This morning I was driving to work and found myself behind a slow moving vehicle. Having recently changed my philosophy about driving I didn’t aggressively cut around the van in front of me, slow down and block its path forcing it to stop, drag the owner from the driver’s seat and beat him to death with a tire iron on the side of the road before collecting his head, setting his van ablaze and pushing it over an embankment before skewering his decapitated visage (his face still locked in the slack-jawed and glassy eyed countenance which typified his slothful and slovenly existence) onto the front of my Tercel, creating a hood ornament fit for a KISS Army brunch. Instead I simply checked my mirrors, noticed that there was only one car in the distance, and merged to pass the van.
Seconds later my car’s tailpipe was being sodomized by the front end of the car I had seen in the distance. I could now tell from the custom stitching in the headrest of the upholstery of the car behind me that I was being tailgated by a douchebag in a Dodge Avenger. I estimated that there was about 6 inches between my bumper and the douchebag’s. Good thing we were going 65.
The old me would have slammed on the brakes after unbuckling my seatbelt, launching myself backward at the moment of impact, blasting through rear window, and then his windshield, a furious flurry or fists and teeth, only finding satisfaction upon eating through his ribcage and devouring his still-beating heart just before he slipped into shock. The new me instead got back over into the right lane in front of the van as soon as it was safe to do so. The douchebag didn’t let up for a moment, and passed me slowly so he could stare me down.
His car was clean, his windows were tinted, and for some idiotic reasons he was driving on what looked like z-rated tires… three of them. His right rear tire was not z rated, nor s rated, nor even h rated. It was a donut. And oh how I laughed.
For those of you who don’t live in areas as congested as the Baltimore-Washington corridor, I should explain that the morning commute can very quickly become an absurd dick-measuring contest with every manner of mongoloid trying to flex nuts. It amounts to nothing more than aggressive driving, speeding, cutting people off, and generally being a huge cock of a human. For me, it had just become surreal. This guy rolled up to a metaphorical dick measuring contest, talking a bunch of shit and acting so douchey that he could out-douche an automatic doucheing machine on the douchingest day of its life. But when he whips it out, nobody notices the dong, and everyone instead stares at the clear plastic bag of marshmallow cereal where his testicles should be.
My Tercel may be a piece of shit, but at least it’s got four tires.
Wow. I love you.
Wow do I hate people that drive too fast on donuts. And tail-gaters; I usually don’t slam on the brakes, I just feign narcolepsy and see how long it takes them to notice that we’ve slowed down by 30 mph.
I’ve gotten progressively more aggro as more out-of-state douches (*coughcoughCalifornianscoughcough*) move into my town and drive like idiots . . . my aggro driving battle cry is “You fucking leper!”, although I’m not precisely sure what that has to do with bad driving. :)
DL- You’ll have to take that up with Mrs. ACW. And she bites.
jwer- That’s my typical response, but considering I was trying to get around a slow-moving vehicle, I figured I’d might as well keep going.
Bliss- It’s always been like this in Maryland. The only thing that changes is the amount of traffic. Though I will be borrowing the battle cry.
Traffic can be like that in the Atlanta area when you can actually speed. I usually get stuck at crawl pace. Never in my life did I think I’d be happy going 30 mph on the highway. I got very used to the 70 mph speed limit in MI and very little traffic.
My battle cry has way more expletives.
I have two donuts on my Jeep right now. One is glazed, and the other powdered. I like to dunk them in pot holes before eating them.
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!
I just go passive aggressive and drive the speed limit in the fast lane. It’s perfectly legal, the right thing to do in a Confusician sense, and brings joy to my life.
Long ago I took the liberty of changing the standard sign language response to such behavior in men who drive cars aggressively(the raising of the middle finger) to raising the forefinger and thumb, leaving a very small amount of space between them (illustrating the size of the man’s dick) and then I smile and point at him. you=small dick. hee hee I kill me.
Your vivid fantasies of bad driver vivisection gave me a vicarious thrill. I’m getting blood thirsty with age. Or so it would appear.
I have my own little special technique for dealing with tailgating assholes like that. I tap my breaks about 3 times quickly. So far so good, I haven’t been rear ended yet. And in the great state of NY if I were rear ended, it wouldn’t be my fault:)