Russian Hour Traffic

So there's this chick who works in my office. She's moderately attractive, she dresses like a whore, and she's built like a brick shithouse. However, several key factors prevent me from attempting to acquire this poon. I shall list them now in bullet form:

• She's married with kids. I know, it's not necessarily a deal breaker. I mean there's hardly a woman in this world who can resist the tempting seductions of one Mightonimous Q. Dyckerson. But judging from the photo on her desk, her husband is large and quite muscular.
• She's Russian. No way in Hades will I allow myself be seen in public cavorting with some commie. I have my presidential campaign to think of. Look what happened when that video surfaced of Yobama hopping around in the desert with nothing but a towel on his head. Major negative P.R. right there.
• She's a self-centered little bitch. She ought to be grateful to be in this country, but she acts like she's entitled to be here. She struts around the office, shaking her ass like she's walking the runway at the Miss Universe pageant. I am not kidding here. The way she walks, it's like she's expecting people to throw rose petals at her feet or something. Not only that, but she actually thinks her work is more important than anyone else's. On more than one occasion, she has asked me to stop loading my data so she could load hers first. I told her to go fuck herself with a hammer and sickle.

Now the other day I was on the interstate heading for work. I was running a trifle late, so I was slightly exceeding the posted speed limit. Normally I wouldn't give a damn about being late to my shitty job, but it was bagel day, and I wanted to get there before the fatasses in Accounting stole all the cinnamon & raisins. Fucking bean counters. They oughtta be counting calories! Am I right people??!

But back to my morning commute. So I'm on I-295, flying like a bat out of Hell and making good time. Now I get pissed pretty easily when it comes to bad drivers...and when I say bad drivers, I mean EVERY OTHER DRIVER ON THE ROAD besides myself. But the one thing that pisses me off MORE THAN ANYTHING is when slow moving assholes hog the left lane. You know the type. No matter how many vehicles are stacked up behind them trying to get by, the left lane hog just cruises along at or below the speed limit pretending like they can't see them. Usually I encounter at least four or five of these cocksuckers EVERY FUCKING MORNING. Passing on the right is the only option, and I do so quite often...usually while expressing my regards to the offending driver with an obscene gesture or two.

Well this particular morning was no exception. I passed a total of FOUR left lane hogs within a three-mile stretch, and the anger was building. Finally I thought the coast was clear...but not so fast. Up there in the distance, YET ANOTHER left lane hog. I'd had enough. I rolled right up to this cocksucker's bumper and jerked the DyckMobile into the center lane until our cars were side-by-side. Then I rolled up my sleeve, extended my middle finger, and banged it on the glass of my door whilst making an upward thrusting motion. I didn't even bother to look and see who it was. Then I sped forward and swerved the DyckMobile into the left lane, my rear bumper missing the other vehicle's front fender by mere inches. 'Twas a sight to behold.

Quite pleased with myself, I proceeded to work and perched myself in my chair, ready to face another day. Not two minutes later, Russian chick walks in the door, struts over to my cube, and puts her hands on her hips. Here is an excerpt of the conversation that followed.....

Russian Chick: That wasn't very nice, DYCKERSON!
Dyck: What the fuck are you talking about?
Russian Chick: You know what I'm talking about, DYCKERSON! Giving me the finger!!
Dyck: Oh...umm...was that you??
Russian Chick: You know it was me! Do you do that to everybody, DYCKERSON??
Dyck: No, only SELF-CENTERED COMMIE ASSHOLES who don't know how to drive. Now STEP OFF, you borscht-eating red menace!!!

That shut her up. She threw her hands up in the air and stormed off in a huff. With that ugliness behind me, I swiveled around in my chair, gave myself a high five, and got down to business.

Score one for the U.S.A.!