Red Light Epistemology

Red Light Epistemology

What if I ran the red light
because I can
and because I drive a Hummer
and they drives Camrys.
I’d be fine,
they’d be flat.
We could even outrun The Police.
Sting doesn’t drive a Hummer.
Sting is a pansy,
he probably drives a Volkswagen
van. The ones that used to be for flower children
but now only creepy old men drive them.
The only way I wouldn’t rev
the engine and go on red
is if there was a Corvette
or a ‘pimpin’ Cadillac
in oncoming traffic.
It’s the American way to covet
your neighbor’s wife, house, boat,
but especially his car.
America doesn’t want Jesus
to bring us the gift of eternal life.
We want Xzibit or Lil’Jon or Chamillionaire
to bring us a blazin’ high grade ride,
sittin’ high on twenty fo’s.
The only acceptable alternative
to blingin’ and ballin’
is a 4x4 with more mud
on the under carriage
than an actual mud road.
Bonus points for a rifle rack
and John Deere’s logo
and a giant antenna for the CB radio.
You need that tricked out Cadillac
the mud running four by four
or a Hummer like the Govenator
to drive in style
unless you are a soccer mom
carting kids around all week.
Odds are your soccer mom-mobile
will be a tan Honda minivan.
I think most soccer moms
use their Honda as a vehicle
to carry out hypocrisy.
“Baby on board: Drive carefully”
Then she cuts you off in traffic
and flips you the bird as if it were
your fault she’s running late
and couldn’t get Starbucks
and still have time to take Jimmy
to soccer practice and April to
ballet and May to softball and
Augustus to football and I
don’t care that she has an honor
student and I’m glad
she ran out of months to name her children.
It would suck to be named November.
When she does stop at red lights
the eight kids in her car
will throw their trash onto the hood
of yours and moon you through the window
and laugh and cry when you honk at them
and mom flips you the bird again
and if it’s Friday she’ll really be in no
mood for that crap and she just might get out
of the van and go over to your window and
pull out a can of mace and then you’ll be sorry
that you had to go to the grocery.