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.
Now I know I’ve started out on kind of a ‘good old boys love good old toys’ bit here, but lest you, dear reader, think I am categorically assailing truck-lovers, please know that I’m not. I know lots of good people that drive trucks. Shoot, some even use them to haul or move big heavy things. But I’m doubting that aside from hauling his oversized ‘take no prisoners’ attitude the TTN has ever dared scuff his baby by actually usefully employing his gas-guzzling gargantuan. Plus, did I mention he’s an asshat?
So I got to thinking about what goes through a “mind” like his, what possesses a guy to so clearly overload on truck and truck ‘tricking.’ So with that, the Top Ten Sneaking Suspicions about the Tailgating Turd of the North, in no particular order…
10) Knows deep down that the day he first has the chance to use his newly installed winch will easily eclipse birth of own son
9) Large sticker portraying Calvin (of Calvin & Hobbes) pissing on Chevy logo helps allay fear that he has pledged lifelong allegiance to wrong truck
8) Massive overcompensation for tiny wenis and receding hairline totally obvious to all around him
7) Only drives to fringe of downtown when attending monster truck pulls, for fear he’ll have to rashly shoot someone (who will in all likelihood be black or ‘one of them Mexicans’) in sketchy case of ‘self defense’
5) Mirrored image naked-lady silhouette mud flaps subconscious attempt to pump up internal and public image as man’s man, despite nagging impulse to see what else Cletus is packin’
4) Secretly thinks if he drives far enough north he’ll reach the mystical land of Ford truck commercials where the truck devours mountaintops, spraying rocks far and wide whilst carrying a full bed of massive logs and towing a giant concrete block through huge clouds of dirt and debris
3) Nightly dreams of even more torque (a Freudian dream for the trained psychotherapist)
2) Already lost the four wheeler, the fishin’ boat, the ski-doo, and the house, and will be damned if the god-damned government (or the bank that holds the note, which seem to be the same thing) takes his wheels
1) Just knows Jessica Biel would “get it” if she saw it, immediately begging for the honor of blowing him at 85 mph