This story comes to us from our friend Jamie Wylie. This is probably the most well justified rage we encountered in taking submissions for our "angriest" show."

I come from a family that names our cars. Mine, an exquisite wreck of a 91 Pontiac Grand Am, was inherited from my late aunt and answers to the name of Blouis, which is short for "Blue Louis." Blouis, with his kicky velour interior, peeling blue paint, and faded Spider-Man doll in the back window, is the very picture of cheerful innocence. Why anyone would target Blouis and me for a crime is beyond understanding, yet to this day, Blouis remains the only, silent witness to the angriest night of my life, which took place my junior year of college.

Having only recently gotten over a nasty cold, I remained sober and quiet during the cast party for the blackbox show. My friend J., a boisterous freshman, was quite the opposite, and in a show of upperclassman sisterly affection, I offered to drive his drunk, stoned ass home. He agreed.

We cruised down quiet, starlit streets, until about a block from the colleges entrance, a car appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, sped right up behind us and urgently began to flash their headlights. Assuming they needed to get by (because I was taking my sweet time, admittedly) I pulled over to the side of the road. They followed suit and continued to flash their lights. Now I began to worry. "Oh God, maybe its an emergency. Maybe they need help. Someones probably got alcohol poisoning or something." Suddenly, a figure emerged from the drivers seat and approached my window. I glanced at J., who at this point was only semi-conscious and gazing around the interior of my car as if seeing it for the very first time. I rolled my window down (manually, because after all, this is a General Motors car) and before the words "You guys ok?" could escape my mouth, the figure (now decidedly that of a young man) had produced from behind his back a fire extinguisher, and proceeded to empty its entire contents into my car and our faces.

I could no longer speak. I could only gasp and cough. The young man began to laugh and retreated back to his vehicle. My throat closed, my lungs were on fire and my eyes were beating in sync with my heart as tears flowed uncontrollably from them. Now I know fire extinguishers wont kill you, but when chemicals of any nature are blasted into your face at point-blank range, they still hurt a fucking lot. I leaned over and felt for the passenger door handle. I opened it and pushed J out onto the pavement before falling out my own door. We lay on the ground and continued to struggle for breath and as I finally began to see out of my eyes again, I realized that the car was still behind us, still laughing, watching their handiwork. I could see the make of the car now (Jeep Cherokee) and that there were 4 silhouettes occupying it. Thanks to the fact that my brake lights were still shining, I could also clearly see those idiots license plates. I shakily rose to my feet, as the Jeep suddenly pulled out ahead of us and sped into the entrance of the college.

Sidenote: If you have just committed a crime and were now making your getaway, would you go in the EXACT DIRECTION the people chasing you are headed? I sure wouldnt.

I retreated to my car in a daze to check on J., who was visibly shaken, and vowing with slurred speech his revenge. He said we needed to report it, so they could have their asses kicked by authority figures, maybe even get some kind of assault charge against them. Assuming what in hindsight I can only assume was an assassin-like calm, I told him to get back in the car and help me clean up the front windshield so I could see again.

"Cmon, lets just go and report..."

"Just get in the car."

"But.."

"NOW."

He realized this was not the time to argue, and in silence we used our shirt sleeves to clean up best we could. I felt his uneasy eyes on me as I drove him back to his dorm. He asked one more time.

"Are you sure youre ok?"

"Yeah, Im fine. Its going to be taken care of."

"You still look shaken."

"Nah, Im just pissed. They were assholes. Im going to go sleep it off."

I had no intention of sleeping it off. The minute J. disappeared into his dormitory my hunt began. The time was around 3am, yet I had never felt more wide awake. I spent only about an hour or so trolling the various parking lots on campus before I found them. Jeep Cherokee. Matching plates. Stupid Dave Matthews Band sticker I had failed to notice earlier. Without warning I lost it - I began to shake with rage and cry. My crying spanned a wave of different emotions. I had been scared, I had been humiliated, and now I was seriously blinded with uncontrollable fury. I cried for what must have been fifteen minutes. As my body emptied of tears and I regained my composure I knew what I was going to do. I quietly popped Blouis trunk and dug around until I found my Leatherman multi-tool, the weapon of choice of theatre nerds everywhere. I rechecked the license plate one last time, and then proceeded to slash the two back tires. Breathing a sigh of closure, I got back in my car and drove home to my apartment.

For a while I wondered if they would come after Blouis and me again. Slash our tires. Key the paint job. Just destroy us. But it never happened. Was my reaction over the top? Absolutely. I hope I never have to do anything like that again. Was it vigilante justice? A knee-jerk reaction? I dont think so. I like to think I just re-named their car for them. I hope they like the sound of "Jamies Bitch."