Donate a Dumbhead.

I periodically hear announcements on public radio about donating used cars to help fund the radio station’s operations. I began to wonder what it would be like to donate other people’s cars because of their bad driving and came up with this story.

It had been an uneventful commute home on the interstate until I got off at my exit. I was just about to stop at the light to turn right on Nowhere Street when a red Cormodo suddenly swerved in front of me within inches of colliding. After slamming on my brakes, I instinctively reached for my phone and dialed the one phone number to remedy this sudden situation.

“Thank you for calling Donate a Dumbhead, how can I help you?” a voice answered.

“Yes, I would like to donate a Dumbhead,” I replied.

“What is your location?”

“At the traffic light at the Nowhere Street exit off Interstate 95 headed south.”

“Can you describe the vehicle you would like to donate?”

“Yes, it’s a bright red Cormodo.”

“Do you mean Camaro?”

“No, it’s a Cormodo, one of only 12 cars produced before the typo was corrected. Hurry, the light’s about to change. He’s going to get away!”

“No worries,” the voice reassured. “We’re already on it. Do you notice anything to help us identify the vehicle?”

I glanced at the car ahead of me and noticed something of interest.

“Yes, on the trunk is a large decal of Jichael Mackson.”

“Do you mean Michael Jackson?”

“No, Jichael Mackson, one of only 12 decals produced before the typo was corrected. Hurry, the light just changed. He’s getting away!”

“No worries,” the voice reassured. “We’re already on it. Have a nice day.”

Click. That was the end of the call.

Slowly I accelerated to clear the intersection, following the red Cormodo while anticipating its pending disposal. I did not want this Dumbhead to get away with cutting me off, nor did I want him to go on to endanger my fellow drivers with his reckless driving skills.

Suddenly a large metal disc landed on the roof of the Cormodo. Connected to the disc was a long cable that led to the helicopter hovering overhead. I smiled and let out a sigh of relief.

Bye bye, Dumbhead.

Then the electromagnet was activated and the helicopter began to wind up the cable to lift the Cormodo off the ground. Its driver was frantically looking out the windows and making hectic gestures at no one in particular, much to my amusement. Higher and higher the Cormodo went until it was high enough off the ground for the helicopter to fly away with yet another donated car to support local charities and to make the roads safer for driving.

Whatever became of the Dumbhead is of no concern whatsoever.

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