Ah, my friend Ming the Merciless, like many Americans, you are afflicted with Old Fart Anger Syndrome, otherwise known as OFAS. OFAS produces irrational fits of rage often directed at knuckleheads that cut you off in traffic. It can cause the infected to hammer the steering wheel and shout curses in previously unknown languages.
It can also land you in a steaming pile of shit. Imagine if you will that after a hard day on the road, you’re headed for your favorite watering hole, when some clown in a Beamer M3 cuts you off and flips you the one-finger peace sign. You try to catch up with him, but your aging Volvo is no match for the M3. After an hour of searching, you find the sumbitch’s car parked in front of a gangster bar and just across the street from the local Safeway. You think about running into the bar and kicking the crap out of that clown, but realize you’re an old fart and will get no doubt get thrashed severely about the head and shoulders.
As you stand there fuming on the corner, you look over at the Safeway. Aha, an alternative to mindless violence. You run into the store and buy three mushy Idaho spuds and a ripe banana from a nice checker named Wendy. You return to the Beamer and repeatedly shove the spuds up the asshole’s tailpipe all the while chanting to yourself, “How do you like this potato, motherfucker.”
You’re down to the banana when the not-so-nice police officers taps you on the shoulder. “What the hell are you doing?” He’s a young hot shot with a square jaw and V-shaped torso. You tab him as the V-cop.
“Rotating my tires.”
V-cop rolls his eyes as only cops can. “Sir, why are you shoving tubers up that BMW’s tailpipe,” he asks.
You toss the banana into an adjacent azalea bush. “The sumbitch cut me off.”
“It’s three am. Don’t you have anything better to do?”
The cop sighs. He could stuff you into his cruiser in which case you’ll end up spending the night in a cell with an amorous inmate named the Big Hunk, but there’s an armed robbery in progress five blocks over, V-cop is an excitement junkie and he knows the Beamer belongs to a local gangster. “Get that shit out of the tailpipe,” he says as he drives off, knowing full well that you won’t.
You giggle, thinking you’re home free, but of course, the knucklehead returns to the Beamer and when he fires it up, the back pressure in the exhaust system sends the cylinder head through the hood of the car. You end up in the pokey where you and Mr. Big Hunk become friends for life.
Know this: OFAS can totally fuck up your life, but never fear, there is hope. Try Old Farts Anonymous. Chill, take two Valium and think peaceful thoughts. Repeat the Old Fart Prayer: “Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change and smite down assholes that cut me off.” Remember peaceful thoughts my little tadpole. I know your pain.