If I was God, this is how I would punish idiot drivers

Okay I don’t want to waste anyone’s time here, so I’ll make this quick. I was taking my two dogs, Josh (7 year old stud) and Jack (6 month old puppy), to get groomed the other day, and this dipshit ran a stop sign on a four way intersection. Had I not slammed on the brakes, this fucking tramp in his beat-to-hell Honda Civic would have clapped us. My dogs were in the back seats not wearing seatbelts, so when I hit the brakes, they flew forward and drilled the seats in front of them. Even though they weren’t harmed, it was absolutely heartbreaking to watch, because I thought they were gonna die on impact. I mean they just flew into the backs of those seats. 

As soon as I made sure that they were fine, all my attention was then directed to the jackass that blew through that stop sign. With my car stopped, I fucking layed on that horn and stuck both of my hands out of the window and gave this cockrag the firmest double bird in my entire life. He then recognized that there was a person he almost hit, so he stopped and put his head out the window. He was on his phone. He looked like a middle aged man, someone’s father. I could tell by his facial expression that he knew he fucked up and felt terrible. I’m sure he’s a nice person. But I didn’t give him one second of pity or mercy. As he was opening up his mouth to likely say, “I’m sorry,” I yelled: “Fuck you, I hope you die!” and I drove away.

Yep. That’s what I yelled to someone’s son. I have never, in my LIFE, wished for someone to die. I mean I hate terrorists and wished they weren’t alive, but I’ve never told someone, a live and real person, to their face with genuine intensity that I hope they die. That was a first for me. It was a dark level that I really don’t visit often. I’m not gonna lie, between me and my two dogs, there wasn’t a lot of dialogue from that moment until we got to the groomers. 

On the drive home from the groomers, I was having an existential crisis regarding the gravity of my statement. Only in the heat of the moment was I capable of saying something so disgraceful, and yet as I cooled off, I still despised that guy’s move. Come to think of it, anytime I get cut off on the freeway, I still think about it for many hours after. Dipshit drivers really (mind my pun) drive me fucking nuts. But I can’t just wish them all dead? That would be horrendously immoral.

But even if I had that divine power, like a magic wand, an infinity gauntlet, or some celestial god-like ability to turn all idiot drivers to dust, I don’t think I could do it. I could, however, use that divine power to instantly teleport them and their shitty car to the Sahara Desert. 

It’s a very specific location. Minimal people, minimal signs of life for that matter, no wireless, and above all, dangerously dry, hot, and arid.

While being instantly teleported to the Sahara Desert may sound like a death sentence, it’s not. The deal is that these people are now going to have to use every bit of their intelligence, resources, wits, and wills to survive. But if they don’t… at least they had a chance. But that’s pretty fair, right? Because the way I see it, by teleporting a shitty driver to the middle of the Sahara Desert, you are now forcing an idiot to use every single neuron of their mental capacity to survive, or else they die. I feel like this is a very deserving deal, considering that every time they get in a car and drive somewhere, they put someone else’s life at risk. And if they can’t figure out a way to survive, tough shit. There’s too many dipshits in this world anyways. 

So now we return to the situation at hand. Let’s say right after that jackass and his beat-to-hell Honda Civic, a literal dishrag on wheels, almost T-Boned me and my dogs, I was given the divine ability to teleport him and his murder vehicle to the Sahara Desert. Would I actually pull the trigger and send him on his merry way to his possible death?

Abso-fucking-lutely. My moral compass remains intact. To kind of quote my dear friend Ivan Drago, if the dumbass dies in the Sahara Desert, the dumbass dies in the Sahara Desert. 

And I sleep like a fucking baby. Don’t mess with my dogs.

Written by Henry Marken

I lost my pinky finger at age 4, but then found it again at a soup kitchen when I was 15. Survivor of a wild turkey attack (2008). I went to the University of Phoenix before it was cool to do college online. Currently in a lawsuit with Crayola after a devastating purple crayon incident.

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