I'm Used to People Not Liking Me. Mass-Holes Beware

For those of you who have personal vehicles, I want to discuss driving and the implications of interactions between drivers. If you don't have a car, I envy you for either living in a metropolitan city (instead of the burbs), for not having to spend a trillion dollars on gas, or...or actually maybe I don't envy you because you could be homeless (living in SF perhaps with that free wireless? oh what? that never happened? but they've been talking about doing that for--oh. really? they still haven't? Oh, well thanks for using 1.50 in dimes and pennies to read this page. We apologize for having nothing of importance to say.) I'm driving down the PCH today when all of a sudden, this Mass-hole cuts me off. Not only was I upset about being cut-off, but I was upset that a Mass-hole came all the way from NY where I'm used to Mass-holes cutting me off to find me kindly cruising down the coastal highway here in California. Was he sent here? Is Google really that upset about that May 1st post (side note: it appears we've been dropped from the Internet because of such shinanigans--well, either that or because of the femanarchist article, or maybe we're just super fucking paranoid.) But who wouldn't be paranoid when getting cut of in CA by a Mass-hole who's completely out of his element? I digress. This isn't the point of the story, but I'm really getting heated about it now. Deep breaths. Ok, so he cuts me off (argh) and I do the whole fist pumping, angry-word-mouthing at him, gesturing my hands toward him as if I were just cast in a low-budge opera thing. I even do the old-Christian-lady-head-shake bit. A couple of cars start to scrunch in between it and sure enough, I've forgotten the whole event in about 13 minutes (isn't the ocean pretty! is that a dolphin, a dolphin! ahh..). Uh-oh: red light. And guess who's up next to me. That's right , Mr. Masshole. Talk about awkward. I roll up the window, listen to my music, but something catches me out of the corner of my eye. Is that Masshole? It is! And his face is literally gyrating, with middle fingers everywhere and saliva flicking at my window. Fuckingn awkward. What am I supposed to do. In this situation, what does a normal person do. Well, seeing as I am not normal, nor well-equipped to handle awkward situations, I roll down my window and scream, just scream. Five seconds of sheer scream at this man who is now bewildered and rightfully frightened. I'm still screaming as his tires peel out of the intersection and lurch forward, leaving me in my little car awkward, angry, and alone. Curse you, Mass-Hole! I will find you and your little accent too and I will cut you off like you so graciously did me.