I love road rage. I have it, I practice it, and I strive to perfect it. I’m not one of those psychos who whips out an AK-47 and shoots the guy who cuts me off, but screaming insults at some moron who can’t hear me really makes my driving experience all that much better. If I encounter really horrible drivers, maybe I’ll follow them to wherever their destinations are and freak ‘em out a little. The roads are just so fertile, with all these little seeds behind the wheels of their SUVs and minivans waiting to piss me off. Driving isn’t that hard, I don’t know why so many people suck at it.

Apparently there is something special about times when I’m behind the wheel. It took me awhile, but I finally figured it out a year or so ago. I’m being followed around by a bunch of little gnomes. Whenever I get behind the wheel of a car, they run out of hiding and slap signs on the car before I can turn the ignition. They then hide up in the car’s chassis and take the signs off before I get out, so I’ll never see them. They’re really getting thorough, too, because I’m pretty sure they don’t just put a sign on the back, they put them on the sides and one on the front that is backwards so that you can read it in your rear-view, like the paint on the front of an ambulance.

So, if you see a car out on the road, especially a blue Chevy S-10, with signs on it that say, "Get in front of me and then slow down," don’t do it. I don’t like it at all; it is just the sick sense of humour of a bunch of little bastard gnomes.

And you, on the cell phone, hang up. You can barely drive and breathe at the same time, your mental resources are so taxed, and when you try and carry on a conversation you lose it completely.

What exactly is it about the minivan? Is it that getting behind the wheel of one of these things makes you the worst driver in the world automatically, or are only shitty drivers compelled to buy these bimbo boxes? Just once I’d like to see one of these things stay in its own lane, not cut anyone off, and stop for all red lights.

I had an interview down in Greenville NC this past Tuesday, so I drove to Raleigh and spent the night at my parents’ house to shorten my early morning drive on Tuesday. On my late night drive up Interstate 85, I was cruising along at about 74 M.P.H. in a 70 zone with only a few other cars out on the road when I passed a Corvette. Now, I’m not sure what mentality a person enters when they get behind the wheel of this particular car, but apparently being passed by a ’93 S-10 wounds the pride of these individuals. The moron stomped on the gas and blew past me.

"Sorry about your penis!" I called after him, pitying somebody who has penis envy so badly that they have to put on such displays, and drove on. No more than two minutes later, I passed the same damned car.

Apparently quite insulted that I caught up with him after he slowed back down to sixty, the guy (as I’ve now looked into his window to see the scowl on our penile-challenged friend) pushed the pedal through the floor and cut in front of me inches from my bumper. After a string of curses, I drove on, only to pass him again before the song on the radio changed.

Apparently our sports-car driving friend has the logic capability of a rotting kiwi fruit, because he seemed absolutely outraged that I was once again passing him on the left. Hunching forward to get all the acceleration possible, our boy once again grazed my bumper and started a weird Corvette dance in front of me, fishtailing around the lane before zooming around the curve at mach 2.

A full five minutes later, I came upon this pigeon-brained imbecile again. Not wanting to see what his next performance would be, I tossed a few caltrops out the window under his tires.

Next week I’m going to buy a grenade launcher.

Back to the ranting...

The material on this page is not endorsed, Sponsored, Provided, or on behalf of Davidson College.