Observations from Behind the Handles of a Motorcycle

I'm driving the other day on a three-lane interstate in heavy traffic. I'm in the right hand lane and the traffic is approaching stop and go.

Now, traffic is moving, but it's pretty thick. Next thing I know some guy in a rice rocket sidles up to me on my right, in my lane. I had no idea where he came from, but now, all of a sudden, he's right next to me, on my right, in my lane, and he's bobbing back and forth like he's not sure if he can pass me or not. He's bopping in and out of my blind spot.

He eyes me and gives me this look like it was cool as shit what he was doing. I called him a douche bag and told him to get the fuck out of my lane--that he was a jack-off for doing such a thing in the first place. He gave me a what the fuck look, then looked like he might turn into me just to spite me, but then he backed off, opened up the throttle until the thing was whining like an insect, and tore off an exit ramp to the right.

As he blew away, I noticed he was wearing a Yankees jacket. Perfect.