The most exciting thing that has happened to me today, so far, is you consistently driving perhaps six feet behind me—first at 55-60 mph on the divided highway, and then at 35-40 mph on the side street. Thank you for the thrills, sir! They lasted several minutes for me beyond the occurrence itself. I appreciate the excitement!
I don’t want to get too much into vehicular physics with you, but sir, when you drive so close to me, I slow down not to irritate you, but because you have forced me to drive for both of us. You see, I am trying to maximize the space in which I can stop my vehicle, should that become a sudden requirement. Because you are leaving yourself essentially no space in which to do so yourself, I am hoping to be able to do so slowly enough in time for you to react as well.
(This would be in the interest of avoiding a collision, causing near-certain property damage and possible injury.)
I was duly impressed—indeed, I nearly swooned—when you zoomed around me on the double-yellow line. Oh man, that was awesome. I really got it just how fast your car is, and just how pissed off you were. Really really. I mean, my testicles retracted miserably into my body. I was so humbled and shamed.
(You know, funny thing—after you did that, I was able to safely resume a travel speed of 40 mph or so, and the Taurus that had been behind you felt no need to do anything but follow at a safe distance.)
Now sir, in the interest of full disclosure, I have been guilty of just such a rage-generated maneuver before in my driving career. I’ve probably done it four or five times, actually. But I haven’t done such since my late 20s or so. Sir—receding hairline, full gray beard sir—that’s not good for you to be so wound up at your age. Our vascular systems don’t last forever, you know. Even douchebags often have families to support, so I’m guessing you may have one. You might think of them a little more.
Oh, and a final note: you’re much too old for that car. You really look ridiculous. If you insist on keeping it, may I suggest the vanity plate HNGR ON? Or maybe CLNGING?
(TINY PP seems too obvious.)
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I’m reminded of an old Elayne Boosler bit (remember her?) talking about middle-aged men roaring around in Corvettes and her having to suppress the urge to yell out to them, “Sorry about your penis!”
OOOH! OOOH! I have a joke! (or is it a fable…kinda seems like a jokey fable)…
Anyway…a mouse and a lion…
So, one day, there’s this lion in the jungle who somehow falls into a hunter’s pit-trap. He’s hollering and hollering for someone to save him…along comes this mouse (they’ve been friends ever since the thorn-in-the-paw thing). Mouse sees Lion is in trouble and goes and gets his silver Eclipse (as it was told by my friend Susan, it was a Posche, but same concept). He throws a rope down into the pit, ties the other to his car and tells Lion to hold on. Then he guns the car and the Lion pops out of the pit. Whew!
A few days later, Mouse is walking through the jungle and falls into another hunter’s pit trap. he starts screaming for someone to save him and Lion hears him. Lion comes running to his friend’s aid. When he gets there, he sees the Mouse down in the trap, and also hears the hunters on their way…so he unzips his pants and flops his penis down into the pit. “Hurry!” he says, “Climb up before they get here!” Mouse is at first kinda “What? Are you kidding me?” But he can hear the hunters on their way too…so he scrambles up and he & Lion get away.
And the moral of the story is…
If you have a big enough penis, there is no need for a silver Eclipse.
Marianne, that is the awesome – great with my morning cup of coffee.
Happy to oblige.