Paralyzing on my mind.

    I wish my car had buttons on the steering wheel that corresponded to hidden weapons mounted in the body.

    I was driving down Amity in Amherst this morning, when this assbag in a red Subaru Outback type car, middle aged man with glasses, a moustache, grayish hair and wearing a ball cap, cut me off. Im pretty ok with being cut off for the most part. Its really no big deal. But the way this douche bag cut me off was just plain old wrong and made me wish I had a license to kill, or at least maim, torture, humiliate, paralyze....you know. Stuff like that.

    As I was turning down Amity, he was coming the opposite direction down main St and floored it, almost hitting my back bumper. He was obviously an asshole. So then, he gunned it up the parking spaces within inches of my passenger side and passed me, then cut me off. I blasted my horn at him as I looked over, and he had a total look of nonchalance on his face. Didnt even look over at me. It was just like business as usual.
   
    This, days after I had to pay $300 to get my license reinstated for failing to pay a seatbelt fine. I had a suspended license, and this guy gets to drive like that?!

      Here's the scenario as it played out in a my perfect world;

      The guy cuts me off like he did.
      I mash the gas and follow him at high speed when he noticed me following him. He panics at first and a moment later he gets enraged. How DARE I follow him like that!!? So he slams on his brakes thinking hes going to shake me but I slam my indestructible car into his left rear quarter and spin him out, slamming him, driver side into a tree. His car is stalled, hes unconscious and I sit in my car.
      Sip the coffee. Stare at him, bleeding from the head. Smile.
      I slowly get out of my car and walk over to his. He wakes up, half consciously looking up at me as I begin to drag him head first from his wreck.
      With the what remains of his seatbelt, I drag him by the neck as he struggles, kicking his feet, to the spacious trunk of my car and heave him in. He half heartedly begs forgiveness, his strength and will left back in his car where he was so brave and angry, as I close the lid on him.
      In my perfect scenario, I have a cabin miles out in the woods somewhere, nowhere really, and it takes hours to drive there. Its a bumpy road, I cant go too fast. But this time, I make an exception. Its like Im driving the Paris-Dekar Rally and hes hopping around my trunk like a couple yahtzee dice in a shaker. By the time I get to my cabin, he crying like a wee baby, and Im hungry. So I go in and make dinner and hit the sack.
      By morning, the trunk of my car smells like a nursing home dumpster and hes unconscious. I dump a bottle of whiskey on him to wake him up, and close the trunk to drive him back to his car, which is still there, and leave him sprawled on the grass next to it and call the cops.
      I found a drunk driver, layed out on the lawn next to his wrecked car. Hes babbling incoherently, barely breathing and covered in his own feces and vomit.


      That's in a perfect world. In my real world, my girlfriend is in the passenger seat of my very destructible car and the most I can do is honk my horn and find a parking spot while he flies off down the road, happy that he got one over.