So yesterday I’m on the highway (headed home from the video store), and have just pulled onto the exit ramp, thankful to be out from behind the 50 mph buttsuck in the right-hand lane (it was one of those situations where it would’ve been an iffy proposition to try to pass her on the left, and still make my exit).
Stevie Wonder and I are having a great time singing our duet (Jesus Children of America) as we sail down the exit ramp, when WHOA! Here comes Ms. 50 mph, cutting onto the exit ramp in front of me, and forcing me to slam on the brakes! :mad:
Quite honestly, I don’t think she saw me, because it wasn’t one of those “Fuck you, I’m taking it” accelerated whip-in-fronts… it was totally a leisurely, clueless glide (sans blinker), as if she had no idea she’d almost gotten a BMW grill up her ass (in fact, I wondered at first if she weren’t just fishing for a CD in her glove compartment, and not paying attention to the road).
I honked and swore, but even then I wasn’t sure she’d gotten the message, so I went on ahead and let my inner Traffic Bitch out to play, and Bitch, Stevie, and I tailgated her (by now she had slowed to 25 mph), weaving back and forth and gesturing, down the street for about three blocks. Finally we came to a stop light where the street widened to two lanes (thus allowing me to get around her ass). She took the left lane, so I took the right. I skidded to a halt beside her at the light, and worked my best dirty look in her direction for the second-and-a-half before the light turned green.
When the light turned, I gunned it and sped away, replete with smugness and eat-my-dust superiority…
…which was when I heard the KLUNK!
“What the… ?” I thought.
I glanced into my rearview mirror…
…and there was my rear bumper, lying in the street (and getting smaller as I continued to speed away). 
It just… fell off. :o
My traffic rival and her passenger glanced curiously at it as they drove past it and through the intersection.
At that point, I had to laugh (though I circled the block before returning–tail firmly implanted between thighs–to the intersection to retrieve it, I mean I had to make sure that my nemesis was gone from the scene). I mean, now the whole effect of my actions had been irretrievably ruined, sort of like when you cuss someone out and walk away to discover that you’ve been unzipped, or when you saunter away from a good flirt feeling like a hot tamale, only to discover that you had a booger hanging, the whole time.
Karma’ll get you, won’t it? 
He said he didn’t do body work, so I brought my car on to work, with the rear bumper in my front seat.