"Cry 'Havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war!"
Some of those with a keen eye for detail might have noticed Left's little penchant for abusing safety-related devices of the conical nature. I drop subtle hints here and there, mostly as a means of psychological attack on said "safety cones."
Understand that their very nature is an affront to my mental well-being. Everything from the texture to the irrational surface area, and that confound apeture at the apex all lead to tremendous consternation for your otherwise pacified Left.
I become enraged and inconsolible when I sense their presence. Adrenaline courses through my veins, increasing blood flow and respiration. Sweat flows through orifices I was never cognizant of. Tendons and joints gain and release tension with reckless abandon. Inexplicably, I feel the sudden need to lash out at their deceivingly benign lifestyle!
My body never fails to do so. While ambulate, this translates into a quick and mighty centrifugal fling into the far reaches of cosmos. However, under controlled operation of a motor-vehicle, this can mean none other than plunging my mighty steel beast headlong into their ranks at maximum velocity!
Thus far, my successes have been glorious, and the pillaging rife. Their gluttonous structures stood little chance against my efforts. I've destroyed entire communities of cones, without so much as flinching! Their demise means nothing to me! But it seems that the greater cone-population has grown organized, and has taken the initiative to strike back at me, whilst I am at my most vulnerable!
For Left has a new automobile. One with tremendously lowered ground clearance, in comparison to his old warhorse. What's more, Left is extreemly concerned about maintaining 100% perfection with respect to the structure and completeness of said automobile.
Simply imagine Left's dismay when he was cruising down the freeway at 1AM, sandwiched between a barrier and a truck, when right in the center of the lane... like a mammoth obelisk, was a solitary upright cone. My last thought was pure disgust and derrision, because when I looked into the cone's eyes, I saw nothing but his unadulterated humor at the payback he was about to give me. And the irony of it all.
Cringing and looking askew were about the only two things I could do as my beautiful new car rushed towards it's date with retribution. The noise was intense, the rattle unforgettable. The damage? The damage... I'll never be the same again. I've been bested by an inanimate object, created specifically to promote a safe and stable environment.
It seems as if the cones had their revenge. I am but a broken husk of a man, unable to carry on in the spirit of the past. I see a cone laying on the side of the road now, and I begin to develop an apoplexy. I think they're out to get me! One could be sneaking up behind me right now, poised to slit one of my precious arteries! Nothing good will come of this war. I see neither side truly releashing the shackles of this engagement, until the other is vanquished to the very last. It's simply a question of who.
Some of those with a keen eye for detail might have noticed Left's little penchant for abusing safety-related devices of the conical nature. I drop subtle hints here and there, mostly as a means of psychological attack on said "safety cones."
Understand that their very nature is an affront to my mental well-being. Everything from the texture to the irrational surface area, and that confound apeture at the apex all lead to tremendous consternation for your otherwise pacified Left.
I become enraged and inconsolible when I sense their presence. Adrenaline courses through my veins, increasing blood flow and respiration. Sweat flows through orifices I was never cognizant of. Tendons and joints gain and release tension with reckless abandon. Inexplicably, I feel the sudden need to lash out at their deceivingly benign lifestyle!
My body never fails to do so. While ambulate, this translates into a quick and mighty centrifugal fling into the far reaches of cosmos. However, under controlled operation of a motor-vehicle, this can mean none other than plunging my mighty steel beast headlong into their ranks at maximum velocity!
Thus far, my successes have been glorious, and the pillaging rife. Their gluttonous structures stood little chance against my efforts. I've destroyed entire communities of cones, without so much as flinching! Their demise means nothing to me! But it seems that the greater cone-population has grown organized, and has taken the initiative to strike back at me, whilst I am at my most vulnerable!
For Left has a new automobile. One with tremendously lowered ground clearance, in comparison to his old warhorse. What's more, Left is extreemly concerned about maintaining 100% perfection with respect to the structure and completeness of said automobile.
Simply imagine Left's dismay when he was cruising down the freeway at 1AM, sandwiched between a barrier and a truck, when right in the center of the lane... like a mammoth obelisk, was a solitary upright cone. My last thought was pure disgust and derrision, because when I looked into the cone's eyes, I saw nothing but his unadulterated humor at the payback he was about to give me. And the irony of it all.
Cringing and looking askew were about the only two things I could do as my beautiful new car rushed towards it's date with retribution. The noise was intense, the rattle unforgettable. The damage? The damage... I'll never be the same again. I've been bested by an inanimate object, created specifically to promote a safe and stable environment.
It seems as if the cones had their revenge. I am but a broken husk of a man, unable to carry on in the spirit of the past. I see a cone laying on the side of the road now, and I begin to develop an apoplexy. I think they're out to get me! One could be sneaking up behind me right now, poised to slit one of my precious arteries! Nothing good will come of this war. I see neither side truly releashing the shackles of this engagement, until the other is vanquished to the very last. It's simply a question of who.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
As for the cones, I don't have to tell you to stay on guard. Sneaky fucking cones, biding their time, encroaching on our daily routes. Best argument I can hear for concealed weapon permits is cone defense.