of the stuff I babbled about it.

Some of it isn’t very nice, but rest assured that no innocents were harmed in the composition of this post. Not physically, anyway.

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What happened to me on Feb. 3, 2010, and everything that’s happened to me since, has occupied so much of my emotional space that almost everything else has been crowded out. Even when I don’t think about it consciously, it’s always there. I take a wrong step and my knee twinges; it’s there. I cross the street on foot and some stupid-ass motorist starts to cut me off; it’s there. Hell, I see somebody getting run over in the movies or TV or videogames; it’s there.

It’s there. It’s always there.

It’s not anything conscious, as I’m sure anybody who’s been through something similar can attest. You just try to get through your day the best way you can. And then: BAM. Something just hits you out of the blue. Sometimes physically, sometimes emotionally, sometimes… sometimes nothing you can even point to.

I’m glad the State Department didn’t decide to mess with me any longer than they did. I’ve heard stories from people who’ve suffered even worse injuries at the hands of the government, and who were made to wait even longer.

I don’t know how to solve this problem. It’s just a function of big government. Once you have that many people whose job it is to play hot potato until the victim gets fed up, with no repercussions for any of the potato-tossers, what are the rest of us supposed to do? Our government has failed us. Our tax dollars are specifically being directed toward fucking with us when we dare to speak up about the wrongs committed against us.

When I drove to DC last month to participate in that moderation process, I’d never seen any of those State Dept. lawyers in my life. I doubt I’ll never see any of them again. And so what? I could’ve won $100 million right then and there, or dropped dead on the spot. Either way, the next day they’d all be right back at work.

Nobody’s ever to blame. The responsibility for Big Government wrongdoing is diffused into such a fine mist that it disappears into thin air. Go ahead, try to grab it. It wafts right through your clumsy fingers.

I know next to nothing about Mike McGuinn, the State Department Security Agent who was piloting the armored, bulletproofed SUV that crippled me for life on that night in February 2010, as I crossed the street legally. I don’t particularly want to know more about him, really. I don’t even want to kick him in the balls, even with my good leg.

I just hope — and I know this is futile — I hope that every once in a while he looks back on that night and thinks, “I wish I’d handled that better. I wish I hadn’t saddled that poor bastard with a fraudulent jaywalking ticket, just to save my own ass. I wish I’d stood up and been a man. I did him wrong, and I was a goddamn coward.”

I know, right? Pipe dream.

Anyway. Finally, after 1,666(!) days, I feel like that chapter of my life is over. There’s no closure, because closure doesn’t exist. But I’ve received the closest thing to justice I’m ever going to get from these corrupt, malignant tax-leeches. It’s not perfect, it’s not the best of all possible worlds, but it’s what I’ve been fortunate enough to get.

Let me close by saying that if you’re ever unfortunate enough to find yourself in a similar situation, if you find your body and mind ravaged by events beyond your control, I’ll be glad to listen. My e-mail is jim at dailycaller dot com, and we can go from there. I don’t know how much I can help, but I know how much it means when somebody is willing to try. I owe so much to too many people to count. My friends kept me going, and I found out I had more friends than I ever imagined.

And that applies even if you’re a miserable piece of shit like Eric Boehlert, BuzzFeedAndrew, and tbogg.

Well, okay, no. Not tbogg. My magnanimity is not without limit. Eat shit, tbogg. Go fuck your poor little dogs.