CLANK: A Book of Madness (Psychological Satire Novel) Unsettled Office Worker Loses the Last Screw Read Free Page B

thoughts that keep
me awake at night.

4
     
    I can’t stand these
bloviating, gasconading, degenerates! How smug and vainglorious they are. The
pretentious fools! What have they done that is so special! I just want to get
into my car, follow them home one dark night and run the fools over… twice!
    Excuse me… I just came from an incident this morning on my way to work. I’m a bit irate, miffed. One of
those bums who wash your windows at the streetlights accosted me. It started
out pleasantly enough. I never look for trouble. But today I didn’t have any
spare change and on top of this, my windows weren’t in need of a washing. They
were spotless. Here’s what happened. I’ll retell the situation from the first
person, present time narrative.
    As I’m driving down the
street, the light changes to red and so naturally I stop. When all of a sudden
this squalid hellion rushes into the street, holding some equally filthy rag
and spray bottle filled with a yellowish liquid. His own urine for all I know.
He squirts a few drops of the piss onto the rag and reaches across my
windshield to wipe it down. I motion him to stop. But you know those people.
Brainless. He doesn’t understand the universal sign language for STOP! NO MORE!
so I figured English is ruled out as well.
    I lay on the horn to get his
attention. And the blaring noise startles him like some kind of backwoods
hillbilly who’s never seen a car in his life. I wonder if this preschool dropout
has ever heard a horn before judging by his reaction. He scowls at me. I pound
on the horn again, waving my hand NO . The miscreant becomes irate! He
slams his fist down onto the hood of my car, making a small dent. Jesus Christ.
I don’t drive the nicest car but I prefer it to be dent free. Not only that,
but everyone feels like a big man in their car. For some reason those thin
windows and curved pieces of metal embolden every human. A normally timid man
might become a real rabble-rouser once he’s inside a vehicle.
    A few months ago my window
washing sprayers somehow got angled toward the front of my car. Probably by
some riffraff causing mischief. Now they practically shoot upwards at a 45
degree angle toward the front of my vehicle. I twist the stick -- soap comes
flying out the sprayers. The liquid makes a perfect arc, striking this idiotic
bum squarely in the face. He shuts his eyes as the soap enters them and begins
pawing at his face with those god-awful dirty hands. This is probably the
closest thing he’s had to a bath in decades. But the flea-bitten imbecile still
refuses to move. He stands there moaning and writhing in agony.
    The light turns green and this
insignificant hobo remains in the intersection, screaming his head off, rubbing
his eyes with that filthy piss cloth. I can only imagine the grime and muck
being smeared into his peepers. Now bear in mind, I’ve never been late to work.
I most assuredly didn’t plan on being tardy today due to an ignorant
guttersnipe. So I inched the car forward and bumped him with the nose. It
catches his leg, causing him to double over slightly. Not enough however. He’s
rubbing and shouting and rubbing and shouting. The clock is ticking away. I’m
growing agitated. I CANNOT BE LATE!
    I press down on the
accelerator once again. This time with a bit more pressure, perhaps a little
too much, because the car jolts forward and the derelict is flung onto my hood
with a thud. Now he’s got one hand rubbing his eyes and the other grabbing at
his lower back, which was ridiculous, because I only hit him going ten miles
per hour tops. He lies on the hood for a few seconds as I wait for him to roll
off and slink back over to his cardboard home. That doesn’t happen.
    Instead I begin driving with
the bum still splayed out on the hood. But I couldn’t allow this to continue
much longer. I did what anyone in my situation would do. I drove on and looked
in my side view mirror to check for any cars on my right. All clear. My