The big question - the one that stands out the most to me - is this: Is this guy the most highly developed person of all time? Or is he essentially a neanderthal? Is this unnamed commuter an example of a fully realized human being, or is he the most underdeveloped, least evolved person in southern California?
One sees a lot of thought-provoking individuals on the freeway. People make some baffling decisions when it comes to their vehicles. I don't get the whole stick-on chrome fake vents that people stick on the fenders of their cars, for example. Whenever I see those, I wonder what, exactly, those weirdos were thinking. I'm not a professional designer. I look at my car and I assume that the good folks over at Honda did a better job designing it than I could've. I remember what it looked like the last time I tried to draw a car. Nobody would want to drive the piece of shit I drew. What I'm trying to say is that most people aren't exactly qualified to enhance the aesthetic quality of their vehicles. Still, people try.
"DRINK FIGHT FUCK" guy (or, as I will refer to him from now on, "Mr. DFF") got me thinking. Mr. DFF was driving a white Chrysler 300 with dark tinted windows, and I didn't get to see his face, but as soon as he zoomed past me on the freeway, carelessly cutting people off and zig-zagging through traffic, I began paying more attention to the oddities on the road and making a concentrated effort to see the faces that belonged to various cars.
For example, a huge F-150 that was in the fast lane decided to cut across all six lanes on the freeway to get to an exit, and I had to get a look at the obnoxious piece of shit who basically cut off an entire freeway in one maneuver. A woman, who was definitely Mexican and almost certainly a type II diabetic, was driving. She had fat thumbs. Seriously. The fire engine red F-150 had a spoiler above its tailgate that was at least a foot tall, as well as various stickers for elementary schools (apparently their kid is a "superstar") and one of those chrome Jesus fish things.
We all know that the addition of a spoiler instantly makes a car way faster.
What's the attraction to chrome, anyways? I can kind of see how it looks good on a Harley-Davidson, but seriously what is up with people putting the chrome accents on their cars? Have you seen the ridiculous vent things I was talking about earlier? They have got to be the tackiest thing I have ever seen on a car. I actually get mad and start hating the drivers of the vehicles that have them. If you don't know what I'm talking about, check this out:
Oh, for fuck's sake...
Observe. Notice that this is a Pontiac Grand Am, which is a colossal piece of shit to start out with. Second, check out the accents on the hood. Even the goddamn windshield wipers have chrome on them. I honestly want to find the driver of this car and kick them to sleep. Have you ever seen a Ferrari with chrome accents on it? No, you haven't. Wanna know why? I'll tell you why...
Ferrari owners, generally speaking, have made pretty good life decisions. Something must have gone the way it was supposed to for the Ferrari owner.
Take another look at that Pontiac. If you're driving a Pontiac Grand Am, something has gone horribly wrong in your life. You've made a bad decision or two, and now you own a piece of shit car. You're probably too stupid to realize the depth of your poor decision-making skills, which is why you leave your trailer park, walk into an Autozone, stumble into the "accessories" aisle, and pick out chrome accents for your car (in between bites of your Slim Jim, obviously).
Anyways, back to Mr. DFF...
This guy's life revolves around a central philosophy, which consists of a mere three words. Kudos for brevity, Mr. DFF. He has his priorities, and they are (in order):
DRINK: Now, some of Mr. DFF's friends have undoubtably told him that he needs to get help for his rampant alcoholism. His liver is nearing failure at an alarming rate, as steatosis has caused his overburdened liver cells to accumulate large vacuoles of triglyceride fat. He gives zero fucks, however, and he is dedicated to his lifestyle.
Pictured: Mr. DFF's sad, sad liver.
FIGHT: After consuming a half dozen tall boys of PBR, Mr. DFF moves into phase two of his ritual. It's time to fight! As we all know, alcoholics are generally highly skilled badasses who prove their manhood in parking lots and bars all across the world by fighting... well, whoever, I guess. His finely tuned motor functions are lubricated and his fragile psyche has been reinforced with a glaze of alcohol-induced bravado, so it's GO TIME MOTHERFUCKER!!!
FUCK: After having handed out several cans of whoopass, it's time for Mr. DFF to retire to his boudoir with a lady or two. Mr. DFF emerges from his walk-in closet wearing his leopard-print kickboxing pants, and dims the lights as he prepares to get. it. on. If there is anything that the classiest of ladies love, it's a drunk, sweaty, bleeding douchebag. You know, I think it's actually pretty selfish for Mr. DFF to place the fighting before the fucking. Unless he has superhuman stamina (and he probably doesn't), he's going to be all pooped out before he gets to what should be the highlight of his night. The odds that he'll be able to devote an appropriate amount of attention to a woman (or man... I don't want to assume anything about Mr. DFF's sexual orientation or preference) are pretty slim.
Go get 'em, Mr. DFF!
It may sound like I've made up my mind about who Mr. DFF is...
You couldn't be more wrong. I'm sitting here and thinking... maybe Mr. DFF is the pinnacle of humanity. Perhaps his simplistic ideology, driven by a combination of evolutionary impulses and probable childhood sexual abuse, is a type of psychological breakthrough. He doesn't care about making the world a better place. Mr. DFF isn't preoccupied with the things that stress out most people. All of the existential questions that plague me aren't exactly a concern for a guy whose motto revolves around the accumulation of liver diseases, brain damage, and STDs. I wonder what life is like for Mr. DFF. He's a caveman in a modern world. He's a glimpse backwards to a simpler time, when humans weren't so stressed out by our own intelligence.
Is Mr. DFF a genius? By reverting and by shutting off his brain, has he outsmarted all of us? Has he found a simpler, more pure way to charge through his existence, unencumbered by the problem of his own potential? Is he some kind of Zen master who has made peace with his own animal nature?
Maybe.
Although the odds are pretty good that he's just another asshole on the freeway.
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