Nige The Nigerian, Captain of the Nigerian Cribbage Team, also known as “The Hoodrat” and “LaFond” in these parts helped The Captain haul five yards of gravel from the pit to The Compound. It was The Captain’s last day before returning to work after the government plague swept through this community. He seems to have been itching to practice his hour commute from this tiny town to “The Colon” of downtown Seattle. We had just unhooked the trailer after dumping the 1 ¼ inch gravel.

“Nige,” he says, “have any pressing plans for today?”

“I’ll write whenever we’re done running errands.”

“Then you’re moral support.”

“Big Red,” a Ford F-250 Diesel, was left idling in the drive way among the various pickup trucks cars and SUV’s he and his sons have wrecked, as well as the three that still run.

We would do the entire circuit between the Cedar River, to Seattle, across the Green River, back past Mount Rainier, and across the Green River headwaters to the Cedar River. Over 4 hours we got gas, 50 pounds of potatoes, street tacos and a Modelo, jalapenos, stopped so that he and his dog, Tobias, could piss in public, hit the Muckleshoot Rez for tobacco and booze, but most importantly, “abused the faɡɡots.”

Traffic around Seattle is like Jersey or Frisco, if it was raining, just stupid.

Below are snippets of The Captain’s monologue as he practiced driving back and forth to work, with Nige alternately white knuckling it and cackling like the nefarious dog of Snidely Whiplash. All the while Toby, patiently sitting behind his master and looking out the window like Anubis, in hopes of seeing a Burger King drive thru.

…

Overture

“Blub-blub-blub-blub-glug-rrrrrrggg!” sounded the big red machine as it roared out into four lanes of traffic, ripping around 18-wheelers and cutting off anything that was not a pickup truck. Pickup trucks were given courtesy and truckers a wide berth. Fire Trucks were simply used to bully faɡɡots and blast through red light intersections in their wake as The Captain snarled at mazed motorists in their tiny vehicles:

“Fuck you, Madam Prias, may tweakers descend upon your cadalitic converter in the night!”

“You reprobated Asian—back, you can’t drive—Big Red is coming through!”

An SUV tried to nose his way ahead from the right lane and The Captain hit the gas and with a great roar Big Read drove the intruder back into his lane, “Fuck you faɡɡot! Make way and stay in your appointed lane!”

A female motorist in a Bentley signals that she wants to cut into the lane from the left and The Captain speeds up, “How do you spell ϲunt in Seattle—chivalry is dead!”

There is a deadly accident on I-BIG and The Captain decides to take an off ramp that is backed up 20 cars deep, but the right lane is empty, probably because it is a right turn only yield. The Captain declares, “An open lane—take it, Big Red,” and roars gurgling diesel past the first 19 cars then sees that it is a right turn only and cuts in front of a black motorist and smiles, “My bad—back to the plantation with you Nige!” and guns it across the intersection, beating the red light, almost running head on into a minivan whose driver scowls and The Captain growls, “Out, of, my, way! I have been in ten car accidents in the past ten years. I love the sound of shattering glass, twisting metal and crunching plastic—you are plastic and I am steel—fuck you!”

[Nige, the Nigerian LaFond is trying not to break a rib laughing as he snickers in the seat.]

“Having fun, Nige! I thought you’d like this, being a pedestrian and all and spending your hoodrat life at the very base of the automotive food chain—this is what it is like to rule the road, Bro!”

Back on a thinner highway, headed towards mist-shrouded Rainier, a well dressed young man in a futuristic car with hatch side doors, begins to cut in front of Big Red, there being some four car lengths. But this gap, behind the 18-wheeler is just a ruse to trap the faɡɡot and Big Red roars into action as The Captain yells down at the bemused motorist, “Tesla who? Big Red is commin through—I burn fossil fuel!”

“Blub-blub-blub-blug-glug,” Big Red chugs as The Captain looks for another offensive move and sees a masked Asian man in white shirt and tie hoping to dart into the gap ahead and Big Red roars into action, swerving slightly towards the motorist as his eyes expand and Big Red’s commander belts out, “Not today, slant-eyed negro! Toby, if we hit this faɡɡot I want you to get out and bite him—put the enamel on his ass!”

“At an interstate interchange loop, fire department pumpers, EMTs and hook and a ladder truck cause hundreds of cars and SUVs to stop at the green light and some even to pull over. Not The Captain, as the pumper passes, he roars into formation with Big Red, seemingly part of the first responder caravan, yelling down at the scandalized motorists who have stopped, “I’m a first responder! Toby has to piss—do you have a well manicured lawn where he can take a dump! We deliver, don’t we Tobias!”

“Toby, I know you’re pissed that we haven’t stopped so you can smash some poodle. But Daddy promises you melted cheese and Granny’s left overs. Eat the cat’s food after Mamma Bear goes to bed—screw those puddy cats—let them eat rats!”

He then turns to Nige, ‘Bro, some Nig—not a member of the storied Nigerian Cribbage Team—cut in front of me right here at this light while I was in the little commute vehicle and I smashed in his rear end—crunch! This homo gets out of his car, maybe late twenties, thinks he’s going to put it on this old dude and runs up to my window and says, “I have a nice car, that’s a good car. You just rear ended me with your piece of junk!”

[Makes middle finger and smirks.] “Fuck you Nige. You pull in front of me again I’ll ram you again. Call the fucking cops—go ahead!”

“The faɡɡot went prancing back into his once nice new car and sped off.” Draws in breath in tantric expectation and pats the dashboard, “Oh Big Red, if only some homo chocolate drop pulled in front of us, it would be a glorious moment and the sound of shattering glass would fill the air!”

“Bro, if the grid went down, this thing would still run while all of these little plastic pieces of junk stalled and we rammed them off the road!”

“Blub-blub-blub-blub-glug-rrrrrgg!”

Finally, back at The Compound, The Captain said, “Nige, sorry if I ruined your writing day. But I needed to tune up for the drive to work tomorrow down into The Colon with these homeless animals shitting on the sidewalk in broad daylight—awe, Tobbes, I’m sorry, we didn’t stop for Burger King. I’ll make it up to you Dark Wing Dog. Leave that stuff in the back, Bro. I’ll get it. I took enough of your day.”

Yes, I understand now something of being an apex motorist.