I was on the way home on I-64. There was traffic slowing down to a dead stop ahead of me. I could see roughly 8-10 car lengths up, that cars where moving like crazy in all directions. I couldn't make out the reason for this crazy traffic pattern so my eyes were scanning furiously as I dodged the lesser drivers around me and simultaneously trying to find the cause.
When i made it to the front, I saw that there was a guy on his knees with another guy standing over him with a gun to the back of his head. This looked serious and the situation was ominous to say the least. Not knowing the situation or identity of the individuals involved, my initial reaction was to swerve around the raucous and put lots of distance between me and the gunman.
I prepared to downshift and give my little Pony all she had when for some reason, the final episode of Jerry Seinfeld flashed before my eyes. I can't say why that particular analogy came to mind. It was silly I know, but the thought had an immediate impact, none the less. What happened next could never have happened had I just two more seconds to reconsider.
I reached down and flipped my air-conditioner on and turned the dial next to it to "MAX" and "Recirculate" as I headed directly toward the aforementioned pair. Just a few feet from the altercation, I dropped two gears before moving my hand to pull up on the E-brake handle and start a sideways skid toward the right while counter steering in the opposite direction. As I released my hold the E-brake, both hands went to the wheel as I expertly controlled my skid and I pushed the hammer all the way to the floor.
All those sissies on Tokyo Drift could definitely take a few lessons from me. I knew that I'd have to stay hard on the pedal and keep the slide just right to control what I was about to do. The smoke RAGED from my wheel wells and the motor SCREAMED at my 3rd gear flat-out pull as I circled the pair successively.
It took 6 passes to shroud the entire scene with tire smoke. I could hear the occasional fender bender over the roar of my motor as the thick choking fog increased. Faintly, I could occasionally see the assailant. He coughed and hacked, tried to get a bead on me then lost me again through the smoke. It would only be a matter of time now.
Another half dozen passes and I knew that I'd completed my mission. I cut the motor to idle and cracked my window to listen. The angry shouts accompanied coughing and hacking could be heard directly to my nine o'clock. I gunned the motor in first gear for a final time and opened my driver's side door. *Crack!!!*
A body goes bouncing off of my door and I hear metal and plastic skittering across the asphalt. I dive for the weapon and reach it with no competition from it's original owner. I draw down on the now moaning man that lay before the side of my car. "I sure hope you have good insurance.", I say. "I think you've scratched my paint job."
The End....
:OT:
and of course stomp on the gas
