I've stated before that sunny days and warm weather are miraculous where I live, and leads to people eagerly showing off as they take advantage of it - which in turn, leads to mishaps involving incidents such as vehicles mangling womens' heels.
Earlier today while on the road with some friends, we got take 2 on this phenomenon.
A group of kids pulled up next to us at the intersection, blasting tunes and seeming eager to check out who was in our car. I personally find this kind of thing funny; as illustrated, other peoples' tunes are more of an annoyance when you aren't expecting them. But in real life, especially when in a car, it takes on a bit more of a chagrin-inducing air.
An overt attempt at attracting attention is douchey enough. Checking out the inside of others' vehicles to see if it's having the desired effect? It sends numb waves of embarrassment down my neck, like it does for those people at karaoke who always look around the bar when they finish, trying to see if anyone was watching or cared in the first place.
Then the light turns green and we've got one of those Fast and Furious dealies going, on top of it. Naturally, we didn't feel like playing, and eventually caught up with them again like 20 fucking yards down the road at another red light they had to slam their brakes on to avoid crashing through.
Maybe it was some kind of inner kinship, or telepathy. But I'll bet it was just a mix of intuition and the unavoidable urge to thoroughly enjoy the spectacle that had us simultaneously feigning tough guys, waving our fists, rocking in our seats, and becoming more audible in our acting than their bad CD, as we acknowledged the ploy and paid our homage to it. The looks on their faces were fucking' priceless.
I don't get these street racing fags, anyway. Wtf is the point of having a fart can on your badly-souped up hand me down of a junker if you're not going more than half a block without a red fucking light? And what do you get if you beat someone to it? A trophy sticker on your bumper? An extra inch to your grub-sized penis? More like a bullet, if this were Lyell Avenue - or maybe that's why you check out who's behind the wheel, first?