Die, Horsie, Die!

So, I'm writing you now from my new MacBook laptop, which is as awesome as a blowjob with the balls cupped, with the balls cupped, dammit! (Sometimes you have to remind people.) Of course, it's most likely already fubar after frantically downloading several dubious applications in order to rip my iPod onto this thing, but c'est la vie.

Anyway, my reason for writing this is that something actually happened to me worth writing about. It all started when I was driving home from my grandparent's house (the generous source of my new puter), and I accidentally cut off some dicksack in a fire engine red Ford Mustang (the new Mustang, mind you, not the kind I'd actually feel bad about cutting off). This cum guzzler decides that, instead of merely allowing my transgression to pass by unanswered, he'd tailgate the living shite out of me and hurl insults into my rearview mirror. Noticing this had little effect on a superior being such as myself, the lesser ape decided to, as they say, take it up a notch. He revved his engine into the five or six thousands and ripped up to my side, arms flailing, mouth foaming, and spewing a general air of psychotic danger my way. He then, in what might be the quintessence of road rage, began rocking violently back and forth between his lane and the inside of mine, threatening to run me off the road. What is one to do in this situation? Look for divine providence, that is what.

Ahead of us in his lane was a massive pick up truck moving considerably slower than the two of us, and I saw my opportunity. I sped up to ninety, and slammed at my brakes when I got along side him. Boxing the monkey in the Mustang out, I prepared my ammunition. I had three chances: a can of Coke, and some kielbasa and potato salad from my Grandmother. He played into my hand and moved to my rear, nearly touching my bumper with his and continuing to flail and scream in pitiful anger. First the Coke. I hurl it over my shoulder and it glances off his hood. Seeing that that did no damage (except to his paint job) I decided to throw the tinfoil full of kielbasa next. Right off the windshield, but to no avail. And then glory. I opened the Cool Whip container full of greasy potato salad and sent it his way. BULLSEYE! The salad splattered all over the windshield right in front of his face, and he swerved into the breakdown lane. He may have went off the road, but fuck if I care. I gunned it again and got as much distance between me and the rabid baboon as possible.

And the moral of the story? Well, there are two. One: people in late model Mustangs are most likely douchebags, so be vigilant around them. Two: kielbasa is not an effective projectile, but is very tasty, so don't throw it; eat it.

-Barnes