Two days ago I was driving behind a woman who was littering. And not just a little bit – paper napkins, styrofoam cups, this moron actually threw a glass coke bottle out of the driver’s side window.

Now maybe it’s because I never had sexual relations with any of my cousins, or maybe it’s the fact that I was born and raised in Southern California where littering is practically nonexistent – but something about this caught me completely off guard.

I actually could not believe what I was seeing. I even went so far as to pull up next to her to see if something else was going on – like maybe it was a cry for help of some sort.

Nope.

This well dressed, attractive, white, mid-40s, upper-middle-class woman had simply decided to use the traffic time to get rid of some stuff. From a moving car.

My surprise quickly turned to a very distinct sort of rage: the type my sociopathic personality lives for. I am no stranger to this rage. It is ice cold, completely vacant and very, very unreasonable.

When it comes on it’s as if someone flips a switch and every bit of my self is replaced by apathy. There is no fear, there is no boundary, and worst of all there is no reasoning. An old lover used to refer to it as “the dragon.”

These days, the dragon hardly ever makes a public appearance. I keep her loved and leashed right by my side. When you are a sociopath, you are never without your dark side. “The dragon” is never gone, she’s just domesticated.

It’s a negotiation of sorts: I agree that I will provide a certain lifestyle, she agrees not to set everything on fire. Compliance is rewarded with the occasional hall-pass: One that is well thought out and carefully executed.

The problem is that my dragon isn’t exactly patient and she’s almost always on the hunt for a prison break. When I sense a problem coming, I can usually head it off at the pass. But every so often an opportunity presents itself, at which point she’s usually out the door before I can stop her.

And this was one of those times.

I immediately began to follow the litter bug. Apparently she had many errands to run that day, because we were in the car for more than an hour before she decided to hit a fast food drive-thru.

The litter bug took her sweet time making what had to be a week’s worth of questionable lifestyle choices before turning back into traffic. It occurred to me I hadn’t decided what I was going to do to this woman once she stopped. The dragon isn’t much of a planner; she’s sort of known for her on-the-spot decision making.

Fifteen minutes later, I watched as the litter bug finally parked her car in front of a high-end retail store and got out. Before running inside, she took the leftover fast-food trash out of her car and dumped on the ground. But that wasn’t the worst part.

She didn’t just dump it at random; she actually walked to the next parking row so she could dump it next to another car. Then she left.

I didn’t hesitate.

I pulled my SUV alongside her late-model Mercedes and noticed immediately that she had left the sunroof open. I got out of the car and collected her fast-food trash.

Looking inside the bag I was thrilled to see she was just as wasteful as she was slovenly. The bag was full of food. Without so much as a glance, I dumped the contents through the sunroof and into her car.

Hamburger, french fries, a partially consumed salad – all of it went into the front seat. Nothing went to waste. I even opened the individual condiments so I could squeeze their contents directly onto the upholstery.

Satisfied I had made as much of a mess as possible, I executed the pièce de ré·sis·tance by up-ending her “super-sized” fountain drink and dumping at least a half gallon of Coke onto the driver’s seat. I used a sharpie to write a message on the cup and then tossed it too into the car.

“You got off easy, Litter Bug,” the note said. And boy, did she ever.