So I’m driving down the road in my piece of shit grey Fiat, aka the silver bullet, aka labaladeplata. I only know that one spanish word because I saw it on a coors light can. Anyway, I’m feeling pretty good. The windows down, I got the targa top out, what’s left of my hair is blowing in the wind, I got my repair kit, I got an oldie but a goodie on the radio.
These wind shield wipers
Slapping out of tempo
Keeping perfect rhythm
With the song on the radio
I gotta keep Roollllling.
And then, BAM, this redneck in a big redneck truck is right on my bumper. I’m doing 55 in a 45 on a little country road. Sun is shining, Breeze is blowing, I’m still alive, but I got this neck beard that wants to drive his truck up my ass.
Did I mention I’m in a piece of shit Fiat? Yes I did. This thing is so low to the ground you gotta sit down to get up.
So I slow down to let him pass, but he just gets closer to me. He’s weaving in his lane as if he’s pissed off that I have the common courtesy to slow down and get over as far as I can to let him pass. But he’s not getting it. He lays on the horn. I stick my arm out the window and wave him on. He mus have misunderstood because now he’s yelling something out the window and shooting me birds.
I wave harder out the window, my hands and fingers spread open so he understands I am not, in any way, flipping him off, I’m just trying to get him to go around me so I can get back to my song and he can get to wherever the hell he’s going in such a hurry.
But he don’t get it. Now he’s laying on the horn continuously. I check the speedometer. I’m doing 44 in a 45. It’s a straight road, plenty of dotted yellow lines between me, him and the hill a mile away. He can easily pass me, but he’s too concetrated on blowing that goddamn horn and yelling obcenities at me.
I wave one more time, hard and over exagerateted to get his attention and when I swing real hard motioning him forward my forearm hits the top of the car and my hand and about six inches of my forearm break off and go flying into the road.
I hit the brakes hard, I don’t wanna run over the only left hand I got.
Of course, this pisses him off to no end. I slam to a hard stop and jump out of the car. As I’m running over I am vaguly aware of his car screeching to a stop behind me. I hear him yelling but it’s drowned out by the sound of the tires on road.
I pick up my arm, thankful he didn’t run over it.
He keeps yelling at me, and now that he’s realized I’m half dead, it gets worse. He’s calling me everything you can imagine.
He threatens to run over me and I warn him that it is illegal to run over a pre-z and I have a camera in my car recording everything. This may have stopped him from running over me, but it doesn’t stop him from yelling. I walk over to him, maybe if he can see me, look in my eyes, maybe he can understand that we’re both humans.
As I get closer to the car, I realize it’s not one of those giant monster trucks like I thought. It’s just one of those toyotas like the terrorists drive. It only looked big because I was sitting so low in my piece of shit fiat.
I walk up to him and am about to apologize. I got my broken left fore arm in my right hand and as I walk up, the motherfucker spits on me. He leans out of his window, so he towers over me a little and spits right in my mouth as I’m apologizing.
I was holding my broken arm in my right hand, I mentioned that. I was holding it so that the jagged bone of my forearm is facing up, and my left hand is facing down. When he spit, and I tasted it in my mouth, I just reacted. I didn’t mean to shove my broken bone straight up into his jaw. I just reacted, but I really truely overacted. I hit him so hard, my broken bone shattered his jaw and kept going up through the front of his skull, ripping his entire face off. His face exploded right in front of me. It was like I popped a zit.
I didn’t mean to do it, but I really, really loved the feeling of doing it. His body fell limp over the door of his stupid toyota truck and the amount of blood was just godawful.
I walked back to my car and got in. It was a little difficult to drive off because the pos fiat is a manual and I only had one arm. I figured out I could wedge the split bones in my left arm around the steering wheel though, so it’s all good. It felt good. I felt good.
As I drove off there was a different song on the radio.