People I’d Like To Set On Fire

Where to begin? Let’s start with the home.
People who call, or don’t; meaning those who say they will, and don’t. Or those who call and you wish your fingers could reach through the handset and poke them in the eye, or rip their nose hairs out.

There, that cheers me up. Or you’re in the store and Granny Goodbitch, with moths coming off her, is counting pennies for a coupon while liberally cutting the cheese. Or some real shitbird has 16 items in an 8 item lane? What’re you supposed to do? Take lunch? How about next time you say, ‘Hey retard, it’s an 8 item lane. Oh I’m sorry, maybe you’re not retarded, you’re just an ignoranus.’
Might just have to ask the cashier to smell my socks. Eau de just so Last Week.

Or there’s a very good looking woman standing around, whom you can’t help admire. She notices you noticing her, and looks at you like you’ve dropped The Big Brown One on her shoe.
Perhaps next time I ought to – say, ‘Disdain?’ Here’s dis ‘dain for you.’ Or she’s looking like you’ve pillaged, burned, and thrown her entire closet of clothes into disarray and ought to be charged admission for simply looking in her general direction.
I’m sorry. Yes, you’re good looking, but those aren’t personalities. Obviously.

A time or two I’ve run into strange looks from older couples who, depending on whether or not they’re carrying something, or parading around a small dog, appear to assume that I’m going to grab the goods, or cook the dog because I just happen to have that hunch-backed Quasimodo fascination with egocentric and arbitrary geezers who might be packing an extra used Kleenex I could borrow.

I’ve run into a few of those in malls, especially. However, there it’s packs of kids, thieves, pedophiles, welfare cheats, and cops of one kind or another.
Primarily interesting are the younger girls/women who either look at you like they wish you had candy, or ones who stare at you and make faces as if you were going to offer them some.
I’ve yet to find a shop that would sell me a Taser when I need one.
Zzzzt! Attitude change.

How about never minding those unread, opinionated assgoblins [picture a Rolling Stones' type tongue sprouting from an asshole with an Itchy and Scratchy replay]  who delude themselves and other assgoblins that because they are alive their opinions on anything from literature to life carries weight. They ought to be made to descend through Dante’s circles on a tiny tramcar yelling, “I am but an amoeba, a blood corpuscle, pay no attention to intellectual munchkins!’ I can see more than a few grinning know-it-alls on that trolley to hell.
Where’s my trapdoor when I need it.

So what about when you get in the car? How about we begin with the asshole driving next to you, though the entire highway is clear. Or the knobgoblin who likes to speed up, only to park in your blind spot for miles, again though the road is like sky.

Or you’re driving in the passing lane, cars stacked in the lane next to you, and one bonehead believes it’s okay to come right behind you, remaining a ruler’s length away, even though the highway is clear behind him, or her.

Let’s get it straight, age or sex has no province when it comes to stupidity, especially when driving. You can be a genius, and still drive like a Jethro.

I never understood why, when highways are endless, there can be traffic lines. If you’re in the fast lane, go fast. In fact, car insurance ought to cover the gomers you roll over when they’re driving the speed limit in the passing lane.
The passing lane is not your private driveway, and if that is what you are doing, there are thousands of people who want to politely ask you to stop, and examine their front fenders while they get back in their car and find out whether it’s true you make noise when you’re fucked.
You are hated – get out of the way.

Who are those idiots who roll in front of you when there’s hundreds of yards clear, and you’re busting forward to get out of the way of the axe-murderer right behind you? Don’t you just want to sweep that cow-catcher right up to their back bumper, and pitch them off to the side? (no, for the prurient, I am talking about traffic)

How about those old bags who give you the finger because they’re going say 60, in the passing lane, when the limit is 80, and you beep the horn to wake them from the tea-induced stupor? Shouldn’t a sort of road rage be legal then? You follow them home, and get your dog out on their front lawn, and feed it ex-lax? And if you don’t, then you get a fine.

What if you’re in the city and stopped next to some hearing-impaired asswipe with the stereo blazing with some shit about ‘bongo, bongo, bongo, I don’t wanna leave the Congo?’ Shouldn’t your license be taken away if you don’t immediately haul out your bazooka, and help them escape to another country, so to speak?
And your car insurance premiums decrease.

I guess what we’re speaking of is basic thoughtless and willful ignorance, and here you thought those California wildfires were accidental, or even arson. Silly.
Nope.
Shooting got to be too obvious, that’s all. And when you run off those highways, the ground really is very dry.

Next time, I promise to wait til we’re in the city and close to some robbers’ corner store, or at a poolitician’s speech about civic improvements: or right outside the line where a bunch of self-congratulatory corncobs with more money than brains are paying $1,000.00 for some movie or concert ticket.

I mean, can’t start a fire if you don’t have a match, right?
©Dean J. Baker
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