My proudest road rage moment came about four years ago now.
My brother and I and a number of our friends all went to Six Flags: New England for the day. It was in the middle of summer and, like all cheapskates do, we got to the park a half-hour before it opened, spent all day running around to the point of exhaustion, and left at closing.
Anyway, we're absolutely exhausted and starving and have about a 90-minute ride home ahead of us so we go to Burger King for some food before hitting the Mass Turnpike and heading out. We decided to eat in the car since we just wanted to get home at this point and I'm not driving for three minutes before we almost get killed by this as*hole who decides to cut right in front of me as we approach the entry lane for the toll before getting on the Turnpike.
Maybe it was my feeling of invincibility being that I was 23 at the time, maybe it was the hot sun playing with my mind but I decided I wasn't going to let this guy nearly run me off the road so I tell my carload of people to buckle up and I speed right up to this clown's bumper. He switches lanes and, suddenly, we're side-by-side and I'm letting him have it, honking on my horn, flipping him off, calling him all sorts of derogatory names for the female reproductive organs.
Anyway, the guy flips me off and, now, I've had it. I tell my brother, who's in the passenger's seat, to duck and roll his window down. I take the half-eaten burger that was in my hands and huck it out the window, hitting his driver's side portion of the windsheild and yell out "Have it your way, motherf*cker!".
To this day, I can't imagine what was going through that guy's mind as he sees a cheeseburger come hurling at his car but, you know what? I felt damn good about myself in that moment, both for my aim and for making a memory that, to this day, my friends don't let me live down.
Would I do that again? Depends on how pissed off I was.