My Closing Arguments In Th' Man Versus Bobby Lightfoot, Docket #1345-AB
Hey, man. Sometimes we all have to take th' Vazilein off the Linzertort and honest up, man. Especially those of us who make nothing of chucking rocks like Fedayim on crack and living in crystal palaces.
When I was in Cali it came to me very quickly that fuckin' Road Rage just wasn't the way to go. And I've always had little tricks to deflate myself if and when I ever get the urge to go up th' back of an Audi at 110. Recently I was taken with how they say "motherfucker" in th' Sopranos. It's like motttthhhaaahhh FUCKAHHHH. And whenever I get the urge to say "motherfucker" I make myself say it th' Sopranos way and it winds The Beast right down. Saltpeter for anger. Which we all know comes from somewhere else entirely.
Today this old dude in a AUDI gave me two long blasts of horn for not merging directly into a Peterbilt fucking semi. And I got out of the car looking really surprised and went and looked at my back tires. And then I gave myself over to a curious look and approached his window. Yes, cars are lining up behind us. And he rolled his window down and let loose with the usual invective.
People, the Man wants us fencing with baseball bats in intersections. It suits the Man. It's how the Man gets paid. The Fucking MAN makes th' fucking baseball bats and the surgical thread and th' pigs get paid and all of it. Hate the fucking towelheads. Hate the fucking South Koreans too, y'know? Hate the guy in the car in front of you. Y'all just keep hating and hating and not realizing you're getting less and less for your dollar and now all of a sudden all yer social services are privatized and deregulated and now people get arrested by people over th' phone in Bangladesh with "names" like "Britney" and "Joe".
So I'm all I'm sorry- I thought you were alerting me to a low tire or something.
And he's all RRARRRARRRRRRRGGGHHHH.
And I smiled and started walking back to th' truck and the fucking car behind him starts goin' off and shit. And I walk back and look at the old fucker's tires and shrug at the pissed off woman. I'm like no, his tires look O.K., ma'am.
And now like four of the assembled eight cars honk their horns so I'm just walkin' back, examining everybody's tires, shrugging my shoulders. Tires look O.K. Tires look O.K.
No, no, no- come on. Nobody's going to arrest you. Nobody's going to get out and kick someone's ass for acting like a grinning idiot.