Riding In Cars With Weiners, Part 2 of 2

“Hey, man,” I yelped, “I’m not one of those crazy liberals. Those guys suck!”

“LIBERALISM,” he screamed, spittle flying, “Like a backed up toilet, offends me!”

Oh shit I thought. He’s going to kill me.

“Your Nazi liberal friends will tell you that if only the Jew would die, the world would be a better place!”
“Actually, Mike, I don’t-”

“Hitler is alive and well!” There was no stopping him. “Only he speaks Arabic and wears a headscarf! And this time, he has the American liberal media on his side. They don’t know it…Or do they?!?”

The music wasn’t helping. I turned it off, and Michael grew calm again. In a quiet voice, he told me that the liberals were everywhere.

I stopped at a red light, and he turned his head to scan the area, as though some liberals might jump out at him at any moment. After a few seconds, he nudged me, and nodded towards a group of pretty girls who were walking down the street.

“On February 14, 2002,” he began, sounding disgusted, “Secretary of State Colin Powell trotted out a line from the liberal playbook, telling an audience of teenagers on MTV to use condoms!”

The fact that Michael Savage prefers bareback is not something I wanted to know.

After whispering something that sounded like “little sluts” under his breath towards the girls, he went on.

“Women are afraid of angry men,” he said bitterly, “Particularly in this homosexualized, feminized America. An angry man frightens a woman. If a boyfriend can’t be like a girlfriend – with the exception of a male appendage,” here he grabbed himself for emphasis, “she doesn’t want him. If a boyfriend can’t be like a sister putting on nails with her, she’s offended by him.

“I can’t help but have a fantasy…”

Internally, I started screaming.

“I imagine that women like those three little swingers are sent to one of the Muslim Fundamentalist countries, where they’re taught some of the sobering, Old Testament truths about their behavior.”

He was sounding way too excited about this. I tried to put a few more inches between us.

Desperate, I tried to change the subject again.

“Man, how about those Bulls? Do they suck or what?”

He ignored me and continued gazing longingly at the girls.

Queasily, I noticed his hand hadn’t moved away from his crotch.

Dreamily, his eyes half lidded, he whispered, “You can masturbate in public.”

I froze. Nothing moved but my eyes as I searched the street for someone, anyone, who could save me.

Dear Lord, I mentally prayed, Please kill me now.

“You can rub against a sheep in public.”

Nevermind, Lord. Kill him.

Then the light turned green, and I automatically punched the gas.

“NO!” shouted Savage, the spell broken. He started slapping his own wrists and babbling about being a bad boy. He kept saying he was sorry, that he wasn’t really going to do it.

“I’m a very good writer. A very good writer!” He grabbed my shirt, pleading for me to understand, to forgive.

“My chicken is no Bill Clinton!” he whined, “My chicken is mine!”

After a few minutes of this, he got a hold of himself, and reverted back to his arrogant, worldly façade.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he chortled, “I’m all for dating, and I know how young guys always want to know how to pick up women.”

He continued on as though the last five minutes hadn’t happened.

“But with the changes in the culture, you’ll need an old fox like Michael Savage to give you some tips.”

I would rather stick my penis in the cigarette-lighter socket.

“There are a lot of little sex shops around, and I’ve poked my head into a few of them from time to time.” I nearly swerved off the road. “Remember, I’m a social commentator!” he quickly added.

Apparently, he decided to change the subject.

“My book is selling big in Nevada.”

We drove in silence for a while then. Eventually, driving south from the Loop, we came upon a rather unpleasant section of town. Unfamiliar with the area, Savage started talking about the different people he saw walking around. I kept trying to turn around, but he was having none of it.

We hit another traffic light. I looked around, and noticed that several young men wearing similarly-colored clothing were approaching the car. One of them pulled out a gun.

Savage didn’t quite seem to grasp what was going on.

“I want to see kids running around with guns going ‘B-b-b-b-bang, you’re dead’!” The young men seemed momentarily taken aback by this.

He continued, “You know, instead of putting on a dress and an earring.” Several of the young men reached up to touch their earrings, and their expressions darkened. “For ten years, kids were told to be sensitive, you know, come to school in a dress.”

At this point, I realized that I had to do something fast.

While Savage was looking the other way, I grabbed the tire iron from him, and in one smooth motion opened his door and shoved him out.

With a roar, he started yelling at everyone in sight, accusing them all of being liberals and red diaper doper babies.

I slammed the door shut, and started screaming at him, “I’m not sharing my ride with a dirty Vice cop! Damn undercover bastard! Cop! Cop cop cop!”

Like magic, everyone’s gaze focused on Savage. They did not look happy.

Finally realizing the gravity of the situation, Savage got on his knees and started shaking his folded hands at everyone.

“Back!” he screamed, “Prayer frightens the Lefties!”

Fuck this, I decided, and hit the gas, watching Savage shrink to a tiny, insignificant speck in the rearview mirror.

Just the way he should.

* Every line attributed to Savage is an actual quote taken directly from either his radio show or his ridiculously poorly-written book, The Savage Nation. Some lines may have been taken slightly out of context. Possibly.