the month of me: the minivan of doom

It was a glorious and sunny Monday morning. I was chugging along in the Aerio, coming up to the intersection of Windsor and Quinpool on my way to work, when who do I see in front of me but Ramzi! “Yay, Ramzi!” I think to myself, “I’ll pick him up and we’ll drive to work together! We’ll chat and joke and have a fine 5 minute trip! Yay!”

So, right at the crosswalk, I honked at him and opened the door for him to get in. He saw that it was me, smiled, and jumped in the car. From the moment I saw him to the moment my foot hit the gas, 7.37 seconds elapsed. It was almost military in its precision and speed.

And during the entirety of the 7.37 seconds, the driver of the crappy black minivan behind me drove his fist into his horn like it was an arterial wound he was desperately trying to close.

Which made what happened next all the more shocking.

As I pulled out of the intersection, he squealed around from behind and shot by us to the right, his middle finger tattooed to the driver’s side window.

And then he drove full-speed into a flatbed truck carrying a load of flaming pig feces.

And then as he got out of the car, his wife leaned over and said she was divorcing him. And that she had faked all her orgasms.

And then his dog threw up on his shoes. And then bit him. And then ran away.

And then his father drove up and told him he was a failure as a son. And that he was a mistake.

And then his mother ripped the head off his childhood teddy bear. And ate it.

And then a cop stopped by and arrested him for exposing himself to senior citizens.

And then a marching band on the sidewalk played a jaunty version of Beck’s “Loser”. And pointed at him.

And then a breeze blew his jacket open, revealing a pink and sparkly shirt that read, “I’m A Little Pony — Can I Give You A Ride?”

And then five supermodels walked up and said that the mere sight of him had just driven them to celibacy.

And then a team of paleontologists rolled up a blackboard and proceeded to demonstrate how he was an actual present-day example of the missing link between monkeys and modern-day humans.

And then he pooed his pants.

And then Ramzi and I laughed and laughed and laughed all the way to work.

Of course, this may be one of those instances where I skip off the rails of reality and drift into the Marvelous Land of Fantasy and Wish-Fulfillment. You should go. It’s awesome.

2 Responses to “the month of me: the minivan of doom”

  1. joy Says:

    ok, you had me right up until the marching-band/beck thing. (and who would not poo themselves, indeed?)

  2. mike Says:

    Well, what was I supposed to do?


    1) geez. move it or lose it, pal.
    2) It’s not going to bloom!
    3) Ah-OOOOOO-ga!