Loonies on the Path - XLVIII - Gay Mercedes

Dear Mister Silver Mercedes, you there with the pretentious car and the slicked back hair and your oh so carefully trimmed and perfect beard. I could see clearly what you are. I hope you can. This town has a large enough gay community that there is truly no reason for you to remain in denial about your true self. I could tell from the up close and personal view of you that I got as you practically tried to combine our cars and be with me that you are a man who worries over the tiniest of little details. You are a man who is all about appearances. You are a man who feels that you can do no wrong. Hence your choice of silver for the color of your Mercedes. You are a pretentious gay cunt.

What exactly did you think you were doing? You changed lanes into me and when I honked at you, you started to swerve back into your own lane, but then thought better of it and swerved back into my lane once again, pausing when there was less than an inch between your plastic doors and fenders and mine. We were so close that I could mouth “what the fuck” at you and you could clearly understand what I had just said. Or you could have if you had at least had the balls to turn and look at me like a man.

Oh sorry, I forgot. You’re one of those very girlie gay men, not the macho macho man type at all.

Love me, love my Mercedes
So what was the point of your decision to sit there, straddling two lanes at 70 mph and not giving me one more inch to get past without scraping your doors off? I have to tell you, Ma’am, if you don’t love your Mercedes enough to keep from scraping other people’s cars, I sure as hell don’t. I’ll be more than happy to adjust your paintjob for you as long as your car is in my lane and your insurance is going to pay me for my efforts.

Could you not hear my very, very loud horn? Did you have Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody cranked up at full volume in your car and thus could only hear the sound of Freddie Mercury screaming? Clearly you knew you didn’t have any more room to come over, though, right? Otherwise, why were you straddling both lanes and refusing to get back into your own lane? It was certainly clear enough in your lane that you could easily do so. Why continue the futile attempt at shoving me aside? I had a car on the other side of me and was not about to swerve out of my own lane and hit someone else simply to spare your Mercedes some paint damage. That’s all on you. The only one of us not in their lane was you. The only cunt on the highway at that moment was you. The only one in need of some car insurance and a traffic ticket was you.

I drove all the way past your pretentious German shitpile with my horn held down, and still you never got back into your own lane. You acted as if once you stuck half your car in my lane, it was yours and you weren’t going to let it go for anything. I can’t tell you how tempting it was to tap your fenders with mine and then just sit there riding next to you, giving you no possible chance of coming over at all. I have to admit, I was curious as to what you would do if I had just held my position there with my face parallel to yours, staring right at you as you oddly chose to look in the rearview mirror at no one rather than over at me, the person you were attempting to smash out of their lane. Clearly you aren’t a brave man. You seem to enjoy pretending to be brave using your car, but when your intended victim actually gets in your face and looks you straight in the eye, all pretense of being any kind of man at all evaporates and you avoid eye contact lest you inadvertently wet your pants in fear.

Cunt.