“CAAAAMON-CAAAMON-CAAMON-CAMON. *******. *******, YOU STUPID *******!!!!” I slam on the brakes as the traffic light turns red, the front end of my car now parked in the middle of the intersection.
A bunch of headlights begin to move towards me, and I rev the engine, slamming the car into reverse. Now behind the white line, I lean back and take a few breaths. I sound like my old man. That nasty, fat ***** was always screaming at those useless racehorses as his soggy, limp cigar would bounce from his lips, spit landing all over the paid-in-full fakies of whatever blonde ***** was cuddled up next to him for the afternoon. Having lost everything by the end of the day, he would always plod home and deposit his soiled, checkered pants on the laundry room floor and crawl into bed to make love to my mom.
Ugh. I need to stop thinking about him. I already wish I could be one of those old horses who gets shot in the head. Today was my five-year work anniversary, and on behalf of the entire department, volcano-face Emily bestowed upon me a massive dog bone, which now sits tauntingly on my passenger seat. As she suppressed that nasty giggle of hers and handed me the bone, the room erupted with laughter, someone shouting from the back corner, “Hey, Ed! Get it?! You’re always like a dog with a bone!” Maybe I should go back to work and make that ***** play fetch.
No. I’ll save that for later. Right now I am going to go get that Philly Cheese Steak sandwich that’s been on my mind all afternoon. That is if this light ever turns green again. But ******* is my mouth salivating just thinking about that sandwich.
What the hell is that?
A Ford Bronco is blazing towards the intersection, directly into oncoming traffic. It swerves onto the shoulder, speeding past the rows of stopped cars and blasting through the red light. The driver is leaning out the window, swinging around a sword. He notices me staring and looks straight into my eyes, solidifying his unspoken threat by pointing his medieval weapon straight at my heart.
Fine. If that ******* wants a duel, I would hardly be a gentleman if I did not oblige. I reach behind the passenger seat and grab the antique cop light that’s been gathering dust on the floor ever since I purchased it at the neighborhood thrift store. I slap the thing on the top of my car and punch through the red light, cranking the steering wheel to make a quick u-ey. As I gain some distance, I can just barely make out the license plate.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Dr. Pepper ignores the fact that I am only 20 feet behind him and turns up his stereo, blasting a Renaissance dance tune from hell.
I’m going to end this, and I’m going to end it by sticking that sword up that Shakespeare *******’s ***.
Dr. Pepper slams on his brakes, the sudden jolt causing him to drop his sword. The passengers in the back of the cab burst into a slow-motion uproar, and I take the opportunity to cut off their escape route. Now stopped, I pull out my mocha-flavored e-cig from my front pocket and look over at my dog bone as the vapor fills the car. I snag the bone and step outside, feeling the weight of the rawhide in my hand as I approach the truck. Not stopping to bother with the driver, I head towards the back, kicking the forgotten sword into traffic. My clothes are bathed in red from the brake lights, and the coked-out frenzy of the Renaissance men reaches a ****** as I stand before them, looking like the devil himself.
Adrenaline is surging through me. As I take a drag of mocha, I scan the faces of the annoying pukes in the back of the truck and locate the nastiest in the bunch sitting in the middle of his troupe, completely stiff with fear. I look deep into his eyes and slowly exhale. I pull one more drag as I raise the massive bone and bring it crashing down, making full contact with the left brake light. The red shards explode into the sky, and I do not hesitate to follow up with the other break light. Adrenaline coursing through my veins, I can’t help but swing even harder.
Wow - what a beautiful explosion.
“Unsheathe thy sword! UNSHEATHE THY SWORD!”
Dr. Pepper searches frantically for his sword as I casually approach his door. “Dr. Pepper,” I say calmly. He continues to desperately ***** around the truck, so I lean forward, “DR. PEPPER.” He turns begrudgingly to look at me. Wanting to bid farewell to my defeated adversary, I raise my right hand into a 90 degree angle and wiggle my fingers “bye-bye” in his direction. His blood-shot, brown eyes widen, and it’s clear that he is terrified that his face will be the source of my next fireworks display. Lucky for him my stomach growls, reminding me that my quest for a Philly Cheese Steak sandwich remains unfulfilled.
I walk away, the cherry light still flashing on top my car, so I take my bone and take a hard swing, unleashing the last set of fireworks in my perfectly-directed scene. I get in the car, and as I start the engine, the oldies station is blaring Clarence the Frogman Henry’s song, “Ain’t Got No Home”. It’s the best part of the song, and without hesitation I begin to tap out the rhythms on my steering wheel and sing along with Clarence in that high-pitched voice of his:
“I ain’t got no sister,
I ain’t got a brother,
I ain’t got a father,
not even a mother,
I’m a lonely boy,
I ain’t got a home.