It was a cold, dark night in the city of Tampa. I was on my way back from a night at the local DDR parlor, with one passenger riding shotgun and one in the "death seat"- the space where my back seat used to be but where only stereo equipment remains. We were making good progress back to home, doing 55-60 on Bearss, when a homicidal minivan pulled out directly in front of us and accelerated with the lack of visible increase in speed that only a blue-hair in an Odyssey can achieve. This necessitated a hasty lane change and angry fist shaking at the rapidly receding minivan.

Very annoyed with the lack of perception it took to pull out in front of my very loud and obviously speeding car, I continued on my way, coming to a stop in the left lane at the light before 275. It was as I was rolling to a stop that I noticed the minivan approaching in the turn lane on the far right, getting on the interstate. Without warning my passengers, I flipped my signal and quickly crossed three lanes to follow. I accelerated hard up the on ramp, catching up and getting behind the Odyssey. Traffic was heavy and I had to exit at the next exit, but I valiantly fought my way to a position right next to the minivan, in the middle lane. Time running out, I couldn't bother with the formalities of proper racing etiquette- I skipped the three honks and gave the elderly woman driving the Odyssey two mighty revs as her fair warning. The puzzled and frightened look on her face as she and all her passengers turned to stare was proof enough that she had accepted my challenge. The exit fast approaching, I slipped it into third and proceeded to put 20 minivan-lengths on her up to 90, pulling into the right line and capping off the kill with a dramatic slow-motion reach for the hazards. Exiting the ramp and coming to a stop at the light, I offered a quick summation to my somewhat flustered passengers- "The bitch got owned."