Tweet
Road Rage
Sit back and let me spin you a cautionary tale of why it's never a good idea to piss of those of scant intellect while out for an afternoon drive.
So it came to pass, this very afternoon, my brother and his significant other were traveling in the carpool lane of the freeway, exceeding the speed limit by a modest sum, when our antagonist, hereby dubbed Asswank, decided that they weren't exceeding the speed limit by nearly enough, and to express his dismay over this fact, he began to tailgate them.
Our valiant hero, hereby called Dave, because that's his name, tapped his brakes to flash the brake lights in an attempt to inform Asswank that he was following at an uncomfortably unsafe distance. When that failed to result in the desired effect, he did so a second time, on the off chance that Asswank, being so close, couldn't actually see his lights the first time. Again, it availed him naught. For his third attempt to gain some additional space between the vehicles, he again tapped his brakes, this time allowing his speed to be reduced until they were so close to the speed limit that even the most uptight of officers would be unable to make a speeding ticket stick.
Alas, all attempts proved futile. Dave, now quite incensed at Asswank's complete lack of regard for anybody's safety (particularly Dave's and his significant other's), used a common hand signal to indicate his displeasure with the situation.
Unfortunately, it appears that, much like the color red to a bull, this was all it took to flip Asswank's switch from 'inconsiderate, dangerous moron' to the much less desirable 'dangerous moron too stupid to refrain from committing felonies while in and with his vehicle.'
Asswank sees the afore-mentioned hand signal and immediately goes into a rage. He immediately exits the carpool lane in a notably unsafe manner (and against the lines, I might add) so that he may speed up to bring his car even with Dave's. Once in position, he takes the opportunity to grab a handful of we know not what, possibly the detritus of his shattered dreams, and flings them out of his window such that both Dave and his s.o., who I shall now dub Anna merely because I feel like it, hear some of said objects striking the side of the vehicle.
Then, as traffic will not allow Asswank to pass, he is forced, once more, to be behind Dave's car, where he continues to follow at an ever-shrinking distance until there is once more an opening. Much as before, he repeats the maneuver, flinging whatever was within reach at Dave's car, then retreats to the position behind his car for a third time.
Finally, a way is clear, and Dave takes the opportunity to exit the carpool lane, weave his way through traffic, and exit the freeway entirely at the next available offramp.
Asswank, not to be denied the target of his wrath, follows. Dave pulls over and exits the vehicle. Asswank pulls up behind while Dave, now also incensed and thinking rather less than clearly, challenges him to face him without the protective cages of multi-ton vehicular safety. Asswank, showing that he really is a coward, refuses the challenge and leaves with utmost haste.
Much to everybody's dismay, his driving is not any better off the freeway than it was on, and he manages to actually hit our hero in his rush to escape. Our hero thus felled, Anna rushes to his side, moving to get him back within the safety of his vehicle, neither yet realizing the extent of the damage that has been done.
Asswank, perhaps having realized that he has done far worse than he intended, reverses course. It is possible that his conscience, huddled somewhere in the dank reaches of what passes for his character, demanded that he stick around for the obligatory exchange of data.
We may never know, however, as upon viewing the incensed Anna, the cold comfort of a can of brand name soda in one upraised hand and fire in her eyes, whatever shred of bravery he might have had fled, and once more, so did he.
Once it was clear that Asswank had fled the scene entirely, it was discovered that Dave was now loosing an unpleasantly large amount of vital fluids onto the floor of the car, and so an ambulance was summoned, that he could be rushed to have his ankle treated as was proper an injury of that severity.
All told, there are no broken bones, but there is a lot of torn and strained tissue, and a half dozen stitches required. He is now home, essentially bedridden, with a cast covering his leg from just below the knee down to expose the tips of his toes. While whatever drugs were used during treatment were only slightly better than useless (woe to us both, that novocaine, lidocaine, and codeine have little to no effect), those which he was prescribed for his care while at home are rather more effective.
Fortunately for our heroes, Asswank's license plate was made note of and passed on to the constabulary that did first answer the emergency call. And now, it is down to waiting for the system to work as it should.
