FAST LANE TO DEATH

Three jerkoffs in a punch buggy are driving down a street, laughing gayly whilst listening to Chris Brown songs, until a boulder shaped like an anvil drops from a cliff 500 feet above, crushing the car and all of its occupants. An ambulance arrives and declares all thee travelers dead on the scene. Shortly thereafter, the coroner comes and ushers the bodies away for proper burial. The fire department sends three trucks, mainly to block traffic, and to ring alarms and flash their fucking lights. The local newspaper hack is there too, taking pictures and recording the grim scene for all of his readers. It is a big deal, as it makes the local news reports, even a national newspaper.

The next day people are careful when driving, looking up at the cliff above for errant boulders that may attempt to murder them while driving. The newspaper people laud and praise how cordial everyone seems to be behaving, post tragedy. Everyone feels grateful for being alive and heeds caution while passing by the spot where those three jerkoffs were crushed into pancakes.

One month later, no one remembers the tragedy or the boulders above. They speed with reckless abandon because their engines were built to break the law. One young zealot has a license plate that says “FCKBOULDRS.” He zips by slow moving station wagons– doing 95mph while sticking his middle finger out of his window. People are jealous of this young man and trade in their station wagons for fast cars. Soon enough, everyone is driving race cars, drinking beers, while sticking their middle fingers at the memorial where the three jerkoffs were killed.

As they do this, ever so quietly, murderous boulders are ajar 500 feet above.