Post Traumatic Rampage (a.k.a. “Pit Meat”)

Strange day today.  Paid some bills, got my broken back X-Ray’d by the VA, and nearly got ran off the road by a total psycho.

I was on my way back from the post office when I pulled behind a crappy gray dent-magnet.  The car was moving roughly 15-17 mph, swerving lazily all over the lines, and the past-middle-aged mostly bald man wearing the sweaty once-white wife-beater was slurping on hot-wings with both hands.  (a lot of hyphens in that last sentence, who says a apeman has no observing ego)

So I pull up right behind the gray rust machine and give a little tap on the horn.  The limit was 35, and by tailgating and using the horn.. I mean, this is modern America, these are 2 of the 3 words that we have to use in the driving language.  The third word, after an utterly meatless yet saliva glazed bone was hurled back at my car was extended from the end of a flabby white jerk-off machine.  A dirty, greasy, middle finger.

Hey, I only got a couple options.  Chill out, hang back, and watch the savage act in the manner to which he is accustomed.  I was in no hurry.  I had nowhere to go.  And yet.. somewhere deep in the middle of my primitive brain my training kicked in.  We spin cars out regularly in Iraq, hell we used to just shoot them up until they caught fire and fell along the side of the roadway.  Nobody cares about a burning Iraqi.  Or jew.  In Israel, we would just get on their back bumper and hit the gas.  Some jew shitbox can’t possibly withstand a 5000 pound level 9 armored car with a V12 twin turbo with the pedal to the metal.   We laugh about the suckers when the ‘die like the rest’.  I choose to quickly pass the guy, just get away, take a proactive position while attempting to quickly eliminate him from the scenario.  He guns it.  Still swerving wildly he is now hurling hot-wings at my car and screaming obscenities.  I deem this as a direct threat.  I throttle back, gently place my right bumper into the left rear side panel of his car (completely pulverizing it in the process) and commence a PIT maneuver (Precision Immobilization Technique, Pursuit Intervention Technique, or Parallel Immobilization Technique – call it whatever you want)  Basically I was gonna spin this dude out, then jump out of my car and kick the shit out of him.  Somewhere somehow I came to my senses just as his rear tires were on the threshold of maintaining traction.  I pulled away, slowed and allowed the previously irate and confident (now fearful and docile) bacteria farm of a man to skid away in a squealing cry.

I almost went tactical on a civilian of the US.  I actually did go tactical then pulled out of it at the last minute.  Holy shit.. I gotta take some serious down time.  Its not fucking ROE’s any more, its laws and judges and the metal clink.  What the fuck is wrong with me?!?

My sister called me tonight just as I was settling in for the night.  Just poured my first glass of Chianti and opened the jar of jalapeno stuffed olives.  Tuned the TV to discount HBO (for the next 2 months) and started watching Oliver Twist.  I had lit all my scented candles (night blooming jasmine flavored) and was just about to have the lonely man’s date when she made the phone ring.  I told her what I was doing, the wine, the olives, the candles, the movie… she called me a fag.

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