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My name is Skully and the B*tches in the Burbs have enlisted me for a brief submission to their blog. Apparently, this makes me a “B*tch” myself, but I can handle that. Being an incurable misanthrope, I am sympathetic to their cause. All the writing I’ve done for the past few years has been Heavy Metal oriented: album reviews, concert reviews, etc. Considering though, that I have two jobs that require me to be behind the wheel nonstop, I have plenty to b*tch about since the intelligence of the average suburban driver is equivalent to, well, that of an average suburban driver. Nuff said.
Like I said, I have two jobs. I’m an outside sales rep during the day, and at night I throw on my tights, cape, and mask to deliver pizzas to hapless Chicago suburbanites (Lots to b*tch about there!). Now sometimes I have a little time in between jobs for a brief power nap, and sometimes I actually sleep hard and miss my alarm, thus putting me behind schedule to clock in at the pizza joint and mentally prepare myself for an onslaught of sh*tty tips. A couple weeks ago was just one of these times and my scramble to get to work became an epic battle against idiocy.
I’m really a safe driver by nature. I hover slightly above the speed limit, even when I’m working. I hate stupidity on the road that gets people killed. But on this day I had to push a little bit to make it on time. I was motoring to work at five over when ahead of me, some knucklehead in a light blue minivan crosses four lanes of traffic to make a left turn right in front of me, causing me to brake kind of hard. I did not fault him though, for that is a hard area to get out of in rush hour. He cruised ahead of me right at the speed limit. “No big deal.” I thought. “I’ll just goose the gas, move into the left lane and pass him.” So, with open road ahead of us, I changed lanes, increased my speed slightly, and overtook him. At the proper time, I checked my mirrors and blind spot to find he was still barely in my way to switch back into the right lane for an upcoming turn I had to make.
Not being concerned, I pressed the accelerator harder, bringing me to an uncomfortable 10 over, checked my blind spot, and the f*cker was still there! Ok, now he’s obviously playing a game with me, so I go 15, 20, and then an uncharacteristic 30 mph over the limit to try and pass but he keeps pace and places himself right where I can’t move over. Now, I drive a little Scion with no balls, the passenger side of my rear bumper was already being held to my car with duct tape, so playing chicken while merging over came to mind. I also took a hard look at my cup holder filled with toll change and seriously considered paying off like a slot machine all over this asshat’s hood and windshield, but alas, I had a job to get to and a major accident (and possible arrest) would NOT endear me to by boss. With the stoplight and my right turn approaching fast, I reluctantly conceded and laid off the gas. As my nemesis passed to my right, he looked my way and got a really good look at the extended middle finger on my right hand as I leaned so far to the right that it was actually outside of my open passenger window.
That’s when I got my first hard look at his block head, smug face, cheesy black mustache, and cap and realized, with amusement mixed with fury, that I had just lost a race to Nintendo’s f*cking Mario in a minivan! I was now living Super Mario Kart in the real world! I got behind him and feverishly looked for my trigger to throw turtle shells at him to knock him off the goddamn road or a lightning bolt to shrink his *ss so I could run him the f*ck over!
On the rear of his powder blue pussymobile, I noticed a bold number 6 magnetized to his backdoor. I have absolutely no interest in watching cars drive around in a circle at high speeds, but I assumed this number represented some NASCAR hillbilly that he was desperately trying to emulate to obviously compensate for a tiny penis.
After making my turn behind him onto a busier road with much heavier rush hour traffic, we did a little leapfrog but I was not willing to risk other drivers and cars to get the best of him. I will say though, he got a few more looks at my flying bird until I had to turn into work. Every single day I watch for that cocksucker, for one day vengeance will be mine. For months now, I’ve been entertaining thoughts of carrying a carton of eggs in my car for deserving morons like this guy. I may just implement this idea. Paybacks are a b*tch, Mario...