There I was, huffing nitrous behind the black wheel of a blacker ’68 Mustang and playing with my turgid prick. “This is the goddamn best,” I said in between blackouts. “Fuck you. Fuck everybody. I am God.” I ran the demon machine up on its side and rode that fucker down Main Street on two wheels, blasting smoke and scorching pavement behind us.
It was fucking rad as hell.
But did my lady care? No. She wasn’t even looking. She never thought anything I did was cool. Never a single word of encouragement. Bitch just kept going on about the baby. “It’s coming!” she shouted. “It’s coming!”
Eventually we leveled out. The car touched down with a light thud I knew the shocks would handle with ease. “Christ,” I said. “You told me already. I already know what’s happening. And you didn’t say jack shit about that sweet wheelie.”
“Shut up!” she shrieked. “Just shut up!” She was like a crazy person. I had half a mind to make a stop by the ol’ institution, let her sweat it out in a padded cell for a while. Maybe then she wouldn’t care so much about her stupid baby.
“Her baby?” my brain said. “Not yours? Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Fuck you, brain,” I said out loud.
“What?” the wife said. “What are you talking about?”
“Shut up!” I snapped. “Why don’t you take some of those pills I got you?” I opened up a container and rained down the medicine. Pink and red and blue sprinkled on her head and shoulders. She didn’t appreciate that either.
Once again she reminded me, “I don’t know what those are. I don’t know where you got them.”
“Fine,” I said, spilling myself a fresh handful while trying to keep one hand on the wheel. “Since you’re so fucking particular.” I wolfed down the rest of the pills and chucked the empty bottle into the backseat. “We’re taking this to the max, baby!”
I veered the car off road and took it across a strip of grass and onto an airport runway. On this long smooth stretch of pavement I hit the gas and watched that speedometer climb. Eighty miles an hour. Ninety. One-oh-five…
I slammed the brakes hard and spun the wheel. The thing swirled around on a dime and the tires never came off the asphalt in a perfect 540 degree spin. I pumped the gas again, harder, longer, back in the other direction. I turned to my wife. Was she impressed? Could she finally bring herself to acknowledge the awesomeness of my driving skills?
No. She was too busy swearing and throwing up on herself. Fine, you unimaginative bitch, I thought. We’re taking it up a notch.
I started a round of donuts as a warm-up. We tattooed the road with hot rubber circles and I smiled at her again. By now the head of the baby was cresting. “Oh, my God!” the lady was yelling. “Why? Why?!”
“Now check this out!” I said. Next I drove the beast machine up a wicked ramp.
We jumped. The car spiraled like a football thrown by God. All four tires hit the ground at the same time, and we took off running. That HAD to impress her. I turned to the lady, grinning, eyebrow arched. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she shouted.
“Me?” I said. “What the fuck is wrong with YOU?” I needed to know. I swear she was like a different person. All she cared about was that goddamn baby!
By now we could both see the baby’s eyes, peering out into the world. They were looking right at me. “What the hell do you want?” I said. It didn’t answer. I reached over and pushed it back in.
“What are you doing?” its mother shrieked. “It’s not supposed to do that!”
“Just for another minute or so. I’m about to nail this bitchin’ 720 spin.” I guess I figured her womb was like a helmet or something. “I once tried this with a bus,” I said. “Only three pedestrians killed.” I spun that fucker ‘round…
As for why the baby didn’t just spit out during this or another series of furious rotations, it has something to do with centrifugal force. Look it up. I’m not an expert. I’m just the best goddamn stunt driver this side of the Mississippi.
But still it wasn’t good enough for her! I was beginning to think nothing ever would be.
Luckily I still had one ace up my sleeve. I blasted the Mustang into the nearest car park, and just as we were about to hit the spiral ramp I braked and tilted the steering wheel just so…
It was like the world came away beneath us. Suddenly we were not earthly creatures, forever tied to this rock. We were weightless. We were free.
At the top of the ramp I hit the brakes, hooting in victory like some sort of primitive. For this crest was my great mammoth, and the beast had been slayed.
The baby shot right into the glove box. I think it was a girl. There was something wrong with the latch and we’d later have a real bitch of a time getting the baby out.
“Did you see that?” I said. “That was a drift! A TOKYO drift!”
The woman started punching me in the face. Her ring was sharp and bleedy. And suddenly it wasn’t just her general lack of support that hurt me; I realized we were growing apart as people. Two of my front teeth were cracked off at the gum line, and I bled profusely. “I don’t think this is working out,” I said.
“Get me out of here!” she screamed. “And take me to a fucking hospital!”
“Oh,” I said. “Take YOU to a hospital? That’s all you care about? WHAT ABOUT THE BABY?!” That one got her. That shut her trap good.
But it was clear to me now that she was going to be a lousy mother, and that this whole parenting thing had just fallen directly onto my shoulders.
So I vowed then and there to raise this kid to appreciate the more awesome things in life, like pulling off a bitchin’ stunt in a ’68 Ford Mustang.
But I forgot all about it, and the kid wound up living with relatives in Nova Scotia. I don’t know where that is. I’ve never bothered to look into it. It’s probably fake.
As for what happened to his mother, I’m really not sure. She was probably fake too. And if she wasn’t fake she might as well have been. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now.
The moral of the story is to never drive with pregnant ladies. They are easily distracted no matter how cool of a guy you are. And car stunts are cool. That’s why we go to the movies. If your lady can’t appreciate movies she is probably about to give birth.