The Journal of Joe The Peacock. Yay.

9.29.2005:

12:18 AM

I don't really consider myself a Road Rager. I mean, I yell and I scream at traffic when it's stupid, but that's because, well... It's stupid. If it weren't stupid, I wouldn't have to yell and scream at it, now would I? When morons cut me off, I honk. When idiots ride too close to my bumper, I tap the brakes and give them a bit of a start. I flash my brights at people who litter and I scream at dorks who brake the second a light goes from green to amber (you hear that? I called it amber. That's because it's amber, not yellow. If it were yellow, it'd be yellow. As it stands, it's amber. I don't go around calling oranges "purple" and I'm not about to start calling the amber light "yellow". Cause it's not. Okay? Okay). Overall, I'd say I'm a pretty average driver, especially in Atlanta.

But there have been times I've actually gotten mad enough to get out of my car and confront someone who's done something especially nasty or grim. I've stepped out of my car and flipped someone off for throwing a Coke bottle at a dog, and once I even hopped out of my car with the full intention of kicking a guy's ass for yelling something lewd at my sister, but because I was so mad, I accidentally left the car in gear when I went to get out and it rolled forward, causing me to trip and hit the asphalt.

The guy actually got out of his car to help me up. It's probably only because I was dressed as Santa Claus at the time and he felt guilty for asking my sister, who was dressed as an elf, to sit on his lap. And I wouldn't have even heard it if it weren't for the fact that the windows were down. And why would the windows be down during the time someone might get it in their head to dress as Santa? Well, we were on our way to make balooon animals for an orphanage's "LEON Day festival". It was apparently a huge deal with the kids, because they got presents in the middle of the summer (For those of you who may not be "In the Know" or "Hip to the groove" or whatever the cool EMO kids are saying these days, If you look closely, you'll note that LEON is "Noel" written backwards. This is because LEON day is celebrated on June 25, exactly half a year away from Christmas). So yeah, a guy who's ass I was going to kick for being rude to my sister ended up helping my jolly and bleeding self off the dirty asphalt and back into my air-conditionless car, where I then sweated another two buckets into my costume before I arrived at the orphanage. I was the worst Santa EVER.

But as bad as that was, I never actually acosted the guy, so it still can't go into the Hall o' Road Rage fame. There is only one incident in my history where I ended up attacking someone for being an idiot on the road... And I did it with a brownie.

I was on my way home from work in the middle of July, sometime in 1998 or so. I had just bought my first ever new car, a Pontiac Sunfire (shut up. No, seriously, seriously, shut it. It's NOT a chick car, okay? It happened to be a good deal and... Shut up), and was inching my way through traffic on Georgia 400 (notorious for it's half hour wait time just to get on Intersate 85 at rush hour). It wasn't too bad for me, because I thoughtfully stopped off at Chick-Fil-A before getting on the interstate to pick up a delicious frosted brownie and a large lemonade - and man, if you haven't tried this, you are seriously depriving yourself of one of life's finer experiences.

ANNNNNYWAY, I was just sitting in traffic, wasting gas and bopping along to whatever hardcore band I was into at the time as they thrashed through the CD player when this jerkoff in a Lexus about 4 cars behind me decided that he was too good for traffic and began to pull into the emergency lane to pass everyone who was doing their part and waiting paitently in line to get home.

Now, when I was a little kid riding around with my dad, anytime someone would try to bypass traffic in the emergency lane, he'd pull into it and just stop, or inch forward extremely slowly, expressly to piss them off. This is a habit I very proudly inherited from him and will continue to do until I breathe my dying breath, because any dipthong who thinks he's better than I am and attempts to get around traffic by abusing the emergency lane deserves to be held up. And yes, this means you. If you ever get it in your head to try this and someone blocks you on purpose, it's me. And don't even try to make nice with me by getting out of your car and saying "Dude! This is so cool! I totally read about you doing this on your journal! OMG LET'S BE FRIENDS ON MYSPACE!" because I will just throw something at you -- just like I did with this guy. Only he actually did something more than just get out of his car.

We were sitting there, me blocking him, him in his overpriced suit yelling and cursing at me, everyone around us giggling and giving me a thumbs up about the whole situation, when Mister Small-Down-There got the bright idea of BUMPING my car with his.

Yes. He BUMPED me, that motherfucker.

I immeidately went from "La la la, this is funny, you deserve what you get, la la la" to "KXENHBIEHIEGAAAAAAAAERRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!" It was like my body had become possessed by Thrag the Traffic Viking. I immediately flung the door open and leaped out of the car. Almost immediately, this prick's face went from befuddled amusement to "OH MY GOD I AM GOING TO DIE" as I launched into a screaming fit that - I am absolutely positive - could be heard clear across the highway in the opposing lanes of traffic. I pointed at him and screamed "You're DEAD!" as I reared back with the object that happened to be in my hand at the time, and with a loud and determined grunt, I hurled it as hard as I could in his direction.

I am not proud to admit that there has been a time in my life where I was so angry, I threw a brownie at a man's car.

The brownie landed frosting-side-down on the windshield with a very unsatisfying *PAFF*. I took a moment to reflect on the situation as it began to slide slowly down the windshield of the gold Lexus PR300 (the PR stands for "Penis Replacement" because that's what gold Lexuses are), and, rather than further the wonton distruction of the dipshitmobile by lobbing my drink at it, or perhaps even the forlorn condiments I had sitting in the dash cubbiehole, I opted instead to just get back in my car, take a deep breath, and continue heading home at a snail's pace.

He decided to stay where he was at a while. Possibly to put some distance between us, but more likely to scrape my drivetime treat from his windshield.

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The Journal of Joe The Peacock. Yay.

9.29.2005:

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