Not A Good Day For Mustangs ...

Returning from a business trip, in the company car, on the highway beltway through the capital. Four lanes, each way, so plenty of room to maneuver. Well, I'm creeping up on this old POS Ford pickup, a flatbed with one of those welded on iron beds that's all rusted to hell. He has an antique car tag, but this thing isn't an antique. It's a POS, it shouldn't even be on the road. Well, I notice he is a handyman or something along that line because he has a tool box (flat bed, with a pickup truck tool box I assume bolted to the bed) behind the cab, and a step ladder, one of those metal, sliding two part step ladders. Well, this fool has tied the ladder to the back of the bed only at the top, by a single, thin piece of that hemp twine. This ladder is swinging back and forth along the bed of the truck, slowly cutting through the hemp twine, and the guy is just driving on, like nothing in the world could be better. I see that he's about to lose the ladder, and when something like that comes off the back of a truck in front of you, and you are doing 70+mph, with a hundred cars behind you doing the same, well, you can see the implications.

So, I start to try to get his attention. I turn my lights to bright, flash them, honk the horn, etc. No go. He doesn't even have a rearview mirror (but I can see the glue on the windshield where one USED to be! I HATE that!). So, this guy is about to lose this big ass metal ladder in traffic, I'm trying to warn him, and what pulls up next to me but this punk kid in a ‘94 style GT Mustang. He looks over at me, and I guess he thinks I'm honking at him. He revs his engine and jumps ahead a little. What is this kid doing? Doesn't he see what's in front of him? Kid looks ahead, keeps the car straight, and then looks back over at me, jumps again. Now, my company car is a Ford Aerostar minivan (without the 5.0 liter option, mind you), and I do not know what was going on in this kid's mind. He revs his engine again, honks, and nods with his head for me to race him. I look back at the truck just in time to see the ladder break loose.

Three car lengths ahead of me.

I slam down hard on the  brakes, not enough to lock them, but enough to bleed off enough speed that I can move (as fast as I can without tipping the damn POS van) into the other lane. All other traffic behind me manages to avoid the now rapidly decelerating, throwing sparks everywhere, cart wheeling, rotating metal ladder. Everyone except the dumbass in the Mustang. He slams on brakes, almost loses it sideways into the concrete partition, and has the ladder wrap itself around his left front cap. It disintegrates his composite headlight/turn signal, chunks his front bumper, and then he grinds it under his car and pulls over to the side with this ladder stuck under his car, sparking all the way. I was laughing so hard I almost wrecked myself.

And if you think that retards are the only ones who drive Mustangs, read on.

Same day, that afternoon, I had put in 12 hours at work, went outside, got in my '90 Formula TBI, took the tops off, and started my 30mile trip home. Nice setting sun, I have to drive west in the afternoon. On my way home, I pass through a county where nothing but ignorant inbreds live, so I'm used to dumb drivers and it's just part of the daily commute dodging the jerks. Well, I'm coming up on the back of a black Mustang convertible. Kid is driving it, with his baseball cap backwards (a sure sign of mental retardation, if you wear your clothes backwards...), Oakleys, etc. He's tailgating a GMC dually, and he's leaning over into the passenger seat, like he's trying to get a tape off the floor of the passenger side, not paying attention at all, and he's going slower than 65mph. I'm doing 65mph, and seeing what could happen, I move over into the left lane with a few other cars, and we sail past this goober at 10mph faster than he is doing.

Well, this guy *obviously* knows a *challenge* when he sees one, so after I move back into the right lane (never having changed speed, I'm still in cruise at 65mph and enjoying the trip home with the tops off and the setting sun blinding me), this kid comes ripping past me. I don't pay him any attention, I've noticed that he's only a four banger, and when he sails past me (at 80mph), I notice the Pony emblem on the side. No mods, he's bone stock as far as I can tell. It's late, I'm tired, and I don't feel like racing a 4 banger. That's no competition, so I just ignore him, and keep it in cruise, driving like a responsible adult.

