Road Rage Recipe

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Road Rage Recipe

Why?

Why do you drive up an entrance ramp to an interstate highway with a posted speed limit of 70 MPH driving 35 MPH?

Why do you brake and slow to 35 MPH on an interstate highway several hundred yards prior to entering the quarter-mile long exit ramp?

Why do you sit and stare at a traffic signal that has just gone green for 5 seconds or more before going when there is no cross-traffic?

Why if you are texting at a traffic signal that goes green and I have to honk to get you to wake up and move, do you give me the finger?

Why are you freaking texting and driving?

Why, after sitting at a green traffic signal for 5-10 seconds do you floor it and speed to the next signal only to do the same damned thing?

Why do you ride on my bumper for miles and when you finally decide to go around give me the evil eye?

I am the last car in a long line of traffic in the left-hand lane—Why is it you can’t get behind me, but choose instead to come up the right-lane, edge over, and force your way in front of me?

Why do you run down a quarter-mile long line of backed-up traffic in the right-hand and get road rage when I refuse to let you over?

Why do you drive 15 to 20 miles per hour below the speed limit in the left-hand lane, spot a yellow traffic signal and accelerate, running it on red and leaving me sitting at the light?

Why do you drive along 5-10 MPH below the speed limit, but when I try to pass, you accelerate until we are both going sixty-five in a forty-five?

Why when I make my left-hand turn and proceed and you have a yield sign do you slam on your brakes and go road rage?

Why do you drive through grocery store/shopping center parking lots at 30 MPH and honk your horn in rage when some hapless sap is trying to back out of a parking spot?

Why, dumb-ass white boy, do you think I want to hear your stupid glass-pack mega-phone tailpipes sputtering down the road?

Why, dumb-ass hood-rat, do you think I want to hear your filthy bass rap lyrics booming everywhere you go?

Okay. I know how most of you are feeling right now. Chill. IT AIN’T WORTH IT! YCFS: You Can’t Fix Stupid. Most of these idiots would fail a sobriety test stone sober. They don’t get it. Grit your teeth. Drink a glass of your favorite beverage when you get home i.e. beer, wine, bourbon….and pray they don’t ever legalize the mounting of .30 cals or rocket launchers on our front fenders. We’ll all have adjoining cells at the funny farm and these idiots will still meekly inherit the earth.

“I don’t care what you say. That there’s funny.”  –Larry the Cable Guy

FYI: The next novel: Rawlins, has been pushed back to late summer or fall. Sweet Thang decided we had to remodel, the garden needed weeding, the car died and had to be replaced, the kids came into town with the new baby…..I could go on. My last best Beta-Reader is looking at it now, then it’s off to the editors.

You may also enjoy: Bear Sighting: Desoto County and Part Two: Wyoming and Montana Road Trip

How About a Western?

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Rawlins: An update on the latest work in Progress

Rawlins is the tentative title for the novel I am now writing. I don’t want to give away too much, but here’s a brief outline: The story begins in West Tennessee during the last full year of the American Civil War and eventually leads westward to the Oregon Trail. The protagonist, Virgil Rawlins, is a seventeen-year-old boy who finds himself un-expectantly slapped in the face with the reality of war, death, and loss. With an animus-driven by the deaths of friends and family, he seeks those responsible. The question becomes: Does Rawlins follow in the footsteps of other infamous outlaws of the time (James, Younger, etc.), or will he survive his quest without appearing on a wanted poster? To tell his story with historical accuracy is requiring quite a bit of research. My hope is that it may lead to a series, but that’s tentative. And, as always, yes, it’s also a love story.
I still owe my ‘Vietnam War Series’ readers another book, which I will begin writing later in the summer. In related news:

The new hardcover edition of Valley of the Purple Hearts with BIB Award.

A hardcover edition of the latest novel, Valley of The Purple Hearts, is now published. Special thanks to interior designer Carol Carlson who did a great job. The hardcover edition of this “Best Indie Book” award winner for literary fiction is now available on Amazon.com. If you wish to receive a signed copy, contact me directly with your name and mailing address. The book retails for $38.95 plus postage. I will sign, package and mail a copy to you for $42.00. Be sure to include the name of the person for whom you want the book signed (exactly as you want it to appear). Since packaging and mailing books isn’t something I want to do long-term, I will limit this offer to the months of March and April 2018.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch: The February monsoon ended here in North Mississippi. That wasn’t necessarily because it stopped raining but rather the month ended. I think we had somewhere around twelve to fourteen inches of rain in February. Knowing it could have been much worse with things like tornados, snow, etc. you will hear no complaints from me. However, a little sunshine for a while would be nice.

As always, putting your written reviews of my books on Amazon makes me very happy, as does seeing your comments here on the site. Best wishes to all.

Rick

You may also enjoy: Valley of the Purple Hearts and Book One of My Southern Fiction Series: Tallahatchie

The Sexual Revolution on Steroids

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Sex, Politics and The Emmys…

Someone said the Emmy Award show the other night turned into a political-left mudslinging contest that even featured a cameo by that recurring bad dream Hillary Clinton. I actually expected as much and planned on ignoring it. It’s like going to the zoo, where you expect to smell the animal poop. And I must admit I missed Hillary because I had turned off the TV and gone to bed.

So, what was it that sent me to bed so early? It was something that leads me to believe we have entered the new and surreal world of an alternative reality. It was something much worse than the political prostitution by the artists, and it was on national television for our children and grandchildren to see. What is this “it” to which I refer?

Well, don’t get me wrong. I’m from the sixties generation. Remember? We were the ones who removed many of the taboos associated with sexual expression. But my lord! I believe we opened Pandora’s box instead. There were people right there on stage dry-humping one another as if it were acceptable civilized behavior. And there were also men and women alike pawing at their own genitals while singing songs with lyrics I wouldn’t want my wife or daughter to hear. What the mortal hell have we become as a people?

I am all for freedom of expression, but this crap is beyond the pale. I listen now with disgust to all this drivel about respecting women, and it must be drivel because it’s the same people promoting black dresses and white roses who are fawning over these so-called “artists” doing things on national television that gets kids arrested while on spring break. We teach generations to dance like mating animals and we then demand they respect one another’s gender. No wonder our children look at adults nowadays as if we’re three-eyed space aliens. They see the paradoxes and the double-standards, and they’re confused.

And that’s all I have to say about that. Thank you for enduring my rant. I think I’ll go now, and take my friend Evan Williams to my safe-place and read a good book.

You may also enjoy: The Nature of Things in Mississippi and Glenn Hates Books by Glenn Conly