The girls and I were coming home from Philly on a rainy Sunday a couple of years ago.<br><br>
This a-hole comes flying up our butt in his little tuner; he slides right, and punches it to pass us on the right; except, just as he's straightening out, his real wheels lose it and he fishtails. He's at 90 degrees and looking at my daughter in the back seat. I look back at her and can see the panic in his eyes. I can almost hear the girls in his car yelling at him as he continues his spin and hits the curb backwards at about 70.<br><br>
The front end comes up and in a blink the little black Accord is on its back.<br><br>
"I hope they went to church today," my daughter says, "because they're all dead now."
This a-hole comes flying up our butt in his little tuner; he slides right, and punches it to pass us on the right; except, just as he's straightening out, his real wheels lose it and he fishtails. He's at 90 degrees and looking at my daughter in the back seat. I look back at her and can see the panic in his eyes. I can almost hear the girls in his car yelling at him as he continues his spin and hits the curb backwards at about 70.<br><br>
The front end comes up and in a blink the little black Accord is on its back.<br><br>
"I hope they went to church today," my daughter says, "because they're all dead now."
