Excoriating Accelerationally-Challenged Imbeciles

I. Hate. Slow. Drivers. In. The. Fast. Lane.

Die. Die. Die painfully and slowly, the way that you have driven.

I cannot understand how a person could be so clueless as to dribble along, slowly enough for an arthritic octogenarian to do cartwheels around his vehicle, while a dozen cars pile up in utter frustration behind him, trying desperately and at peril of their lives to squeeze into whatever gap may finally open up in the other lanes.

I encountered such an idiot today, driving some kind of panel truck. For a good five minutes, he put-putted along I-95 at a speed usually employed by ducks waddling around a pond. Car after car rode his bumper but he was oblivious. In front of his benighted vehicle, the left lane was free and clear.

I tried and tried and finally my chance came. I gave him a look of pure hatred as I passed and made sure that he saw it. I jerked in front of him and slowed down nicely for a moment or two. It was a wasted lesson. As he vanished mercifully behind me, I could see that he had no intention of changing lanes, ever, and the line of traffic continued behind him.

My choices of torture for such a person would involve electric sanders, razor blades, vicious ants, rabid dogs, red hot skewers, colonic cleansing utilizing caustic chemicals and ground glass, forcibly-fed toadstool puree and a woodchipper.