.
.
.
Because I would USE it.
There would, quite frankly, be dead people scattered all over the freeway.
Somebody named "Barbee",(who is doing something that looks suspiciously like typing with a cellphone), would decide that the 1/2 car-length space between my front bumper and the rear of the vehicle I was following was roomy enough for her to dart across three lanes,(relatively empty ones), and jam her Hundae into,then, realizing she had gotten really much too close, must now slam on the brakes....
Yes, I admit it, I would flip open the glove box, slide out the old Glock,( I really don't know anything about guns or what kind I would have, but "Glock" sounds really sophisticated and European and smacks of violent panache, so I use it here as my glove-box weapon du jour), release the safety, and magically, there would appear a smoking hole in the back of Barbee's head, the pink MotoRazr2, (with it's half-read text message), would drop from her suddenly lifeless hand, and that Hundae would make an ironically graceful, slo-mo careen off into the left-hand guard-rail as Barbee slumped over onto the cupholder-CD rack console dealie. She would NOT be the wage earning mother of 5 lovely children, there would NOT be any disappointed parents/spouses/boyfriends/girlfriends/platonic friends/emotionally uninvolved boff-buddies/adult singles church groups to suffer her loss, and NO INNOCENT BYSTANDERS WOULD BE INJURED during the perpetration of her fatality. In fact, there would be applause for her demise from other commuters/fellow victims of her self-absorbed and careless driving style.
(And later, we would learn that Barbee had indeed been in the habit of testing her crack-cocaine and Ecstasy for poisons on the next-door neighbour dachshund, "Bootsie", so GOOD RIDDANCE.)
Since there are about 382 such occurrences of the "Barbee Scenario" EVERY Monday morning between 161 and Polaris....well, that's why the remark about dead people all over the freeway. (I thought this might have been an opening for the use of the word "hence", but I blew it with clumsy grammar and awkward phrasing...)
Persons noted to be balancing the daily crossword on the steering wheel while applying eye make-up in the rear-view mirror would be candidates for a good "Glocking".
Middle Management Businessmen who were observed to be crowding other vehicles onto the berm because they were having difficulty shrugging their corpulent, pasty, mole covered shoulders into their last-minute button-down while attempting to shave around the toasted half-bagel protruding from their maw...well they would snuff it, just to be fair to everybody else,(especially their secretaries).
Really Old People,(or anyone, really), who insist on pulling out into the fast lane and then driving at 15mph UNDER the speed limit.....well, you know the drill.
Anybody who drives for more than 2 miles with a turn signal on, BUT NOT TURNING, qualifies to have the offending blinker shot off the back of the vehicle.
And if I start to run out of bullets...I may have to start assigning points, in the interest of conserving lead and high-quality European gunpowder.
This could be more complicated than I thought.....
...but since I DON'T have a gun in the glove-box,
I guess I don't have to worry about it, not just now.
The 71 Northbound Horribly Discourteous Driving Club can remain blithe and perspiration-free.
Notice to Barbee; I may change my mind on this matter, so leave Bootsie alone, if you know what's good for you.
I still have the flame-thrower in the back-seat.
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