Fuck YOU, You self-absorbed twat!

The BBQ Pit
1

I’m riding the motorbike east on Dorsett Rd, through the I-270 intersection, heading to pay my cable bill. I usually drop it off the Friday before it’s due as I’m doing my afternoon running around, and today’s no different.

I putt-putt slowly through the heavy traffic and series of ill-timed lights until I’m finally clear, and ramp on up to the speed limit for the couple of blocks until my turn off.

Seeing that traffic’s backed up a tad at my turn, I roll off the throttle, put on my left turn signal, and ease on into the left-turn lane, downshifting with the braking for a nice, easy stop at a usually long light.

When out of the blue, a fucking dildo in a shiny red Cavalier swoops in from my right and JAMS on her brakes right in front of me.

As slow as I was going, I still had to lock the wheels and turn the bike sideways, certain I was going down underneath her rear bumper. By the good graces of a particularly benevolent Og, I stop just shy of hitting her. The guy in the car in the left lane (to my right) jammed on his brakes to give me room to swerve if I had to.
I’m sure he earned a few Good Karma Points for that, and he’s my Big Damned Hero today.

I muscle the bike upright, and heel-and-toe it around until I’m just off her rear panel, staring daggers into her driver’s sideview mirror. She pretends she doesn’t see me. Big Damned Hero moves his car up next to her, and honks his horn at her. No response. He lays on it until she finally looks over, and he points to me.

Does she look? No. After looking at BDH, she goes back to staring straight ahead. The light drags on.

I continue to stare hot molten hatred at her sideview mirror, until she finally takes a quick peek in her mirror at me, and just as quickly goes back to staring straight ahead. No acknowledgement of me as a human being even flickers across her mascaraed cow-eyes.

Well, the light turns green, and I follow her through the left turn, and to my incredible joy and surprise, she turns into the Maryland Heights Police Department’s parking lot. As she pulls in, I park behind her. She’s going over me and my bike to get out, now, if she wants to.

She exits the car, and I ask her if she thought it was cool to cut me off and almost run me off my bike. She plays dumb, saying she didn’t know where I was going to turn. I emphasize the “dumb,” because there wasn’t anywhere else for me to turn than the light I was decelerating at a normal pace to turn left at. We take it inside to the Duty Sergeant, Maryland Heights’ Finest, Sgt. Link.

I tell my side, she tells hers. She lies through her teeth, saying I got in the left-turn lane a quarter-mile before the intersection. I call her a liar, because if I’d done that, I’d have ran head-first into oncoming traffic’s left-turn lane. I hammer at her until she just blurts out, “You were, like, going really slow, so I, like, passed you and got in front of you.”

I look at Sgt. Link, unable to believe she’d just blurt that out, but he’s staring at her jiggly tits, and since I don’t have jiggly-tits and great big eyelashes to bat alluringly, the Duty Sergeant just shrugs and says, “Well…”

I suck it up. I leave.

But I don’t have to take it.

Congratulations, Sgt. Link of the Maryland Heights Police Dept. You helped me today to reach a decision I had been pondering at considerable length, and until today, leaning heavily against.

I’m going to go ahead and get my Concealed Carry Permit.

So the next time Randy Road-Rage, Sandy SUV Soccer-Mom, or Donna Dingbat decides me and my bikle will make nice speedbumps as they hurry-scurry through their self-important little existence, I won’t feel at all bad about lofting a half-clip of .45 ACP +P JHP through their side-view window into their head.

I plan to tell the Judge and Jury it was self-defense.

And to Police generally everywhere:

No more FOP donations.

No more “Back The Blue” stickers on my car.

No more charity bike rides for Widows and Orphans of slain officers.

I don’t wish you ill, but as far as I’m concerned, from here on out, you can lie where you fall, and be damned to you if I lift a fucking finger to help you.

2

So, she had nice tits, huh?

3

Er, that’s very uncool of you to even to suggest such a thing. And, given that neither of you had any witnesses or corroborating evidence, the officer couldn’t really do anything in that situation. Were you expecting him to arrest the car driver or issue a citation?

As for the incident, it sucks, but that’s how you get treated on a bike. FWIW, most drivers (that I’ve seen) are actually pretty consciencious about motorcycles, but the few who are oblivious or openly aggressive to bikers really stand out. Threatening to shoot obnoxious drivers is not nice, and not appreciated by people who’d like to promote concealed carry laws as being of benefit to responsible citizens.

Stranger

4

Christ Tank. If you’re going to go with an overpressure round, at least get a true +P+. That’ll guarentee penetration on the followup shot.

5

Eat shit asswipe. When it’s 2000lb.+ car vs. 400lb. motorcycle, it is self-defense.

6

Well, she perjured herself while making a statement to a law enforcement officer, then admitted to nearly creaming Tank. I do think a ticket would be in order.