^-.-^
So it came to pass, this very afternoon, my brother and his significant other were traveling in the carpool lane of the freeway, exceeding the speed limit by a modest sum, when our antagonist, hereby dubbed Asswank, decided that they weren't exceeding the speed limit by nearly enough, and to express his dismay over this fact, he began to tailgate them.
Our valiant hero, hereby called Dave, because that's his name, tapped his brakes to flash the brake lights in an attempt to inform Asswank that he was following at an uncomfortably unsafe distance. When that failed to result in the desired effect, he did so a second time, on the off chance that Asswank, being so close, couldn't actually see his lights the first time. Again, it availed him naught. For his third attempt to gain some additional space between the vehicles, he again tapped his brakes, this time allowing his speed to be reduced until they were so close to the speed limit that even the most uptight of officers would be unable to make a speeding ticket stick.
Alas, all attempts proved futile. Dave, now quite incensed at Asswank's complete lack of regard for anybody's safety (particularly Dave's and his significant other's), used a common hand signal to indicate his displeasure with the situation.
Unfortunately, it appears that, much like the color red to a bull, this was all it took to flip Asswank's switch from 'inconsiderate, dangerous moron' to the much less desirable 'dangerous moron too stupid to refrain from committing felonies while in and with his vehicle.'
Asswank sees the afore-mentioned hand signal and immediately goes into a rage. He immediately exits the carpool lane in a notably unsafe manner (and against the lines, I might add) so that he may speed up to bring his car even with Dave's. Once in position, he takes the opportunity to grab a handful of we know not what, possibly the detritus of his shattered dreams, and flings them out of his window such that both Dave and his s.o., who I shall now dub Anna merely because I feel like it, hear some of said objects striking the side of the vehicle.
Then, as traffic will not allow Asswank to pass, he is forced, once more, to be behind Dave's car, where he continues to follow at an ever-shrinking distance until there is once more an opening. Much as before, he repeats the maneuver, flinging whatever was within reach at Dave's car, then retreats to the position behind his car for a third time.
Finally, a way is clear, and Dave takes the opportunity to exit the carpool lane, weave his way through traffic, and exit the freeway entirely at the next available offramp.
Asswank, not to be denied the target of his wrath, follows. Dave pulls over and exits the vehicle. Asswank pulls up behind while Dave, now also incensed and thinking rather less than clearly, challenges him to face him without the protective cages of multi-ton vehicular safety. Asswank, showing that he really is a coward, refuses the challenge and leaves with utmost haste.
Much to everybody's dismay, his driving is not any better off the freeway than it was on, and he manages to actually hit our hero in his rush to escape. Our hero thus felled, Anna rushes to his side, moving to get him back within the safety of his vehicle, neither yet realizing the extent of the damage that has been done.
Asswank, perhaps having realized that he has done far worse than he intended, reverses course. It is possible that his conscience, huddled somewhere in the dank reaches of what passes for his character, demanded that he stick around for the obligatory exchange of data.
We may never know, however, as upon viewing the incensed Anna, the cold comfort of a can of brand name soda in one upraised hand and fire in her eyes, whatever shred of bravery he might have had fled, and once more, so did he.
Once it was clear that Asswank had fled the scene entirely, it was discovered that Dave was now loosing an unpleasantly large amount of vital fluids onto the floor of the car, and so an ambulance was summoned, that he could be rushed to have his ankle treated as was proper an injury of that severity.
All told, there are no broken bones, but there is a lot of torn and strained tissue, and a half dozen stitches required. He is now home, essentially bedridden, with a cast covering his leg from just below the knee down to expose the tips of his toes. While whatever drugs were used during treatment were only slightly better than useless (woe to us both, that novocaine, lidocaine, and codeine have little to no effect), those which he was prescribed for his care while at home are rather more effective.
Fortunately for our heroes, Asswank's license plate was made note of and passed on to the constabulary that did first answer the emergency call. And now, it is down to waiting for the system to work as it should.
^-.-^
And he has no idea why the rest of us were laughing at that statement.
.
Comment