So here’s a short Miata story.

I pulled up to the Lake Mart gas station convenience store and parked near the entrance in front of the ice machine. It wasn’t a parking spot but I have a small car, a Miata, so I figured no one would mind, plus I would just be in and out real quick - all I needed was a pack of smokes and two white Monster energy drinks. I flung open the door and got out with ease since I had the top down(when the top is up it’s like crawling into a coffin which is kinda cozy in its own way but still hard to get in and out of). I was wearing cheap, black Amazon sweatpants and crocs and a very expensive beige long sleeve V cut sweater. It was a mismatch of the highest order but I didn’t give a shit. “That ain’t a parking spot buddy!” I hear coming from the Ford F-250 filling up with poor-grade 87 unleaded at the pump, the truck isn’t even a manly diesel. I glare at him and yell back: “How’s the ride in that thing? Probably bounces you around a lot on these roads and reminds you of riding your boyfriend.” A very overweight shit kicker type of fella walks around from the side of the F-250. His boots were covered in dried mud along with his Carrhart overalls. It wasn’t fresh mud but definitely from the previous week’s worth of laboring somewhere horrible. “What did you say to me!?” He bellowed. There was some sort of food stain on the front of his T-shirt, possibly mayonnaise or some other condiment. Strange tho since it was only 7:00AM so he clearly wore the shirt the day or days before. “Oh, sorry.” I said to him after seeing his size. “I didn’t realize you were so big, you must be more of a doggy style power bottom type.” “What the fuck does that mean?” he said to me. “It means you’re too fucking fat to be on top of your boyfriend. He rails you from behind.” “Oh that’s it you fuck!” he yelled and started to run at me. Oh shit I thought, I really let my mouth get me into a situation for no real reason. But actually, no fuck this guy, he started it by telling me I can’t park in front of the ice machine. That’s clearly a violation of the Bill of Rights and flagrant treading on me. He was fairly fast for a fat guy but I knew I was faster and had more endurance. I stood there at first near the front of my Miata and he was running full speed and as he closed the distance he stretched his arms out with the intention of grabbing me(to probably try and make out with me). At the last second I strafed to the right behind the safety of the front left panel of my car. Him being inertia laden, was unable to change direction in time to grab me. His arms flailed to his left at me but missed by a wide margin, He contorted his body in trying to grab me in such a way it forced his legs to cross with the next stride and he tripped over his own feet, took two awkward stumbles and ate shit on the asphalt parking lot, landing on his right shoulder before tumbling over himself and into the ice machine. “Dude you just ate shit!” I said to him pointing and laughing. “You’re probably used to it though when you eat your boyfriend’s ass every night.” “You fucking goddamn…” He said as he got to one knee. “Oh no, don’t propose to me, I’m already in a committed relationship…with your mom.” I replied. He finally got to his feet and despite it being only 50 feet that he ran, he was already wheezing. He reached to his right pocket and pulled out a small pocket knife, maybe 3 inches long only but long enough to do some serious damage, then charged at me again. I ran to the rear of my car and put the car between me and him, he tried to slash at me across the trunk but I easily dodged it as he came up feet short. He started chasing me again and I ran to the front of my car and as he ran up to me again, I ran to the rear of my car like a toddler playing “you can’t catch me”. I started laughing at this thought and each time he ran a pass at me I said that to him. “You can’t catch me big fella! You can’t catch me!” I didn’t have to put forth too much effort but I could tell it was taking its toll on him. He had the stubbornness of a retarded mule and refused to give up to save some sense of pride and honor. We played this game for maybe five complete laps around my car before he realized he had no chance of getting to me. He paused for a moment to decide what to do next to save face and not look like such a fat bitch then it donned on him. “You little fuck.” The sweat was pouring down his forehead. “You got a spare tire in the trunk of this shitbox rice burning beanermobile?” He said and eye’d up my right front tire and pulled his arm back. There wasn’t much I could do so as he began to lunge his arm forward to puncture my tire, I let out the loudest and highest pitch rape scream I could make. It was an ear piercing banshee scream and it must have startled him because he missed the tire and hit the fender causing his sweaty hand to slip from the grip and violently slide down the grip and onto the blade of his knife cutting a large gash in his fingers and palm. “FUCKKKKK!” he screamed, still