Lost Revelations on 87

19 Nov

All the hotties on 87 were grilling him.  He could feel it.  Why did he buy this Lexus when he had obligations that needed funding?  Because road-hotties love Lexus’.  Yep, he had made the right decision, no question about that.   Each car that he passed left eyeball impressions all over his angelic-white SUV.  He would take it to the carwash later. It was difficult to understand why he needed this attention.  Honestly, he had never tried to figure out why.  He started pondering whether or not perhaps he was being a bit narcissistic in his expectation that everyone should notice and care about him.  Perhaps it is not necessary for every soul in the Capital Region to be fully aware of how beautiful a car he currently owned and how successful of a human being he must be because of that car.  Yes, an epiphany was brewing.  This slimy bag-of-wieners was beginning to realize that perhaps his mode of transportation and his shades weren’t enough to validate his existence in the eyes and judgments of anyone with any cognitive ability.

 

“I’m being a jerk-off,” he said aloud, startled by his own revelation.  He began to ease off the gas..90…85..80…

 

Just then a blonde in a Honda civic pulled up alongside and made eyes and smiled at the driver of the Mercedes SUV.  The cleanliness of the vehicle had piqued her curiosity.  Clearly this was a man who had his shit together, she thought.  And as magically as it had appeared, the epiphany was gone.  The girl in the Civic had no idea what she had done.

 

“Fuck yeah, check this out, baby” the driver said to himself, his ego swelling as he punched the gas. His car now practically gliding down the Third lane.

 

The traffic began to thicken.  How would people know how fast his car could go in this traffic?  Would everyone think that he had bought the one Mercedes SUV that wasn’t super nice and retardedly fast? He knew that’s what he would think if he saw such a fine car going less than eighty miles per hour. Without much time to think, the driver began weaving in and out of the slower, more pathetic cars. He made a conscious effort not to use his turn signals so as not to give the other drivers the impression that he gave one rat’s nostril of a shit about their well-being.  His strategy was working flawlessly.  Motorists, in their mobile monuments to mediocrity all stared at the driver as he zipped past.  Perfect, he thought, they love my car…they love everything I’m doing right now.  Thoughts of running for office raced across his mind.

 

Finally, he came up on a Black Subaru Forester doing about 75 in the Third lane.  The car was shaking violently and two tires were being held to the rim by what appeared to be masking tape.  “Look at this tool,” the driver muttered to himself as he rode inches from the Subaru’s bumper. He jolted into the right lane suddenly to pass, careful again not to use his turn signal.  As he accelerated past the Subaru he tried to get a glimpse of the person who could not afford a Lexus, the person who dared impede the driver’s triumphant drive to the gym.  Before he could reach the passenger side window, the eighteen wheeler in front of the Mercedes slowed and our intrepid driver was forced to make another decision: accelerate towards the trucks bumper and make a last ditch effort to get in front of the Subaru, or settle back behind the Subaru and wait for the next opportunity to pass.  No fucking question in Mercedes-dude’s perfectly bronzed mind that he should go for the cut-off.  What’d he have to lose afterall?  No one would dare scratch his ivory chariot and if they did, Daddy had four more in the garage waiting.  With a mighty rev, the Mercedes sped up.  It was Too Fast Too Furious time.  This is why he watched those movies every night.  This is why he had so many Vin Diesel posters.

 

But alas the driver of the Subaru was aware of the habits of the type of person that drives a White, Mercedes SUV.  He knew the elite members of the Young-with-suspiciously-nice-cars Club hated nothing more than being behind another car for any duration of time.  The rickety, black death trap accelerated with the best of its pathetic ability.  A split-second race for the fifteen feet of space between the Subaru and the Eighteen wheeler ensued and for a just a fraction of that fraction of a second, it appeared there would be no way in the laws of physics to jam that shiny white masterpiece into the third-lane.  Just as the driver of the Mercedes decided that life would not be worth living if it didn’t get in front of this subpar vehicle, the Subaru suddenly slowed down, allowing the victorious SUV to pull into the third lane—with an inch to spare. The Black Subaru and it’s blond driver watched the Mercedes race off into the sunset, no doubt on a voyage to pump out curls and make eye contact with girls on treadmills.

 

That’s it. Sorry for being anticlimactic. I wanted to Pit maneuver his car but I pussed out.  I guess, after all my bluster,  I don’t have it in me to cause a pile-up over someone tailing me.  Moral of the story:  Drive like a dick and probably nothing will happen; besides everyone will know you’re a dick.

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