I'll call you honkie and you'll like it

Every night after the girls are tucked into bed and snoozing the wonderland express, I take 30 minutes of sanity alone time with the pooch on her final relief break of the day.

Normally, this is a peaceful, zenuous experience - channeling the powers that be to provide my pet with a healthy, well formed stool to finish out the day, and for myself to peruse the memories of the day and the pre-hectic to-do list for the morrow.

On weekend evenings, however, is when the "honkies" and "zoomies" come out.

These are usually kids in pairs or more, piled into cars (cars are honkies, pickup trucks are zoomies - keep reading), cruising to or from somewhere, looking for what my wife's phraseology book terms as "sh*t's and giggles."

The ritual goes as follows...

Cruise through town.

Spot a seemingly unsuspecting pedestrian, out for a late night stroll, baggie in hand that is soon to be filled with doggie dookie.

Make sure the pedestrian isn't someone familiar, or someone who would recognize and narc on you and/or your vehicle to your grandparents at church on Sunday.

If it's safe, lay on the horn as you pass by (car) or rev your motor to the redline (pickup).

Watch for the pedestrians jumping jack reaction.

Laugh your infantile butt off.

Repeat.

I've somehow managed to retain quite a bit of my urban/suburban street sense where my subconscious won't let it's "out-in-public-danger-guard" down.

The honkies have yet to make me jump from surprise. The zoomies succeed in turning my head, hoping to catch a glimpse of a muscle car, only to be disappointed at the site of yet another pick-em-up truck with Flowmaster's and a 3" exhaust (yawn.)

There will come a day, I fear, where my serene little town will get the better of me and my Radar O'Reilly internal tunage won't protect me from the Honkies and Zoomies anymore.

But for now, honk and zoom away. I kinda see it as payback for the infantile things I did while cruising my old souped up Nova in the sweet days of my youth.