clutching the knife. The Indian clerk that owned and operated the store must have been alerted by my banshee scream and came rushing out the door. “What going on here!?” he yelled, looking concerned and confused. He saw I was standing there and recognized me immediately. I had to be one of the biggest spenders at the store, buying at least a pack of smokes a day and two energy drinks like clockwork and very often getting food for lunch and always paid cash which they loved. They liked me and knew me as well as you’d know a frequent customer. He saw the fat fella was holding a knife but also bleeding. “He chased me and tried to slash my tire.” I said and the clerk nodded and believed me. “That’s not a parking spot!” the big fella said. “He park there every day, never cause any problem. You buddy, you not welcome here. Go now, leave or I call the police!” The big fella glared at me holding his bleeding palm with his other hand now to apply pressure. I didn’t say a word, I just grinned at the big fella and he turned around and went back to his truck, got in and drove off, peeling out with one wheel as he left. I went inside and the clerk apologized to me for the behavior of the big fella even though it wasn’t his fault obviously. I assured him it wasn’t an issue and got my normal supplies and left. I got in my car and hit the vape(I won’t smoke in the car), started the engine and put on some Tool. My adrenaline was still high so I took a deep breath, hit the vape again, and started the engine then pulled out of my personal parking spot. I pulled out onto the road, looking both ways first but not paying attention to the vehicle far down the road and started my short drive home. It was one complete Tool song for the round trip if I drove like a sane person and I causally accelerated. I hadn’t made it a mile before I noticed a F-250 in my rear view mirror growing in size rapidly. It was the big fella and he was going to run me down in a way that wouldn’t exhaust or embarrass him. “Oh fuck” I said and took another vape hit then downshifted into 3rd gear and put the pedal to the floor. The Miata’s engine woke from its slumber and quickly ran the RPM’s up to 6000, putting me back in my seat the entire time. I shifted into 4th and floored it again. The road was awful and full of potholes but the sporty nimbleness of the Miata made avoiding the major potholes and bumps a fun exercise in technical driving. The big fella had a huge run up on me however and was still closing the distance on me even though I was speeding along at close to 90 miles per hour. Either he was an idiot or didn’t know the roads or likely both but as I glanced in the rearview mirror I could see the truck take hit after hit from the potholes. It lurched and bounced each time but the venerable American truck took each hit in stride and held its ground with me. I was doing 105 MPH now on a shitty backcountry road in a 45MPH zone and the F-250’s speed limiter likely kicked in at that speed so I maintained 105 as we approached the curves. I was nervous because I had only one option and that was to navigate a downhill S-turn meant for 35MPH at 105MPH while avoiding potholes that would tear off one of my tires. If I slowed down any, this maniac behind me could plow into me or give me the Pitt Maneuver and spin me out which would inevitably lead to a rollover where I definitely would die. “Fuck it” I said, grabbed another gear and started pulling away from the F-250. There was another option that just came to me ¼ mile from the S-turn and immediately opted for it. Despite the pain of sacrificing it, I lobbed a full 16oz can of white Monster out of the top of my car like a hand grenade. It crashed into the truck’s grill and penetrated through the grill and into the radiator like an armor piercing anti-tank cannon shell. A plume of steam erupted from the truck and I let off the throttle only to see him start gaining ground. I put it to the floor again and clenched my asshole as I was seconds away from barreling down upon the S-turn. I could see far enough ahead that there was no oncoming traffic so I steered as far left as I could to get the best angle entering the turn. The car’s lane detection warning system beeped at me and I told it to fuck off, I was racing for my life here. I tracked into the turn, apexed in the corner and tracked back out into the next turn. I felt myself get lighter when I entered the turn because it was downhill but the Miata stayed true and glued to the road like a Formula 1 car. In the first part of the S-turn, I had to keep the center line in the center of my car because of the massive canyons in the asphalt on the right tire track that Penn Dot hadn’t addressed in several years. There were more potholes but they were minor and at this speed the car glided over them. I had made it halfway through the S-turn and now steered left again and apexed perfectly in the outward curve and accelerated out of it. The next stretch had mild curves that I wasn’t worried about and I got back in my proper