From a blog that has some good stuff.
http://www.violentacres.com

But I have a better idea. Get a solenoid valve and tap it into the
automatic transmission cooler line and out to the exhaust manifold.
The easy way it to use a o2 sensor port but if all yours are in use,
you can have an 02 bung welded in the pipe immediately aft of the cat
con if one is used. I live in a no inspection state and run no cat con
or O2 sensor. Anyway, you get a tailgator, you hit a swithch and the
ATF hits the hot manifold. You skunk them with a colossal blast of
foul smelling smoke.

Alternatively, get a vehicle you can put a heavy laminated wood
bumper on.

Pet Peeve #2: Tailgaters

Dec 8th, 2006

At around 11pm last evening, I announced, "I'm going to Walmart!"

Husband: "Why would you go to Walmart?"

V: "Because I want to buy a book and all the bookstores are closed."

Husband: "They don't have books at Walmart."

V: "Yes they do. I'm sure they do."

Husband: "Have you seen the roads?"

No, I had not. In cold weather, I rarely leave the house....instead
opting to stay in bed and whine about how much I hate the winter
season. However, I was bored and I convinced myself that if I was
going to stay in bed, I might as well have a few books to thumb
through. It's too bad that I didn't come to this conclusion early
enough to run to Borders, though.

Within seconds of leaving my driveway, I realized that my husband was
right and the roads were sh.t. I clutched the steering wheel like a
life preserver and slowed my speed dramatically. Immediately, someone
started tailgating me.

Now I'm a temperamental little bitch and tailgating in particular
usually sets me off. I don't respond well to common scare tactics used
on the road...especially when the bully is a barely cognizant moron
lacking in time management skills. I was driving slowly because the
roads were icy and unsafe. Excuse me for not wanting to risk my life
so some idiot could shave 2 minutes off of his driving time.

Swearing to myself, I clutched the steering wheel and briefly
considered doing what I always do when I'm being tailgated.

Normally, I slam on the brakes.

Since I've been driving, I've done this more times than I can count.
Technically, I've caused many traffic accidents. Legally, however, I'm
in the clear since when you rear end someone, it's always your fault.
A person has got to maintain a safe following distance. Besides, the
look on someone's face when they finally realize that their aggressive
driving just cost them more time is very satisfying.

The first time I did this, I was 19 years old and traveling to a
strange city to pick up a friend. I was in the fast lane on the
express way because apparently I was going to have to veer left soon.
However, the slow lane was more than clear should anyone want to pass
me that way. Some f.ck started tailgating me anyway and for reasons
unbeknownst to me; he refused to pass me in the slow lane. So, I
reduced my speed.

Mr. Tailgater didn't like that very much and inched up even closer to
my a.s. To really prove his point, he started flicking his headlights
on and off. I gave him the finger. He responded by laying on his horn.

Livid, I picked up my cell phone and dialed my friend's phone number.
"I'm going to be late," I calmly told her, "I'm about to get into a
traffic accident." Then I turned off my phone and slammed on my
brakes.

After a brief squeal of tires on pavement, we collided. I got out of
my vehicle and looked at my bumper. It was a plastic one and it
actually held up pretty good considering. Both of my tail lights were
broken though and my trunk door was a little bent. But all in all, the
damage was so inconsequential that I decided that I could live with
it. His car, on the other hand, was a good 2 feet shorter than it was
originally.

A middle aged man strode angrily over to me and screamed, "Oh, you are
in so much trouble now!"

"We'll just see about that when the cops get here," I replied, "Call
them."

He did and the cops showed about 15 minutes later. The officer asked
us what had happened and the man blurted out, "We were driving and she
just stopped right in the middle of the road! For no reason!"

The officer looked at me and asked, "Why did you stop?"

Slowly, I looked around the scene of the accident. Like I said before,
we were on the express way. On both sides of the road there were
immaculately kept plains of grass. Not even a single piece of garbage
was visible anywhere for miles. Finally, I looked back at the police
officer.

With a bored sneer, I rolled my eyes heavenward and sighed, "I thought
I saw an animal."

The man lost his sh.t and screamed, "You bitch! YOU DID THIS ON
PURPOSE!"

The officer grabbed him by the forearm and escorted him to the police
cruiser. He wrote him a ticket and later that week, I collected $700
from his insurance company for my trouble.

I wish I could say that that was the only time I did something so
reckless. But truth be told, I've been rear ended so many times that I
lost cost. Like I said before, I'm a temperamental little bitch and
over a decade of life experience has not matured me in the least.

In fact, I had a fresh incident just a couple of months ago.

My brother and I were going to lunch together when some guy started
tailgating me. I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw a white guy
driving one of those trucks that are all pimped out like a straight up
gansta would do right out of Compton.

"What a f.cking tool," I muttered to myself as I slowed my car
waaaaaayyy down.

"What are you doing?" My brother asked.

"Diddy back there is tailgating me." I answered.

"Word."

At that point, Diddy started flicking his lights on and off. So I
slowed down some more. He gave me the finger. So I slowed down some
more. He rolled down his window and screamed something intelligible.
At this point, I would have slammed on my brakes, but something about
the way he was freaking out gave me a pause. Instead, I reduced my
speed to about 15 miles an hour. We were in a 45.

"Maybe you should just speed up," my brother urged me nervously, "That
guy looks pissed."

"No. f.ck him."

We were on a single lane street and he legally couldn't pass. The road
was very windy and there were a lot of bridges around that obstructed
the view, so it just wasn't safe. But Diddy was pissed and he swung
into oncoming traffic to attempt it anyway. Problem was a semi truck
was currently dominating that lane and Diddy was 5 seconds away from
certain pulverization before he jerked his wheel back into his own
spot.

"Wow! That guy is f.cking crazy," my brother exclaimed. "If you don't
speed up, I think he'll actually try to ram into you...."

"f.ck him."

The guy was obviously unhinged and he was making me nervous as hell,
but I was determined not to be bullied. We went on like this for a
couple of miles. Me traveling a slick 15 miles an hour and Diddy
screaming out the window at me, honking his horn, and shaking his fist
in white trash frustration.

Finally, FINALLY someone slammed on their brakes. But it wasn't me; it
was Diddy. He came to a complete and sudden stop right in the middle
of the road and went into a f.cking rage. He started pounding on his
steering wheel with such a fury that I was sure he was injuring
himself. He thrashed around in his truck for a few more seconds and
then did a U-turn and sped away. No doubt on his way to beat the sh.t
out of his wife or something.

"f.cking lunatic," I whispered.

"No doubt," my brother answered, "I think I wet my pants a little."

Anyway, that's what I was thinking about last night when some a.shole
started tailgating me on my way to Walmart. I thought about Diddy and
wondered if the guy on my a.s was just as crazy as he was. I wondered
what would have happened if Diddy and I collided that afternoon. Would
my head have suffered a similar fate to his steering wheel? Thoughts
like these kept me from slamming on my brakes and causing yet another
accident. I made it to Walmart without incident.

By the way, the book selection at Walmart sucks. Unless you're into
trashy romances and baby naming guides.

  http://www.violentacres.com/archives/56/pet-peeve-2-tailgaters

   * About
     I'm a married woman in my early 30's with so much sand in my
vagina that I give myself burns walking across my living room floor.
But hey! It sure beats being you.