I am a bad-ass. You people need to stop pissing me off.
Last night I was driving home from a late night rehearsal at the theatre. It was almost 1 a.m., and all I wanted to do was get home, eat a Smart Dog and get to bed. I was nearly home when I got stuck behind a frightened person driving 20 miles per hour on a well-lit street with a 35 mph limit. Alberta Street is not difficult to navigate, and there was no other traffic on the road. Yet this person, let us call him "Mr. Pissywussy", was driving as if his car was traversing Norwegian glaciers.
I was getting very frustrated, but not enough to swerve around Mr. Pissywussy into the oncoming traffic lane. No, I just decided to use non-verbal communication to help coax Pissywussy to his destination. So I used my mental telepathy on him. "Faster. Go faster. You are an idiot. Go faster. It's save to drive faster. You're a fucking moron. Hurry. GO!!!"
When that didn't work, I employed the "I'm Going to Drive 2 Inches from Your Rear Bumper" method. Normally, this is a method employed solely by assholes who want you to drive faster than the posted speed limit. Clearly, I am not an asshole. No, I am known and loved by many. Also, Mr. Pissywussy was driving 15 miles under the posted speed limit. Don't contradict me here, or I'll be forced to do another drive-by. You do not want to be the object of my wrath, my child, for you are about to hear the terrifying story of my monstrous rage.
One block from my street, the trembling Mr. Pissywussy decided to seek revenge on me. He turned on his blinker and slowed to a complete stop before turning onto his stupid little side street inhabited by the dumbest people in the world.
(Because Mr. Pissywussy lives on that street, I have decided that all people who live on that street are idiots. I've been the object of unbelievable bigotry from the God Hates Fags faction my whole life, so I am well-trained in irrational hatred based on ignorance. )
So, there sits the villain waiting to turn and probably expecting me to slam on my brakes. Hell, no. I had two inches to spare, and I intended to keep moving. Besides, I knew he was bluffing. Mr. Pissywussy fearfully backed down and continued his turn, and I still had at least a quarter of an inch to go before I hit his car. As he drove off at an amazingly brisk pace (at least 21 mph now!) he flipped me off. He. Flipped. Me. OFF!
"What? You can't flip me off, Mr. Pissywussy," I thought to myself. "You were driving too slow, and I didn't even honk at you or scream out my window that I was going to kill you if you did not put the fucking pedal to the metal and move your stupid pansy ass. I just politely tailed you like you were The Rock wearing a tank top at a gay bar." Come on! Only assholes should get flipped off, and I have already quite thoroughly proven my innocence on that account.
I drove the block to my street and decided that I was going to have to do a gay drive-by. Yep. I am sorry, but sometimes you just have to engage in some late night vigilante justice. I drove past my house and headed for Mr. Pissywussy's street. Now, this gets pretty graphic and a little messy. Brace yourself...
I turned on my brights, headed up his street, cranked up the Japanese pop soundtrack to Dance Dance Revolution blaring in my kick-ass cassette deck, and approached Mr. Pissywussy just as he was walking from his car to his house. Then I rolled down my window and, and... I glared at him. I slowly drove by his house and just glared. He looked angry and a bit hurt. Maybe even mystified.
I'm sure he doublechecked the locks on his doors as he went to bed last night. I'll bet he was trembling as he lay awake in bed watching the Home Shopping Network and listening for Japanese pop outside. I felt great, and I knew that I was truly a bad ass.
Who says there is no such thing as the Gay Mafia?