i saw this ad in Australia.

supposedly, it's very effective at making men ponder their driving habits.

and now on a completely other note. i hate those stupid fliers one finds rubberbanded (new verb) to one's front door knob. just as i was leaving the house after lunch one of the rubberbanderers was walking down the steps having left his little deposit of waste for me. a free slice of pizza with a carpet cleaning or something or other.

"don't leave this junk on my doorstep," i said to the man. he had a depressed way about him. it showed in his clothing. no consideration to color or style or elastication. loose shorts hanging low on the hips. tube socks up to the knee.

"hey, i make $5 bucks an hour," he said, "don't give me any of your shit."

well, okay. go on your merry way. peace be with you, my brother. and your rubberbands.

ordinarily, though, i don't mind a good fight with a stranger. gives me a chance to let off some steam, open up the lungs a bit.

plus i find, if i don't swear at people on a frequent basis, i get rusty and out-of-date. i catch myself saying things like "piss off you wuss" or "stuff it doofus."

old lady swearing. that's what that is.

gotta keep sharp. practice, practice, practice. that's my motto.

one time i jumped the gun at a four way stop and a woman in a brand new mustang blared her horn at me.

i hadn't been in a good fight for a while so i flipped her off and drove on towards Bettys to get one of their berry scones. i like them warm, just out of the oven.

anyhow, she tailed me all around 4th street, up Oxford, down University. i tried to ditch her in a parking lot. slide in and be all inconspicuous in my 1994 pick-up next to the rows of 4th street SUV caddy's and beemers.

she pulled up behind me. I locked my door. she slammed her door and headed my way.

i took out my cell. i hoped she couldn't see it wasn't charged.

"i'll kick your skinny white ass, bitch," she said and hit my side window. i pretended to dial. poking at the keys elaborately until she walked away. i watched her in my rear view mirror. she was dressed up, like she was on her way to work. so was i but it wasn't so obvious from what i was wearing.

as i drove off, i kept checking for the mustang. i drove around and around, making sure no one was following me.

a good fight gone terribly wrong.

i knew it was just a figure of speech -- skinny white ass -- but it made me think maybe i really didn't need the scone.