Listen, chief, don’t even think about speeding up again. I’ll match that shit like there’s no tomorrow. I got a nice home here five yards behind you on your left, and I’m not letting go. If you slow down, you know I’m slowing down too.
I’m your fucking personal cruise control.
We’re twinsies now, champ. Your salt, and I’m pepper. Green eggs to your ham. I’m your fucking My Buddy doll on wheels.
Those crashing car sensor lights that have been flashing in your side mirror for 12 miles now? That’s all me, man. That’s the kind of juice I got, and you best not be messing with it.
I know what you’re probably thinking: “Who is this asshole in my blind spot?”
Who I am is not important. I’m driving a motherfucking Cybertruck is what’s important. And yet, you can’t see me. I’m a fucking wizard. I’m Gandalf the Grey. If we crash, you be turning to dust.
So I’m going to roll on down the road in the black hole of your field of vision for another twenty miles or so.
Is that you laying on your horn? That’s a nice touch.
You think I’m some wallflower, some squeaky little mouse that’s going to let the sound of a dying duck change my behavior? You think I’m some responsible, law-abiding citizen aware of National Highway Traffic Safety Administration statistics showing that more than 40,000 Americans die each year in car accidents?
Think again. I’m a fucking rock star. I’m Sammy Hagar singing the chorus to “Top of the World” over an Eddie Van Halen riff. You don’t know who Sammy Hagar is?
Fucking figures. Fine. Think of me as an F-22 Raptor stealth fighter jet that’s locked its target. Too military for you? Think of me as the world’s most ruthless dingleberry. I’m here to stay. You got it now?
I’ll decide when we’re done with this dance.
You think I give a shit that you just turned on your hazard lights? Whatcha thinking is going to happen now?
Oooh, man, I’m scared of those flashing lights, I better slow down, I better yield right away to the guy in glasses driving his Subaru Outback.
Hazard lights my ass. You’re going to have to pull some Chevy Chase in Vacation shit to get your car away from me, kid, ok?
You don’t have the guts for that kind of move. So, instead, you just tap, tap, tap on your brakes like you’re playing “Chopsticks” in your middle-school band concert. Like your Tom Hanks in Big before he got all serious and strangely overprotective of his wife.
Your teeny little car is going all blinky blinky like you’re driving a goddamn Christmas tree. Can you hear me singing giddy-up jingle horse back here? Feliz Navidad to you, pal, from the bottom of my heart. It’s Christmas every day for me, son.
Ooh, look at you now, edging up to the border of your lane like you’ve got the rocks to pull in front of me. Is this your Hail Mary pass? You think you’re fucking Doug Flutie? I’d like to see you try. I’ll be going Beast Mode back here, zero to sixty in 2.6 seconds. BAM! Did you know my truck’s got an exoskeleton made of stainless steel? It’s the fucking Batmobile on Cialis. Whatchyou got?
That didn’t last long. I see you’ve given up, and you’re solidly back in your lane where you belong. At least the moms in their Alo yoga pants have the spunk to lower the window and flash me the bird. That kind of stuff excites me.
Why am I doing this you want to know? I have no fucking idea to be honest with you. I’m in a Cybertruck with enough payload for the carcass of an illegally-poached white rhinoceros from my last safari, Autopilot is off because I’m the captain of this fucking ship, and I’m feeling pretty fucking invincible.
Welcome to the future, princess!
