Scarlet Letter for Assholes on the Road

Here’s the deal. I’ve never been much of a car guy. I like them but I’m just not a gear head. For me, cars are transportation. Some are faster than others. Some are nicer looking than others. They all cost way too much and are a pain in the ass to maintain. Then there’s the whole insurance scam part of the equation.

I was quite happy living in Manhattan where the only car I needed was yellow and had a light on top.

If you live in California, a car is a must. It’s a mandate. Like belonging to a health club. Otherwise they might revoke your California visa and deport you. So I have a car. Not one I love or even like that much. I did fall into the SoCal car as status thing and for awhile was driving a Dodge Magnum wagon. Of course, it wasn’t enough to have one of the first black ones on the road when the model came out so I had a guy who did custom work for NBA ballers and hip/hop dudes do the car. Dropped on 22″ custom rims, blacked out windows, the badges and door trim all stripped. An insane stereo system. Thing was a total bad-ass. Looked like the Batmobile. People pulled up beside me and gave me the thumbs up. Kevin Garnett stopped and had his son jump out and check the rims to see what brand they were. My girls actually wanted me to drive them to school in the morning.

I sold the Batmobile when I moved to Baja and bought a used Ford Escape 4×4. About as nondescript automobile & joyless a driving experience as you can get.

Actually, I hate driving. No, wait. I like driving. Love it, at times. Some of my best thinking happens behind the wheel. Driving clears my head out, great alone time to space out and think without distractions. I drove the length of Baja alone – not the smartest thing I’ve ever done – and I had the road practically to myself for  the entire 1700 mile journey. Fantastic way to make the transition from living in San Jose del Cabo to being back in the States.

But here in Cali, that wide open road only happens on the freeways at 4 am on a Sunday morning.

The rest of the time, the roads are filled with complete assholes. Self-absorbed, text messaging, phone blathering, mascara applying, riding my ass while I’m doing 80 SUV owning, 55 mph left hand lane cruising, speed up gap closing when I’m signaling a lane change, side-by-side locked on the speed limit lane blocking idiots who have no business being behind the wheel of car. These are the same dick-heads who can’t operate a shopping cart in a supermarket without sitting in the middle of the aisle blocking traffic while they stand staring at a wall of cereals.

So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m buying a paintball gun and instituting a color code of offenses.

You drift into my lane doing 75 because your texting.


A nice big blue splotch on your door panel.

Putting on your face while in bumper-to-bumper rush hour traffic?


You get an orange blast.

Left hand lane cruising ?


Shit-head brown for you!

Oh man, it would feel so good!!

And now every other driver on the road knows what you’re up to in advance. Like a visible early warning system.

Like a Scarlet Letter…only I could care less if you’re out screwing around outside your marriage. Your driving record is far more important to me as it actually effects my life.

The insurance companies will love this because they can raise rates based on a very visible color coding & offense count. And I want my cut of the increased profits.

Come on now, be honest. You know you want a fully loaded, semi-auto, road rage revenge spewing weapon of your own…unless of course, you’re reading this while your driving.

In which case, BLAM BLAM BLAM!!


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