My Honda Needs a Honkin' Honker!

Wash me!

My Honda needs a fog horn

or a train whistle—

maybe even a bicycle bell would be bigger than this disgraceful pathetic ting of a Honda horn.

The stupid car is coming in my lane,

indifferent to my presence,

unresponsive to my racing pulse, my clenching fists.           à à           I brake.

He does nothing but continue on his death trajectory—

my death trajectory!

By one skinny, rasping breath in my heaving chest he misses me.

I honk!                                                        TWICE!

Well, kind of.

It’s more like sticking your tongue out than a fearsome you-almost-killed-me honk.

It’s more like a have-a-nice-day kind of honk than a disdaining what-are-you-thinking kind of honk.

My Honda needs a manly honk that expresses appropriate scorn in appropriate situations

and adequately challenges the concept that the driver may have any brain cells.

So I’m writing the dealership.

I need an upgrade,

a volume boost,

a rough, fully orbed textured sound standing by to put miscreants in their place,

which hopefully will be on their own side of the road!

1-31-12