There is a guy in my apartment complex who is obsessed with pressing on his accelerator and revving up his engine so that it makes a loud, obnoxious sound. This behavior is acceptable from anyone under three years old. It happens way too many times in the week, usually when it’s like, three in the morning, or when I’m trying to take a nap.
If you look at this guy, his appearance just screams “douche.” I saw him, once, after he parked and made a bunch of noise with his car. He is probably in his mid-thirties, has piercings and a ton of tattoos, but then wears a cowboy hat and cowboy boots. He’s a punk cowboy. You have to commit to one look or the other, because you look like a dumbass otherwise.
As he exited his white Mustang or Pontiac or whatever, he wore a superior look. I’m sure his inner monologue goes something like, “Look at me, yo. I’m the shit. I drive this dope-ass car and it makes a bunch of sweet-ass noises. Where’s my skinny margarita? Time for me to get WASTED with my BITCHES.”
If I just didn’t give a SHIT about things like, say, personal safety, I would go up to him and be all, “Dude. STOP IT. You’re a massive tool.” Then I would yank off his cowboy hat and throw it like a frisbee.
But the adult thing to do is lay in my bed lazily while I hear him pressing on the accelerator of his car, hoping that next time, someone places a bag of tacks next to one of his tires.