Ode To Insensitive Macho Assholes
(and the women who love them)
Somewhere in this world
there is a woman
One year younger
who I've never met.
Her mother, I have--
but don't remember.
Infants forget their babysitter,
even if they're mom's best friend.
Her father, I know too well.
'cause he's my father too.
My first step father fought with my mother
every day of their 25 year marriage.
A family under siege,
couldn't hear the voices in my late brother's head.
Our silence let Dave throw him from our home at 16,
but I loved the crack coming from Dave's ribs as they met Bob's Fist.
How do I feel about men?
When nature collides with nurture,
it's like a train wreck in extreme slow motion,
of twisting metal, slowly forming a new cockeyed locomotive.
My high school days were spent as a musician,
trying to get my band director fired.
Going out with many girls, dumping some,
but never getting laid cause nice guys finish by themselves.
Then I bought my first muscle car,
a Jade Green 69 Mustang fastback
powered by a Four Hundred Twenty Eight cubic inch Cobra Jet
that would burn rubber just shifting into 2nd.
After months getting nowhere with my girlfriend,
one ride in that car led to a night of sex
that was the benchmark for over a decade.
My ex-wife made me get rid of that car
'cause I turned into a different person when I sat in it.
She called it, the green weenie.
She watched patiently as I slowly woke from unconscious slumber,
often disturbed by fitful dreams.
I hated our fights and my anger...
so I sought competition less personal.
I race against the clock.
It's called autocross, and it's an adrenaline junkie's dream.
Every second... or every two if you're lucky...
you take your 3000 lbs of metal to the point where your tires cry uncle,
and then you go the opposite direction
or pound the brakes
or stand on the gas
In its purest form
this energy is called ProSolo.
Two race cars line up at a christmas tree.
launching at 7 grand,
then you slam shift it to 2nd, and turn the wheel....
This is no la di da drag race.
You've got two side by side mini-road courses, mirror imaged.
Doing 70 through the slaloms... you race to the 180 turnaround...
where if you're smart, is the first place you look at your opponent.
ProSolo isn't like TV movies...
people looking behind their shoulder,
cars doing huge power slides as they turn,
cars that look fast.
To compete against national champions,
you need Smooth Aggression.
You get into the flow.
The fastest drivers look slow.
But not wimpy.
I watch macho assholes doing their TV driving and they're 10 seconds slower than me.
I watch wimps doing their Sunday driving, and they're also 10 seconds slower.
When I'm in the flow,
I sense everything,
and care about nothing.
but my heart is pumping fast.
And when I'm done,
the wide smile of an infant bursts from within me.
But so few have experienced the flow of smooth aggression,
or know why they keep recreating the horrors of their past...
So I keep running into women attracted to insensitive macho assholes.
They like my race car (it's number 69), but not much else.
So I invite them all to bring their insensitive macho assholes out to the next ProSolo
where I will quietly...