Posted on 05/09/2007 12:23:22 PM PDT by amchugh
NEW PORT RICHEY - For about eight minutes on Tuesday, through the streets near downtown, police chased a driver who had no arms and one good leg.
He got away.
(Excerpt) Read more at sptimes.com ...
He had just gotten gas.
(very obscure joke...let’s see if anyone gets it)
well let’s hope that the long arm of the law catches him

In my mailbox, I call him Bill
In the hot tub, call him Stu
Thankfully for the cops, the guy was unarmed.
He was one of the "cool" older kids in my neighborhood when I was in grade school. I never talked to the guy personally. But everyone saw him and his friends walking around the neighborhood. He had a friend named Sean Mullin, I think, who had one of the most famous fistfights in the neighborhood with a kid named Dennis Blair who cleaned Sean's clock.
Mikey was one of the kids who would hang out in an area near the railyard that local kids called "The Uggs" drinking beers and blasting heavy metal on boomboxes.
When he got hit by the train, every mother in Queens knew about it.
"I better not catch you hanging out by those train tracks! You don't wanna end up like Mikey Wiley!"
It doesn't surprise me that they sued even though he was completely at fault and it doesn't surprise me that they moved to FL and that he spent his money on a muscle car.
...and it cost him an arm and a leg!
He was as busy as a one-legged man in an a$$-kicking contest.
Did they make him attempt to walk a straight line afterwards?
I’ll bet he is busier than a one armed wallpaper hanger!
Not only should he have sued them....the police should have caught up with whoever was driving the train and thrown them in jail........thats armed robbery!
Of course he’s going to drive off.
You think he can hitch hike?
My favorite headline was “Chitlins truck spills its load in Climax.” As my wife says, I have a juvenile sense of humor.
From the article:
"Wiley, who lost his limbs at age 13 after an accident involving an electrical transformer..."

His pluck or has he been plucked?
His father fixed buses for the transit authority, and his father and grandfather were also mechanics. Michael whipped through the streets on his BMX bike, toting an adjustable wrench, nipping old carburetors and selling them for scrap.
Now imagine an abandoned train-switching station where truant boys in leather jackets and motorcycle boots play tag on the catwalks near the elevated tracks. Picture Michael running.
He trips. Falls. Grabs at anything he can, including wires that carry something like 12,000 volts. Dangles three stories above the ground, feeling for a foothold.
Finds one. Metal. Completes the circuit. Electricity floods his body. He plummets maybe 25 feet. Bones shatter. Boys scatter. Michael feels someone cut away his clothes, load him in an ambulance, pack him in ice.
The way it was told to me as a kid: he was hanging out in the trainyard, was playing chicken, and was hit by a train into an electrified railing.
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