WARNING: This post contains adult language and crude attempts at humor
I live on the northern fringe of a largish metropolitan area, just at the tipping point where urban civilization yields to rolling seas of forest and White people. Lots of White people. And that’s okay—shoot, I’m one of ‘em—but when they buy comically large F-350s, festoon (I’m pretty sure they’d call it ‘makin’ her badass,’ but I like festoon) them with silly stickers, detailing, and adornments, and then drive them right up my asshole—well, that’s not okay.
Today I found myself tooling along carelessly in my little toy Corolla when some asshat I now regard as the Tailgating Turd of the North (TTN) decided my bumper looked ripe for some good old-fashioned vehicular rape. As his passive-aggressiveness morphed into pure rage, he got closer and closer, he and his shit-kickin’ buddy Cletus. Now shame on me for trying to prove some kind of point by maintaining an even-keeled but still above-the-limit speed. That was about the equivalent of trying to describe nuclear physics to a kitten or rocket scientry to George Bush. But still…dude…f-off already. Continue reading