This kid slows down, almost to the point where I'm going to have to move to the left lane to swerve around him again. He gets to within two car lengths, I put my signal on to move over, and he speeds up again, looking over his shoulder and nodding his head to 'come on'. I ignore him. Punk. Get a real motor. I don't have time for this, and I'm tired. Again, long day, and I don't race 4 cylinder Rustangs with my 8 cylinder F-body. No competition, not even close.

Once the kid jumps ahead, I sigh and leave it in cruise again, 65mph. Well, the kid does the exact same thing again. By this time, I've set my Glock on the seat next to me and I'm ready in case this is some kind of juice head (it's a white kid at that) or he's looking for trouble. Kid drops down in speed beside me, revs his engine, drops it two gears, really revs his engine (over revs?). Lots of noise, but no real performance, it’s not like he lays rubber at 70mph or even chirps them. So besides not impressing me, and generally getting real close to the danger zone of my tolerance for stupid people (which is pretty low to begin with) this dumbass poser darts ahead, drops back, and looks over at me. Got to be 16 years old at the most! I look at him, he nods to race, and I close my fist and start miming the whacking off motion slowly. Up and down, while looking at him.

He says something I can't understand, but he understands that I'm telling him he's a jackoff. So he jumps ahead again and gets about six car lengths in front of me, then proceeds to run at 65mph. We never get closer or farther apart for the next 25 miles.


I turn off to go to my bank downtown where I live to chat with my ISP guru about my website. After I park, and I've just finished putting the tops back on and locked up, this same kid comes screaming into the parking lot and almost gets sideways. He's got this (c)rap music going, with the boom boom boom vibrating the rear of the car. What a poser. He starts talking shit, which I ignore, and then he asks what I meant by my closed fist moving up and down motion.

I told him he was a skating, no-life posing loser jackoff and when he got a real car, come back and look me up. I turned my back on him and started to walk away. He said other things, but I'm not easily provoked and I didn't have time for this crap. If he had gotten out and done something to my car, then it would have been fisticuffs city. This kid revved his engine high a few times. There were some women in the parking lot, and they started looking over my way, at this poser and talking to each other, pointing, shaking their head, etc. I hoped they didn’t think this was some friend of mine! That would be embarrassing! Well, this made the Mr. wannabe Ford jackoff even madder, and he revved his engine and sidestepped his clutch, trying to do a good smokey burnout to save his impression of his wounded male ego.

Stall! He killed the engine! He got a little chirp and the whole car rocked forward and died! I almost hit the ground rolling, and the women started laughing. This punk started cussing more, fired up his little four banger again, cranked the explicit lyric (c)rap music way up, and then hauled ass out of the parking lot. He went over a curb trying to get onto the main drag and I heard underbody metal crunch. He did a little fishtail out on the new blacktop, and then hauled off (as fast as a 5speed 4banger Rustang can go, which isn't fast when it's got 500lbs of stereo in the back).

What was the icing on the cake though is that the exit to the bank is kind of on a blind side, where you can't really see on-coming traffic. Well, one of those oncoming cars was a local police unit, which immediately put the blues on and hauled this guy over not a block from the parking lot. I watched him and when he looked back at me, I waved and when the women weren't looking, did the "you are a jackoff" motion again. I thought he was going to come out of the Mustang and come running for me, he was so mad, but by that time the cop was there and was, I think, telling him that he had better sit back down in his little retard mobile and not make any sudden moves. I guess by the time the cop thought enough to look back my way, I had a corner of a building hiding me from view. I turned and went on about my business. I walked on into the bank, apologized to the two ladies, tipped my hat, and held the door for them to walk into the bank. All they could talk about was how nice I was, how my parents had obviously raised me right, etc. and what a jerk the other guy was.

I told them that the police had just pulled him over and we all got a laugh about that. Then in the elevator, we had a nice discussion on the merits of what listening to (c)rap music is doing to the younger generation.

What a poser. Sidestep your clutch and stall your engine while trying to do a burnout with a four banger in order to impress me. Takes a lot more than that to impress me, believe me. And then you get pulled over by the bronze when you leave the parking lot sideways trying to impress me again.

That's great.

I smiled the rest of the night.  All in all, not a good day for Mustangs. Not a good day at all.