That One Time I...

... Made A Dick Joke

Don't worry, y'all. This one doesn't get spicy like last Thorsday's post. You can almost safely read this one at work. 

Yesterday, Artoria and I were blissfully on our way home from Sprouts with this week's haul of plant based protein drinks and high protein bars. I had just finished chatting up a pair of ladies that climbed into a vintage muscle car that looks a lot like KITT from Knight Rider, and I was understandably feeling a lot taller than my listed height. Life was good at that moment in time.

And then Artoria and I pulled up alongside a monstrosity that had to be seen to be believed. 

It was a Ford pickup, and not the kind that you typically see on its way to a job. Its flanks announced in chrome plated plastic it was an F-450, and it had a dualie axle in the rear. Twin exhaust pipes wider than a bowling ball ran vertically alongside the rear of the cab. An assault rifle graphic was plastered on its rear window. I noted the absence of a tow hitch, and you can take one guess what his bumper sticker said about his preference in this year's Presidential election as well as Latinos.

For a split second I was quite offended by this sight, and then I realized there's a reason why this commercial grade pickup's bed wasn't lined with locking metal tool boxes. The tool was sitting in the driver's seat, and it reeked of overcompensation. 

The fortysomething driver sat very high off the ground, so I had no opportunity to look him in the eye and speak my mind. But once he pulled in front of me and I was in his rear view mirror's field of vision, I giggled as I wagged my pinkie finger as if it resembled... well, you know.

Yes, that was a dick move but he damned well deserved it.