lane, now about to check my mirror to see what the big fella’s fate was. I heard the tires squeal as he tried to slow down to make the first curve of the S-turn. He knew nothing of racing despite having decals on his back window of some local hayseed race car driver. When he braked in the middle of the turn, all the weight shifted forward and he lost all rear grip. Combining that with trying to steer right, caused the rear end of the truck to slide out from behind him and he spun 90 degrees. The left front tire caught the canyon pothole and sent the truck into a barrel roll down the hill. I watched it all in my mirror and I slammed on my breaks. The truck barrel rolled at least a half dozen times before hitting the left side guard rail and bounced into the middle of the road. Steam was billowing from the front of the truck and I could see all the airbags had deployed. I pulled the e-brake, did a half turn to slow down and stop, smoke seethed from my tires and when the car came to a halt in the middle of the road, I put on my 4-ways. I then heard a woman yell to me from the nearby house. “Oh my god!” She yelled. “Are you okay!” She saw the smoke and must have thought there was a fire or something coming from my car. “Yeah I’m fine, but that fella probably isn’t” I said motioning to the heap of metal that used to be a F-250. “I saw the whole thing! I was getting my mail when I heard an engine revving”, the woman said, “Why were you going so fast!? Racing?” She was accusatory and slightly distressed or even angry. I turned my head away from the wreck and looked at her. She was in her late 20s, blonde hair, large and possibly fake breasts, blue eyes and wearing the cutest and most sensual peach colored sundress. If she had makeup on it was minor at most and her face held the natural beauty of an entire Miss Universe contest.
“I was racing for my life. The guy is a lunatic, he tried to stab me at the gas station then started chasing me. I knew he couldn’t handle that turn but I knew my car could. Looks like I was right.” I said to her. She looked at me seemingly satisfied with my response but asked, “Why did he try to stab you?” “Because I called him gay.” She laughed and smiled thinking I was joking and was about to say something else when we both heard the big fella yell for help. “We prob should check on him” I said and took a deep hit from my vape exhaling more white vapor than was coming from the wrecked truck. A car pulled up and the driver asked if anyone called 911, I said no and he started dialing. “I’m Michelle”, she said and extended her left hand to me to help me out of the car. She presented her left hand palm down so I could clearly see that she didn’t have a wedding ring. I took her hand and got out of the car then released her hand. It was just a short moment but it lasted for decades. I felt an electricity in her touch, the softness of her skin but the strength and firmness of an unyielding woman who was not unsure of herself. She was breeding stock and with each step she took, her breasts bounced slightly and jiggled revealing that they were indeed real and without a doubt perfect. “I’ve never seen anyone drive that fast through that turn before.” she continued. There’s at least a dozen wrecks here a year from people doing the speed limit and you were going how fast?” “105” I replied. “Maybe 110 when I finally hit the brakes.” “You’re insane.” She said and smiled, then adjusted her sundress, undoing one of her buttons revealing a little bit more cleavage. Her nipples were perky and nearly penetrated the fabric. “Its hot this morning…What kind of car is that? It looks German.” “It’s a Miata. Its basically a super car. It has 180hp but don’t let that fool you, the car only weighs a little more than 2200 pounds. Okay, so you've got to understand why the Mazda Miata is such a big deal—it's not just a car; it's a whole vibe! Picture this: It's super lightweight, right? That makes it incredibly fun to drive; it’s like it's practically gliding along the road. And it's got this perfectly balanced rear-wheel drive, so it handles like a dream, especially on curves. Seriously, it's like dancing... but with a car!” I paused for a few moments to catch my breath then added “Plus, it’s affordable, which is crazy considering how sporty it is. It’s like the everyman’s sports car. You can actually own a roadster without breaking the bank!” “Oh well, that’s nice I guess.” She said and continued, “I have to go now actually, I need to…like do some…chores…I mean get ready for work. Bye.” She buttoned up her sundress then ran off back to her driveway. “Are you a fucking idiot?” I heard the big fella yell. I watched as Michelle sprinted up her driveway, not looking back once even though sirens were blaring and the firetrucks and ambulances had arrived. “You had her melting in your hand and you sperged out like a retard about your car? What the hell is wrong with you? I don’t even want to kick your ass anymore, that was the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”