Pete
The Fast and the Infuriating
Hey you.
Yes, you.
You, with the little Japanese car, laden with accessories from Auto Zone.
That’s right, I’m talking to you, you contemptible dipshit.
You annoy me. Your car annoys me.
Want to know why?
No?
Too bad, I’m going to tell you anyway…..
There is nothing more ridiculous than the sight of an economy two-seater sporting skateboard wheels sticking out from extra-wide axles, with rims that are more expensive than the car itself, making mosquito buzzing sounds as it recklessly hurtles by on the highway.
Nothing could make me sneer with contempt more than the brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr—brrrrrrr sound of a post-adolescent annoyer whizzing by in his fiberglass shrunken-penismobile while listening to 2Pac.
Special news flash, bunghole: putting a spoiler and a fresh set of decals on your Honda Civic doesn’t exempt it from being a piece of shit… All you are doing is polishing a turd.
I don’t care if your Subaru has 400 horsepower with a nitrous oxide injector—anything that weighs less than 0.5 tons will go fast. Your car is a fetid, reeking pile of excrement, and no matter how many times you watch “The Fast and Furious”, you will never be Vin Diesel. All the ground effects, custom installations, neon lights and accessories in the world couldn’t change that, nor would it cause your penis to grow to a size befitting your oversized ego… The girls are not impressed, at least I hope not.
Let me ask you something…. Do you really think it’s cool to drive like an asshole?
Do you think that, as you’re swerving your glorified go-cart in and out of traffic, jeopardizing countless lives, people look at you and remark to each other: “Wow, that guy is really cool!”?
Well, they don’t. More than likely, they are marvelling at the lack of inhibition it takes to parade your plastic lack of class in full view of a thousand motorists during the busiest time of day, making brrrrrrrrrrr—brrrrrrrrrrrrrrr… brrrrrrrrrr sounds while people can only watch and wager over how long it will take you to hit the guardrail and, with any luck, go careening down an embankment and into a drainage ditch.
Your car is symbolic of a culture that has finally relinquished all sophistication and succumbed to the Almighty Love Of Crap.
There was a time when we thundered down the road in chrome-armored beasts. Our arrival was heralded by the rumbling of big block engines and glass packs. Exhaust howled through the header pipes. Aerodynamics be damned, our cars just pushed the fucking air out of the way. They had bench seats that could comfortably host a six-person orgy. They had metal dashboards and lap belts, and if you collided with a wall, you got impaled on the steering column—no airbags, no computerized braking system, and no DVD so Tommy can watch The Little Mermaid. We lived and died by the V8. Our cars gorged themselves on gasoline like an Irishman on whiskey. The narrow streets were streaked with the rear-wheel drag burnouts of death. Ford coupes, hiboys, lead sleds, and muscle cars roared proudly along the highways, with a periphery both fearsome and beautiful…
To paraphrase: our cars had big, big dicks.
And now what have we got?
We’ve got cars with names like “Achieva” and “Allantra”. We’ve got bass-enhanced Billboard rap blaring from overdriven subwoofers. We’ve got disposable cell phones and Britney Spears.
And with this single, rapid-farting, pubescent coffin on wheels, you have symbolized America’s de-evolution into a limpwristed, lethargic, throw-away culture with no hope of ever regaining its former glory.
But there may still be a solution, albeit a radical one…
I call upon the terminally ill people of America, those who can still drive, those whose rheumatoid feet can still press down on an accelerator….
Take one with you!
The next time you see one of these cocky bastards driving by, I want you to swerve your Cadillac El Dorado into oncoming traffic and smash them, finally, definitively! You will be immortalized as a martyr for helping rid us of these interstate pariahs once and for all! Smash them! You’re going to die anyway, but think of the satisfaction you can bestow upon your fellow motorists as they watch the entrails of a negligent nuisance being scraped off the asphalt with a pancake flipper.
In that final moment, when your Crown Victoria crushes its opposition, you will have taken one small step towards saving mankind, towards ridding us of the fast-and-furious go-cart epidemic.
Posted by Thym
Muscle Cars USA