7

You just pissed me off even more. I am a responsible citizen, douchbag, and one who will NOT be ridden over or off the road again; will NOT willingly go to an ER as a victim; will NOT again go through physical therapy; will NEVER again wonder if some part of my anatomy will fully recover and work at 100%, because some four-wheel asswipe decides they have more right to be on the road than I do.

Let the bodies hit the floor.

8

Heh. I decided to take my bike into work today. There was the typical asshole who was racing around, using every lane, cutting people off, etc. When traffic bogged down, I lane split to pass him, which apparently set him off, so for a few miles I could see him racing to catch up with me, being as reckless as possible. He finally caught up and raced in front of me, cutting me off. I could’ve prevented him from getting in front of me, of course, but you don’t play chicken with a car when you’re on an '86 R80.

As if him cutting me off wasn’t bad enough, we were apporoaching a section where a new HOV lane opens up left of the fast lane. Asshole gets into that lane early, using the shoulder, spraying me with tiny rocks. I’ve got some nice tiny bruises on my torso now.

If I had a gun, would I have started shooting? Hmmmm. Perhaps.

9

Could you have put the kickstand down for a second and walked over to BDH and gotten his phone number as a witness? That plus the license plate on the car may have been enough to file a reckless driving complaint and you could have done it on your own where she and her jiggly tits wouldn’t have been able to distract the officer. Just ask BDH if he would mind you putting his number down as a witness so if the cops call him up he can confirm what happened. I’m not sure what the follow-up on the complaint would be, if anything, but it would at least give you the paperwork and a witness to formalize it. Harder to ignore paperwork and a witness than it is to ignore one guy without jiggly boobs in favor of one chick with jiggly boobs.

Enjoy,
Steven

10

At 4:00 PM on Dorsett Road?! I’d have been street pizza from the pissed off drivers behind me. And Maryland Heights Police aren’t worth a damn, anyway. The complaint would’ve been circular-filed about 5 seconds after I’d walked away. If I’d followed-up, I’d just get a run-around about how there’s nothing they could do.

Because, you see, it would require some form of effort, some form of exertion, on the part of the barrel-assed, doghnut-munching fucks who laughingly call themselves “police officers” in and around St. Louis.

Texas is looking better every fucking day.

fush: .45 ACP+, 230gr. JHP will sufficiently do a number on a car window. Trust me on this.

11

I’m glad you’re okay, ExTank, and it probably pent-up rage speaking, but the threats of deliberate violence are out of line. Don’t do it again.

Veb

12

So, you had a run-in with an ignorant driver, and an oblivious cop, and the response you would like to take is to get a gun and start shooting people. But why stop there? Somebody takes the spot you were aiming for in a parking lot, ka-blam. Somebody takes the last bag of those Doritos you really like, ka-blam. Your boss asks you to do something you don’t particularly want to do, ka-blam. Wouldn’t the world just be a much better place if we could all do that? Well, it would certainly be a less populated place.

13

So, when person admits they’d shoot an attacker, or home intruder, is that a threat of deliberate violence?

I didn’t say I’d shoot someone for makiing me mad; for taking the last Coke out of the cooler at the Quickie Mart; for failing to move faster or slower than I’d like.

I threatened violence against someone else’s automobile-assisted ass-hattery that directly threatens my health, my life.

14

You’re a fucking ass-hat.

I didn’t have a run-in; I was nearly run-over, you fucking tit. Sheer luck and good tires kept me from sliding myself and my bike up underneath the fucking twat’s car,, you sweaty, unclean ass-crack.

15

No, you didn’t.

You threatened violence against someone else’s automobile-assisted ass-hattery that had directly threatened your health. You were proposing to shoot them after they’d done something unsafe, and after you were out of harms way (presumably, you’re life isn’t in immediate danger if you can draw, aim, and fire a pistol while riding a motorcycle. If it was in immediate danger, I imagine you’d have both hands on the bike in an attempt to save yourself.)

16

If you shoot them after they’ve left your house, yes.

17

Ex, I like you, man. But you might want to think about logging off right now. Go for a swim or a jog, come back and get drunk. But stay offline for a while. You’re mad, justifiably so, but this thread carries the very real possibility of you no longer posting on this site, which would be a shame.

Just my two cents. Take it or leave it.

18

That’s what I said, not your made-up, pin-headed, wussy “scenario.”

But if it makes you feel any better, I’ll get a lead pipe and send that through their window and upside their head.

Like the shit-head SUV driver I rapped upside the driver’s window after he blew though a yield sign w/o even looking, and I missed his backside by inches (I felt my right foot peg brush his bumper!), his cell-phone jammed so far in his ear he didn’t even hear me cussin’ his sorry ass when I pulled up beside him.

Feel better now, limp-dick?

19

If? If?

If the fly had a .45, the froggy wouldn’t fuck with him.

If you roll up your “if” and smoke it, you can call it a cigarette.

Better yet, if you roll it up and sit on it, you can call it your own personal ass tickler, you fucking idiot.

20

All very good points.