Summer's Cracked up to be...

Let us see, what happened yesterday? One interesting thing was the prick bastard in the tricked out Mustang who flew by the house with his fucking tough guy car all wound out loud. It almost seemed like straight pipes. So out the door I fly, and the key was sitting in the Rover, so off I go after him. I could go either way out of the drive, we live on a closed loop, but for some reason I thought he might have been headed for a house nearby with rowdy teenagers. Alas, he was simply cruising through, god knows why, our private roads are clearly marked NO TRESPASSING with 20 MPH signs. So my kids ride their bikes here, and I worry about that very possibility of some asshole kid running them over. So I catch up with him around the wooded bend in the road, private spot, flag him down and he stops. I pull up abreast and roll the passenger window down. I tell him my kids ride their bikes here, I tell him their names and ages. I tell him people take the safety of their families quite seriously. He actually apologized, but it was one of those “sure I recognize that this is one of those you are right and I am wrong deals, and that I really have to apologize but I really don’t respect your authority to tell me what to do.” So I stress the importance of his getting lost, and what the hell is he even doing here in the first place? Several apologies ensue, and we reach the parting ways part. He offers to let me go ahead. I insist that he go first, then I get the tough guy stare. Oh no, you didn’t just give me the tough guy stare, did you? Thats when I get out and walk around the Rover to his window, reiterating the high importance of him getting the fuck lost, like right now? He does as he is told, sheepishly, reluctantly. I realize he has a passenger (not that that hadn’t factored into my calculations were things to get physical, but the passenger looked scared in my periphery) and having a buddy with you while you get yelled at by some middle age nut job 10 or 15 years older than you, especially when you are a weight lifting tough guy with a Ford Mustang must sting the ego a bit. Oh well, and they drive away, turning out of the neighborhood. good riddance. Now here comes my lower backache, a debilitating throb in the small of my back, I always picture my kidneys pulsing with blood or adrenaline or some other liquid flood far too copious for these organs to handle. I get weak, and I realize just how fucking crazy I must have seemed to these young men, its no wonder they saw things my way in the end...