5 April 2007 - 0:00Rigolega takes a car ride; shouting ensues.

The other day, I was driving in my neighborhood and decided I wanted to commit suicide. So I pulled in to a McDonald’s drive through and pondered which “breakfast” choice would allow me to shit out all my blood and vital organs in the fastest and most vile of manners. I decided a cup of black coffee would do just fine, since McDonald’s coffee tastes like the filthy scrapings of a zebra’s urethra. So I was sitting around, behind this clunky van, waiting for the woman in front of me to complete her $50 hillbilly delight order. Who the fuck orders $50 worth of McDonald’s? That’s the equivalent of tossing a third world prostitute’s salad. Hell, I’d rather toss a third world prostitute’s salad…it’s a hell of a lot healthier (and tastier) than anything McDonald’s shovels out of its deep fryers.

Anyway, I’m sitting there and the van ahead of me finally decides she’s had enough of being worthless and starts heading for the drive-thru window. As I’m creeping behind her, she hits her brakes and starts going in reverse. Not wanting my Mercury shitbox to become a Mercury “Holy fuck, now I have to ride a bike everywhere like a hippy because this bitch ruined the front of my car,” I shift into reverse as well. Apparently, she can’t cut the turn between the drive-thru median and a big truck that was both unloading pig testicles and spilling over into the drive-thru lane slightly. So she says out of her open window, “Can you back up a little bit more?” Now, I was in a rare good mood and decided to do this woman a favor. With an epic flex of my pecs, I backed up, giving her enough room to not only back up, but back out of the drive-thru and go around if she couldn’t get by the truck. As I did this, I felt a splash on the side of my face. At first I thought it was rain, but then I realized it was just Mother Teresa’s ghost squirting all over me because of my saintliness.

So I’m sitting there, listening to Pantera and admiring the size of my balls, watching this woman in this van struggle to drive. I know all women are terrible drivers, but this one took it to another level. I’m convinced that even people with spastic cerebral palsy would stop and ask, “What the fuck?” to what this woman was doing. She was going back and forth, trying to cut the turn or jump the median. She’s got a good 20 feet between the front of my car and the very beginning of the median, so I’m not sure why she didn’t just back out like I had allowed her to do. Then she stops the car and gets out. To those who doubt evolution, let me assure you that this whale had legs.

She yells, “Hey jerk, you think you can move back some more?” Now, there’s nothing that makes me spring a bigger ball constricting underwear tightener than being called a jerk and this was no exception. I calmly take a deep breath and shout: “Fuck you. Why don’t you go fuck yourself.” Yes, I managed to use “why” in a declarative way, mostly because I’m so manly. The sheer magnitude of my roaring shout made three cars parked in the lot explode and my brother, who was in the car next to me, puke blood. After this spectacular display of manliness, this she-beast managed to forklift herself back into her car. She tried jumping a curb, keeping in mind she had the good 20 feet in which to back out and go around that I so graciously gave to her, to get around. But since she’s a woman she sucked at driving. I’m sitting my car, amazed at her display of sucktitude and did what any mature male would in this situation: I taunted her. “You got enough fucking room sweetheart?” She flicked me off. I laughed at her pathetic middle finger and proceeded to launch my own barrage of phalangic fuck you at her. I would have pissed in her gas tank, but I was already pissing in my own because I piss gasoline.

After a few minutes of uproarious laughter at her pathetic plight, I started getting agitated. I decided that the world would be worse off without me and that drinking the hot load of diarrhea known as McDonald’s coffee would be harming humanity’s greatest hope. I started to pull away and she, thinking she had gotten the best of me, shouted, “Yeah, you’re not getting anything from this drive-thru.” She had the tone most women take when they think they’ve won a battle, even though their arguments lack logic or any modicum of sense, which, coincidentally, is the same tone they have all the time: bitchy. After I finished shitting all over her van laughing at her, I drove past and got the last word in: “Why don’t you jump off a fucking building you fucking cunt.” Rarely do I get to use “cunt” as an insult and mean it, and as a result, my boner ripped through the denim of my jeans and destroyed my windshield. She was so stunned, she threw up on the baby she had in the front seat and the baby started to cry. Naturally, I did what I always do when babies cry and shouted at it until its ears bled and it stopped crying. So she started crying and shouting about how her baby was deaf. I laughed for ten minutes straight until I gave her a glare that propelled her into oncoming traffic. I was so satisfied, I came.

-McDonald’s executives sent me a thank you card for providing them with the sauce for their new McGoo burger. I sent them an envelope filled with my pubes back.