It's tough to be perfect in a world of A-Holes

I'm sure all my FB friends can relate; we're all perfect in our own inimitable ways, aren't we? :)

I've been busy spending the past few months immersed in domestic husbandry of various sorts.  But an event happened this evening that compelled me to break my silence.

Hubby and I were walking home from a great (and cheap) local happy hour. It was raining and we had no umbrellas but were mostly afraid of getting our library books wet. I know, sounds like I'm piling it on, but this is really our life. (I've got to hurry this along so we don't miss Jeopardy). 

There's always a long line of traffic along Sunset in Issaquah, every evening, no fail. Hundreds of cars, just moseying along, hoping to be among the 7 or so cars that make it through the next green-light cycle. I have to believe that the drivers subject themselves to this torture every evening, because maybe it's the only time they have to themselves. I don't know. 

As we walked past this line of cars, suddenly one pick-up truck, one hopped-up, morbidly obese, bottom-dwelling, black behemoth revved his engine, spewing out a black cloud of fetid smoke. He moved maybe 10 feet, spewed out another cloud. An identical white truck behind him, then did the exact thing. Hubby walked over to white truck and just shook his head, white behemoth opened the passenger window and cackled at him.  

We both wondered, why would anyone do such a thing? In my infinite wisdom, I came up with 3 possible theories:

1. Of course the obvious: "My penis is only 2 inches but when I'm smokin' I feel like John Holmes." 

2.  "Who needs a high school diploma or heaven forbid a degree when I can spew black smoke from my bottom-dwelling truck?"

3.  "I wish they'd bring back the draft, so I could learn to be a humble, life-fearing, respectful human being and learn some perspective about important things instead of just being an a-hole."

OK, that third one is just pie-in-the-sky. (But makes you think, don't it? [Mmmm, donuts. But I digress])

When we got home, hubby googled it and by gonads it's an actual phenomenon. Apparently it's called something like "Rolling Coal" and it's supposed to be the ultimate expression of displeasure with all things Obama and liberal. Wow, blow me over with a feather. How could I not have immediately associated such an action with its intended, uh, intention? Such power, such masculinity, such sweaty-hold-me-down 'til I scream virility. How could I have missed that?! 

I guess when you have nothing but black smoke going for you, you have to use it to your best advantage.