Very few things make me feel truly homicidal. Generally speaking, I'm more of a "make love, not war" kind of person. Hell, I'm more of a "make love, not dinner" kind of person, truth be told.
Yet here I sit on my back deck, on a gloriously warm and sunny spring day, wishing like hell I had a gun. An extremely accurate, high-powered rifle of some sort. With some of those fancy bullets you can't get legally.
Why, you ask?
The fucking motorcycles. They're back. And they're tearing down the busy street from which I am separated only by a back yard, an alley, and a row of houses that do little to buffer the noise from those hideous, small-penis-compensating machines that make it sound like the Formula 1 race is back in town and in my 'hood.
So here I am, sitting on my deck enjoying a gourmet dinner of mac n' cheese and Diet Pepsi, watching Big Head Dog and the Monster stalk squirrels, listening to the birds chirp, and suddenly it sounds like Mad Max and the Hells Angels have joined forces to usher in the apocalypse.
Maybe it's just the peyote talking (thanks for the suggestion, Flipside), but I am picturing myself in full camouflage and face paint, hiding in a bush between the neighbors' houses behind mine, picking off each and every one of those damn things with a well-placed shot in the gas tank, then laughing maniacally at the explosions, the carnage, the riders running down the street afire and screaming before they collapse in a smoldering, quivering heap. Ahhh, what peace that would bring me....
And I'd also be in good shooting practice for when the fucking ice cream trucks start up.
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5 comments:
I heard the first ice cream truck of the season at 4 PM today. I guess that means it's officially summer.
OMG, I am cracking up at this post.
Two 20-somethings went tearing down the gravel road on two dirt bikes. I heard them long before I saw them. I thought that someone was weed-eating in the kitchen. Then I saw them tear out into one of our fields. If I wasn't cooking at the time, I would have given them the Deliverance treatment in my old beater truck.
I'm with ya, Sista!
Sorry to disturb you. I'll ride up and down Winthrop from now on.
Hey, Heck of a Gal- I live on Winthrop- try Guilford.
Kim, NOOOOOOOOOO, tell me it ain't so! (the ice cream trucks, not summer)
Jerry, I know that weed-eater-on-wheels sound well. When I'm down at the farm I sit on the front porch and give those people the frowning of a lifetime.
Heck of a Gal, you are cruisin' for a bruisin'
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