Clutch
He kept his cell phone on me the entire time, shrieking like a little b***h, “I’m filming you! I’m filming all of this!” I could hear his pathetic wailing through the glass.
“Not for long, asshole,” I said, and smashed his driver’s side window with my flashlight, before reaching in and grabbing his phone from his hands.
“You can’t do that!” he protested as I dropped it to the ground and gave it the heel of my boot, before kicking it into the flurry of traffic.
“That’s a brand-new phone. You’re gonna pay for that. And the damage you did to my car, you psycho,” he wailed.
“I’m a psycho? Wrong pal. You’re the f*****g homicidal maniac driving a one and a half ton killing machine made of steel, plastic, and glass, without watching the goddamned road.”
In perfect timing, a truck ra
