Tonight, while leaving an expansive and empty parking lot, a guy in a minivan pulled up right to the lane I was using to get the fuck outta there and paused a moment before going around me. Granted, I was using the wrong lane, but with all that space, why’d you have to pull up nose-to-nose with me? To prove a point? Why not just go around to begin with? And who strictly adheres to parking lot rules at 11pm at night when no one else is around?

“Get the fuck outta the way, you fucking idiot!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, shredding my throat in the process as I continued to rail against him at full vocal volume all the way out of the parking lot and onto the service road leading to the highway.

He heard none of this, of course. It was all for my benefit, all of the screaming.

Why do we do that? Yell at people from behind our windshields , I mean. It’s dumb. It’s as dumb as a dog barking at a doorbell on TV. Perhaps it’s even dumber than that, since the dog at least believes he is hearing an actual doorbell. I know that the subject of my derision is not going to hear me calling him some pretty impolite, non-PC things.

So why do we do it? Makes us feel better, I suppose. Catharsis. I’m a pretty chill dude, but catch me on the wrong day, and at the wrong time? Oh, man…I will yell at you so hard! And then I’ll crank up some Autopsy or Discharge or something and be on my merry way.

It’s a funny thought, though; people zipping around in these little metal boxes of varying size, color and shape, many of them yelling at each other for no logical reason, knowing full well that no one else can hear them.

We think we’re so enlightened, so advanced…we carry supercomputers in our pockets, we build skyscrapers, we eat kale, and we pat ourselves on the back for all of our illustrious achievements as a species.

At our core, though, we’re still primitives, and we always will be. Rage is raw emotion. It’s real. We need it to blow off steam so that we can tolerate living in this absurdly fast-paced, technological Pandora’s box of a society that we’ve trapped ourselves in.

So thank God for mindless rage. It’s there for a reason. It’s a release valve. Next time you punch a fucking hole in a wall and someone sarcastically asks if you “feel better,” tell them, “Yes. Yes I do.” And then patch the hole. Unless it’s in someone else’s house, like maybe the person you’re mad at. In that case, fuck ’em.


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