To the Douchebag on the Masspike, 7:17am 08/13/12

Hatred guides my hand this morning.

Not anger, not annoyance. I am not merely miffed. This morning on the Masspike between the Watertown exit and 95, I saw my enemy. My karma’s gonna go down a few hundred points this morning after typing this all out, but at this point I’m only partially in control of my actions.

I hate him, (or her; I’m assuming it was a man but I don’t know for sure), and I want you to too, my readers. Listen to this fucking tomfoolery.

I’m rolling by in the fast lane at a respectable 75ish miles per hour, and this douchehose flies by in the middle lane. Easily going 90. Fine I guess; I pass people too when they’re going too slow in the fast lane. Maybe he was in a rush. But it wasn’t necessary to cut that close in front of me, you irresponsible prick. The road wasn’t empty, but there was more than enough room for you to pass without getting that close.

And of course the second you whip right in front of me in the fast lane, you don’t even hold it. In and out of the middle lane and back into the left lane, pestering all the other groggy commuters like me like a wasp that’s been soaked overnight in a barrel of five hour energy. You were all up in everybody’s shit! Who are you? Who do you think you are? Should everyone on the road just push over for you? Are you fucking *Vasquez??

*Awesome sidenote: Our friend Marc totally owned this guy ‘Vasquez’ late night outside of North Station a few years ago. We’d just gotten out of a bar and it was a shit show on the sidewalk. People hailing cabs, drunk people all over, a vendor selling street meats…everyone was all liquored up. Anyway this drunk jackass was all over some girl on the sidewalk. I don’t know the whole story, when we got there it looked like he was hitting on her and she was in the process of shutting him down, but he wasn’t taking it very well. He was all up in her personal space and raising his tone, I remember him saying “Do you know who I AM?! I’M VASQUEZ! I’M FUCKING VASQUEZ!!!” I guess she just didn’t know royalty when she saw it. At this point, Vasquez had dug his wallet out of his pants and was waving it around in front of the girl’s face, apparently so that she could properly ID him. I’m not really sure what he expected her to do. “Ohhhhh, Vasquez, it’s you! Why didn’t you just say so in the first place! I live around the corner, would you like some sex?” Marc is not normally an aggressive person. He calmly walked right up to Vasquez from the side, plucked his wallet right out of his flailing hand, turned around and threw it hard, out into the street. Vasquez was flabbergasted. I could see the Action Gears turning in his head: Fight/Yell/Apologize/Retrieve wallet from street. ‘Retrieve wallet from street’ won out, and he ran out into the street to get it without another word. The girl thanked Marc, we cheered Marc, and then we all piled into a cab and bounced. Hopefully Vasquez got hit by a car getting his wallet but we didn’t stick around to find out. I told you, I’m full of hate right now.

So we’ll call the fucktard ahead of me this morning Vasquez, which makes it easier for me to streamline my fury. He’s weaving all over the place but at this point the traffic is too heavy and he’s not going anywhere. He’s maybe 50 feet ahead of me, and I inch a little closer. When shitty drivers get me angry I like to see who they are so I can add them to the proper category in my head. “Oh, it’s another [insert demographically accurate insult]. Hatestats have been updated accordingly.”

I’m closing the distance slowly, safely, so that I can properly categorize Vasquez, and I see a flash of white coming straight at me. I hear it hit the front bumper of my car and then my undercarriage. The motherfucker just tossed a Mcdonald’s cup out his window as he was driving.

At this point my blood was boiling. I want to crash into him. I want to smash my car against his and have us cause an eight car pileup against the divider. I don’t even care if I die too. After the impact, my physical form could be a broken, embarrassing excuse for a human body, a mess of twisted protruding bone, burnt skin and ruptured blood vessels. With my last dying strength I would pull the pin and swallow a hand grenade whole, then drag my leaking form up to Vasquez’s window and punch him right in the fucking mouth, then my hand would fall off and I’d vomit my about-to-explode insides right out onto his lap right before I’d die, and I honestly feel like this is the appropriate response.


If you toss your garbage out the car window, just kill yourself right now to spare yourself from my rage, because you are the worst kind of person. I want to break every law of God and Man to dish out vengeance to this piece of garbage, who’s literally tossing pieces of his own garbage out of his car and into the world. It’s not like the Masspike between Watertown and 95 is some beautiful majestic natural landscape, but seeing people just throwing their trash out the car window makes me instantly infuriated beyond reason. I can easily form several accurate judgements about this person’s character, and now that I know all about him I can safely say that I hope he craps his pants, slips in it and falls down a flight of stairs today, wherever he is.

I hope when he dies he goes to limbo, and the only way he can ever get out is to travel the world on ghost-foot and ghost-pick up all the pieces of trash he’s ever thrown out the car window in his life, but they’re not marked and he has to find them all and he’s not allowed to haunt anyone. And right when he’s finally one second away from ghost-picking up the very last remaining piece of his own trash, everything rewinds except his memory and he has to start all over, and all the pieces of trash are re-scattered randomly around the world. Every 100 years he may take physical form for three seconds, which will be just long enough for 100 years’ worth of frustration to catch up with him instantly, causing his balls to swell up and explode out of pure frustration, killing him again. And to get out of limbo he has to clean up that mess too.

I’m here writing this which means I didn’t get the opportunity to destroy him, myself, and anything else within grenading distance. He was just too fast. Eventually the traffic lightened up enough for him to weasel his way through, ahead of my heavy hand of justice. Then my exit came up and I had to choose between living my life as normal, or abandoning everything to kill a man for driving like a dick and throwing trash out his window. Me at my desk, marinating in rage like an award-winning devil hot smokehouse BBQ rib, is the result.

This would be the point where I try to even things out and maybe rationalize your shittiness, but I’m still not centered yet so I can’t. Wherever you are, making people uncomfortable and tossing fast food wrappers out your car window without even thinking about it, think about me. I wouldn’t forget your shitty old silver corolla even if I was physically and mentally able to.

You have made a powerful enemy this day Vasquez.


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