God Bless Our Snipers

The other day I got stuck in traffic for about an hour (Austin motorists, your hill-billy like gawking on MoPac is indefensible. It was a minor truck accident). For about twenty minutes of the total 1.5 hours, I was behind a "murdered out" black Range Rover.

This is what I looked at for about 20 minutes.

I support our troops.  I do.  Great folks.  Freedom, etc...

And I even like me some gallows humor, which often seems to confuse people in my social media sphere, but I strongly suspect the last thought I'd have as a piano fell out of a window upon me would be:  Heh.  Well, of-@#$%ing-course.

But I find a matte-black Range Rover with a vaguely threatening sticker just a little too loud for cool, too deliberate for funny.  It all had the sort of weird insecure, over-compensating tough-guy vibe I usually associate with martial arts instructors in strip malls.

I will tell you this:  when they saw me taking a picture over the steering column (in dead still traffic - don't worry, Ma) they immediately changed lanes and got away from me, proving to me once and for all that people who shoot other people from vast distances are really huge scaredy-cats afraid of a camera phone from a guy with a Donald Duck doll hanging from his rearview mirror.

If you're going to play it loud, I don't really know what you expect.  We're all going to just be blown away by how bad ass your truck is?  That you're a sniper?  That you don't need corrective lenses for driving and you have a fetish for an un-resellable paint job on your very expensive car?

People are silly.  Especially our snipers.

Now if I can just get them some black Truck Nutz.