Interacting with Obama voters

The Ragin' Mrs. and I were out doing some shopping today; some groceries, a new pair of jeans for me (first new pair in years to tell the truth) and various sundry items.  On the way from one store to another, we pass a bicyclist doing his best to make an annoyance of himself in the middle of the road.  We maneuver  around him, pull up to the light (which is red) and wait for the green.  I'm in the far right lane, getting ready to turn right.  In the meantime, Mr. Future Road Pizza pulls up at the crosswalk, and engages in a conversation with some skinny gang-banger wanna-be covered in tattoos that guarantee he'll never make more than minimum wage.

The light turns green.  Mr. Future Road Pizza is still blocking traffic, still chatting up Mr. Gang-Banger.

A car beside me honks.  Mr. Gang-Banger hollers something at him.  Whatever, I don't give a damn what he yelled, I just want to get a move on.  The car in front of me manages to turn, and so I start to creep up to make my turn, and Mr. Future Road Pizza decides that now is the perfect time for him to cut right, exactly in front of my car.  So I hit the brakes before I hit him, and both the Ragin' Mrs. and I yell "HEY!" at the same time.

Apparently, Mr Gang-Banger doesn't like our reaction, because he flips his lid and jumps out in front of us, screaming all kinds of "I'm such a badass" bullshit.

You know that "fight or flight" reaction?  Both the Ragin' Mrs. and I were ready to jump out of the car and beat that motherfucker's ass.  I was suffering from mixed emotions - beating that punk-ass bitch would have been one of the most satisfying things I've ever done in California.  However, it would have most likely gotten me tossed from the military at this particular juncture, and I wasn't ready to toss my career down the tubes for the satisfaction of turning that fucking punk into a bawling, slobbering pile of bloody meat.  I'm still suffering from those mixed emotions, to tell the truth. 

My desire to inflict large amounts of pain must have been written on my face, because he shut up after about five seconds and moved out of the way.  He was still talking, but he wouldn't make eye contact.  We made our turn, and then both the Mrs. and I worked our way out of the RCOB adrenalin rush that we were both experiencing. 

I have never lived in such a place, where huge chunks of the population were incapable of driving, or following the rules of the road.  I have never lived in such a place where so many people were incapable of any kind of polite interaction with the rest of the population.  I have never lived in such a place where my desire to pulverize the arrogant, rude, selfish fucking bastards has risen to the forefront of my consciousness every single day.  I've got two years left in this fucking hellhole, and I hope and pray that I can make it out of here without breaking my fists on the face of some punk-ass bitch who thinks he's tougher than I am, and wants to try to prove it. 

All I wanted to do was drive to the store and get a pair of jeans.  And I almost hopped out of my car to curb-stomp some oxygen thief in the middle of the day.

I really do pray the day never comes when I give in to that urge.