He came barreling down the freeway, doing 95, maybe more. With his top laid back on his Cadillac, and in the glovebox was a .44.

He was floating along, humming a song, kind've enjoying the fresh air. No one could stop him, he was in control, with the horns blowing and the fingers showing he paid them no mind, he didn't care.

Somewhere on this same highway was another jackass just like him. With his head in a float in a whiskey mote, his brain filled to the brim.

He was sitting back and enjoying some Jack, when he finally caught up with the Cadillac.

The Caddy is sitting on a hundred and ten, but the Lamborghini keeps cutting in. This dude has no idea where he's going and could care less about where he's been.

What we've got here is a failure to communicate, so these two Nascar wannabes try some sign language, you know how that works. Reading sign language is not exactly a college course, you keep one finger up, and lay three down, and then you've got two mad drivers. Uh, I mean jerks.

Now the man with the gun decides to have some fun, so he opens up the glovebox and takes out his toy. But the drunk in the Lamborghini doesn't share in his joy.

He swerves his car into the Caddy's lane, sticks up his finger and yells you stupid son of a wart hog, are you insane?

The man in the Caddy starts shooting about the same time the whiskey bottle slams into his head. Two bullets fired from the .44, found a home in the man's back and killed him dead.

The Lamborghini is in the Cadillac's lane, and the Caddy driver's eyes are shut because he's in so much pain. Now the two cars lock horns and do a rollover dance, like a Taco Bell dog trying to ride a Great Dane.

Two men died that day, or was it two little boys, with their whiskey bottle and their fast moving toys, not acting their age. Instead of giving in, they gave up their life playing road rage.