Tuesday, December 28, 2004

All I Want for Christmas is a Hood-Mounted Death Ray

In his Christmas Eve post, Bill opined that the Christmas season was a time for setting aside our feuds and offering Yuletide Goodwill to our antagonists.

I do not subscibe to Bill's warm fuzzies. Rest assured that my silence this past weekend was not a grant of quarter to Nick Coleman and his ilk. It had more to do with my chasing the Little Feet around "Bobo's" and Pop-pop's" house in an effort to keep them from destroying the place.

Nor do I grant quarter to a segment of the population that I hold in almost as low esteem as the denizens of the Democratic Underground Homepage (DUH): people who drive slowly in the left lane.

I hate them.

Oh God, how I hate them.

Driving home from Milwaukee (motto: Beer: not just a good idea - a way of life) yesterday, the following situation and exchange between Mrs. Foot and me occured no less than 5 times:

The Footmobile, traveling in the left lane at a speed above the posted limit but below a speed which would necessitate an amendment to the laws of physics, approcaches two cars. One is in left lane going 65 mph; the other, right next to the first, is in the right lane going 64.9 mph.

LearnedFoot: Let's go buddy. Move it.
Mrs. Foot: Who are you talking to?
LF: This jerk-off in front of us.
Mrs.F: Watch your mouth. The kids can hear you.
LF: They're asleep. C'mon buddy, move!

The car in front of the Footmobile slows slightly, allowing the car in the right lane to nose out ahead. Then he speeds up ever so slightly, nosing ahead of the right-lane car. They alternate this way for about 3 miles.

LF: Oh my God. I am going to kill somebody. Moveyerasspal!
Mrs.F: Watch your language!

Finally, Mr. Left-Lane starts to pull decisively ahead of Mr. Right-Lane. He is now clear to pull over into the right lane. The Footmobile is unable to pass on the right because it is now right next to Mr. Right-Lane. A line of cars stretching back to Chicago has fomed in the left lane.

LF: Do you believe this prick?! MOVE OVER!
Mrs.F: Honey! Watch your language!
LF: The kids are asleep, and this guy is a SHITHEEL!
LittleFoot #1: Shitheel! Teeheehee. Shitheel!

We need an enterprising individual (or multinational conglomerate for that matter) to invent a Traffic Loosening Vaporization Ray Gun so that we can avoid these instances of Unfortunate Juvenile Vocabulary-Enhancement.

Just imagine. That whole ordeal described above could have been reduced to:

LF: Oh look honey: a person who desn't know how to use the left lane. (Pushes a dashboard button)
Footmobile: ZZZZZZZZZZAP!
Mr. Left-Lane: Fizzzzzizzzzle. Fshshshst. (OR whatever sound a car might make when being heated to the temperature of the sun).
Mrs.F: Want to rent a movie tonight?
LF: How about "Elf"?

Ahhhhh. Let me bask in that fantasy for a moment.

Now, to you Mr. Left-Lanes out there: If you don't feel the need to use your rear-view mirror, I would be more than happy to rip it off of the windshield for you and shove it up your butt. That is, if there is enough room in your butt, what with your head already occupying the space.

And, Season's Greetings!

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