The Steel Rat

Like shiny steel rats in a futuristic sewer system maze--the stink from their baseness blasting holes through my head--they come bearing filthy children and rotting groceries to sustain their kind. The come, oh yes, they fucking come. Yes, they are the cocksuckers driving minivans with George W. Bush stickers on the bumper and they catapult through my consciousness and through traffic without regard for anyone but themselves. They are not the great thinkers, they are drones, they are fixated on the bump and grind, on Daddy’s outboard, on Mommy’s inboard, on the words that Jesus speaks through the tiny openings in their heads. Today I was almost killed by the mother of all mothers and she was driving a beetle green steel rat.





Yes, but what specifically is this about you ask? And I reply that it is an open invitation to her fat redneck husband to meet me at the East Mall at 5 O’clock in front of his favorite Bass Pro Shop store where I will kick his fucking filthy ass. Get it? Got it? Good. Where does my anger come from? Read on…

Today at lunch, as I rounded the exit ramp to the highway that leads to my modest abode, I spied a steel rat (minivan) behind me about three feet from my soot stained bumper. The woman at the wheel was compact and looked as if at one time she had been seven feet tall but someone had begun to slowly let the air out of her. What was left over time was a puddle of loose jiggling flesh that bucked and churned whenever she yanked at her steering wheel.

“Egad,” I cried, turning my attention back to the road.

As we exited the ramp onto the highway I glanced back and saw her lazy eyes tighten and her mouth pucker into a perfect fatty little O. The cords pushed up through the corpulent layer of flesh around her neck and she slammed down on the gas pedal and her steel rat shot out around me. What the flabby troll didn’t take into account was that I was already merging into the lane and as she tried to accelerate around me I nearly connected with her front corner panel.


Evidently this set off the tiny animal of fury burrowed under her layers of blubber--some primitive vertebrate with poisonous fangs--for no sooner had I steered out of her way than I saw her flipping her middle fingers at me with both hands off the wheel as her cross eyed interbred children--demon seeds that had dropped like rotten fruit from her syphillic loins--shrieked in the back of her steel rat.

I obliged the gestures whipping out my middle fingers faster than a pervert exposes himself from under his trench coat in front of a group of Girl Scouts. I was however perplexed. Didn’t the bitch understand that sitting behind her was someone with the capability of punching a hole through her fucking window and dragging her out of her steel rat and on to the highway in front of a Mac truck? Evidently not for she continued on her tirade, weaving madly back and forth across the road.

I put my middle fingers away as she continued looking back at me and screaming and cursing and flipping me off. I really wasn’t that angry and soon began to laugh at the absurdity of this woman’s tirade. She wouldn’t relent and in fact seemed to be gaining steam as we continued down the highway. I rolled down my window and waved at her which kept her focused on me and not on the traffic that had stopped in front of her.

BAM!

Her steel rat ate the whole piece of pickup truck cheese that was halted because of traffic, flattening it’s bed like a elderly man's embroidered handkerchief. Her fat head ricocheted off her steering wheel six or seven times. I slammed on my brakes and stopped behind her. Before I could blink she was out of her minivan and was screaming and cursing.

I pulled out around her and rolled down my window.

“If you want to fight tell your old man to meet me outside the Bass Pro Shop at 5. I’ll be in my vehicle,” I said and laughed.

“You mother fucker,” she screamed as I drove off.

I have to say that was one of the most fulfilling afternoons I’ve had in quite some time.