Stiletto Retribution

I was scouring my closet searching for the perfect outfit to wear to the fundraiser being held for battered and abused women. It was being hosted by “Women Of Influence”, a power-hungry feminist organization for which I was a mild mannered and somewhat reluctant member. None the less, I was a card carrier and a contributor to the monthly newsletter.

I found the perfect black evening dress to wear, pulled it out and tried it on… And although it took quite a bit of blood, sweat and tears to stretch, pull and shimmy over my gigantic womanly hips… Once it was on, it looked great! The only problem was that this fundraiser had a bit of a quirky rule… NO HEELS ALLOWED!!! I was mortified when I learned this. One of the diesel dyke organizer broads thought it would be insightful of us to wear only flats, thus making us more “grounded” and rebelling against the stereotypical “woman” role forced on us by society. Also, the notion was that it would make the shelter women who were in attendance feel less intimidated by the powerful personalities around them. “What a bunch of horse shit” I thought to myself as I pondered a ballet slipper or a flat thong sandal.

At 7:30 I pulled into a spot on the road beside the Liberty Grand ballroom. I had to parallel park, something I wasn’t stellar at… but I was thankful that I was driving a MINI and not a Hummer. As I reversed into my spot, I noticed the headlights of the car behind me go on and the car slowly pulled out and stopped beside the car ahead of me. Thinking nothing of it, I turned my attention to my little black evening purse and sprayed myself with some Angel perfume.

“HOLY FUCK!” I screamed as I looked up and saw a psycho bitch from hell backing towards me rather quickly. She crammed her (much larger) shitbox into the 3 feet of space I had left between the car in front of me. She casually had her right arm resting on the passenger headrest while she continually and purposefully smashed into the front of my car, moving it back a few inches each time, and crumpling the hood a little more with every impact. I caught a glimpse of her… I didn’t know her. She had shoulder length curly hair that was being held up in a banana clip and she had what looked like an ear piece in her ear and thick eye glasses. The look on her face told me that someone else was driving!

Eventually she stopped for a few seconds and I rolled down my window (albeit very dysfunctionally) and shouted at her:

“What the fuck is your goddam problem you psycho bitch whore?! Look what you just did to my fucking car. I’m calling the police you CUNT!”

I got no response.

I tried to roll up my window again, but it wouldn’t go up… And just as I pressed the button the airbags deployed… All six of them! Nice to know that they deploy after several hundred hood-smashing collisions and not a minute sooner!

I sat there speechless, and motionless staring at this douche bag skitzo bitch in front of me wondering how or why this was happening to me. It felt surreal. She continued to stare at me and occasionally gave me a very creepy sinister smile.

I called the cops from my mobile and told them to hurry before someone died. Then, I got out of my car, I went to my trunk and pulled out my 4″ stilettos. I slowly walked over to her car. Her window was rolled down. I reached in through her window, grabbed her curly matted hair and began striking the living fuck out of her with my stilletto heel until I felt some fucking retribution. I struck her once for every hit to my car.

Adrenalin pumping and feeling great, I left the scene and went into the battered and abused womens fundraiser and got liquored with a lesbian named Midge.


12 thoughts on “Stiletto Retribution

  1. Same exact thing happened to me but not really..

    I was speeding in my Porsche down Lombard St, testing the corning ability of the new sway bars and springs I had just install. I got to the bottom of the hill and went through a light and then “POW!!!” Nearly T-Boned by a Taxi. Fucker tried to blame for it, then recruited his Punjabi-American friends at the hotels all around to say it was my fault. Dude took the witnesses out of the taxi and put them in another and had the nerve to ask me to pay for their fair. I won the insurance claim because Mr. Singh was actually Mr. Dhaliwal who borrowed Mr. Singh’s cab for some extra dough. Restored the Porche to working order… On my photo blog somewhere.

  2. Hey SeLiNa!

    You’re on fire lately!

    I can only hope that you and your MINI are safe and sound and that you were just pulling our collective legs…and I hope you didn’t sully your pretty dress…(The stiletto beating brings to mind the scene in “Single White Female” where Jennifer Jason Leigh gave the guy from “Wings” the good news with her stiletto heel)…

    Anyway, sweet dreams, SeLiNa!

    Take care out there!

    Your Pal,


  3. Steve: You have a Porsche??? K… My address is #51 – 235…


    Poobah: That was an AMAZING story! Loved it.

    Zambo: Thank you soooo much!! It’s funny that you say “sweet dreams”… as, this piece is actually based on a dream I had just last night! I shit you not!

  4. Yeah and a Hummer too. The Porsche however is 32 years old. Almost fully restored. I have some trim pieces left to purchase. Wife wants me to sell it because she believes it’s a death trap after I wrecked it in San Francisco. Lombard is killer in that car with what I have for a street suspension. I’d love to do it in a Cooper though. I can get good money for the Porsche but I want something in return. At 32 I am not ready for the Boxter or Vette. Too old guy with pipe and hat. Thinking a souped up A4 or new Mustang. Hard to drop 30K on a car with the little one about to drop 10 feet away. As I am writing this, we are entering our 26th hour of labor and I have been up for 44 hours straight. Not fucking kidding… Yes I brought a laptop with a Verizon Card to the hospital… Ready for pictures. If the Mac took the card I’d firewire the video camera directly to the internet. Live Podcast anyone? My wife would so kill me… Thanks for the address though…lol

  5. Steve… tell wifey to hang in there, I totally understand what it’s like, as someone who was in labour for 36 hours myself, only to be rushed in for an emergency c-section!

    can’t wait to see the little one!

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