Starting today, I will rule the roads. Road Rage will be my middle name. Errrr... names. "Paul Road Rage Pence". Of course the judge thought the request to change my name a little strange, but not quite as strange as Howard Wunthrop changing his name to Jessie Bell Ibetchacantpronouncemylastname. "Mister Pence," he said, "I believe this name change ill advised, but well within your rights. Perhaps you'd prefer a different middle name. Something like 'Sally' or 'Gloria' perhaps."

"No thanks," I said, "I'm adopting a whole new attitude in life and I need an appropriate middle name."

"But a name like 'Gloria' would give you a whole new attitude in life."

"You have a point there, sir, but then I'd have to put up with that stupid song the rest of my life."

He thought of a little while, scratching a birthmark on his forehead that make him look a little like Micky Gorbachov. "You also have a point," he admitted. "All right. As of noon tomorrow, you will be known as 'Paul Road Rage Pence'."

I thanked him, offered him a kleenex to clean that spot off his head, and walked out of the courtroom ready to assume my rightful role on the great American road. "How about Dorothy?" the judge called as the doors swung closed behind me.

So here I am. Noon is fast approaching and I look forward to my life as top rooster. During the last few months, I've prepared for this event -- I sold the Jag and bought an old beat-up pickup truck. One with huge metal bumpers sporting stickers that say things like "If you don't like the way I drive, stay off the sidewalks" and "If you can read this, I need to back up and try again". For the last two weeks I've hung around the neighborhood junior high school to catch up on the latest cuss words. I've spent hours in front of the mirror practicing my sneer and learning the exact angle to hold the perfect flip-off finger.

"Cut me off? Ha! I'll show you." Of course I've got to figure out what "cutting a person off" really is. Does it mean that they made me slow down a little? Or slam on the breaks to avoid hitting them? Or forced me off the road, through Crazy John's Pink Flamingo World with flying pink plastic birds bouncing off my bumper, swerving to catch the maximum number of faux fowl, before jolting over some plaster pelicans on my way back to the roadway, dragging a tangle of picket fence and flamingos behind me? I'm sure that one of those is "cutting off". But with my new name and attitude, I won't take any chances -- everything will be cutting me off. Change lanes? Ha! I'll show you! Forget your turn signals? Fool. Eat my bumper! Comb your hair wrong? Watch out!

The clock is ticking down to noon.

Somewhere out there is an old lady driving a brown Buick down the interstate at twenty miles an hour. I don't know if she will the same old lady who foolishly thinks that the handicapped spots shouldn't be used by healthy people in their prime -- the one who got mad just because I parked cross-ways taking up three of the handicapped spots. But I didn't get upset then. But that was before my name change. Paul Drive Friendly Pence never got mad.

But now I'll get even. Look out granny, Paul Road Rage Pence is hunting for you.

About the author, Paul Pence: Not a life-long Rhode Islander, Paul got to Rhode Island as fast as he could. He has 25 years of writing experience and numerous publication credits including the Providence Journal, the East Greenwich Magazine, Weissmann Travel Reports, Travel Lady Magazine, Jackhammer, Your Skin and Sun, TravelNotes, TexWoman, and many others.

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