Bobby and I were driving to my parents’ house the other night when we suddenly heard screeching tires behind us. We looked in the mirrors to see a car come flying around a right turn and barreling down the road towards us. The car then swerved around us into the oncoming lane of traffic and sped off. Bobby laid on the horn and I stuck my arm out the open window to flip them off, and they immediately stopped. Because we hope to be shot and killed someday soon, we pulled up next to the car to chat.
The driver, who looked like a stereotypical small animal-torturing bully, snarled, “You wanna start something? Whatcha gonna do, bitch?”
And while I was thinking up a brilliant response (“I’m going to stab you/throw litter at you/stare blankly at you”), Bobby said, “Shawn? Shawn Mulroney?”
The driver’s face went blank and he stumblingly grunted, “Who are you?” Bobby identified himself and the passenger commented to Shawn, “Dude, it’s pretty bad when you know the people you’re fucking with.” After a moment, the car sped off.
I guess Shawn Mulroney didn’t feel like catching up with Bobby about the good old days. Maybe next time.