Monday, February 13, 2006

So I was driving to work the other day...

... and I figured, hey, here I am, on the road, surrounded by people who annoy the ever-loving piss out of me, so why not bitch about them in my narcissistic online journal?

And so I give you ... the List of Travelling Assholes.

In an effort to keep the unoriginality and repetition of tired cliches to a bare minimum, I will try to avoid such hoary standbys as the dizzy bitch putting on her makeup, the prick on his cell phone, and the mummified geriatric couple.

Although make no mistake: I sincerely hate all of them, too.

1.) Truck Drivers-- It is my firmly held conviction that anyone applying to operate a semi must first fail an I.Q. test. Of course, this intensely cynical view may have something to do with the fact that just recently I narrowly avoided a collision with one of these asinine behemoths when the Mensa member merged into my lane without slowing, looking, or thinking. But perhaps I shouldn't be too hard on this ugly sack of rapidly deteriorating internal organs: after all, it must be difficult to spot a pick-up truck and a long stretch of white dotted lines from his vantage point fifteen feet above the goddamned ground.

Luckily, I can say all the negative things I want to about truck drivers in my blog, on account of their not being able to read, and all.

2.) The Gradual Turner-- You'll meet this inconsiderate jackass in any average urban or suburban setting. He's just in front of you, driving five miles below the speed limit, and. he. thinks. he's. going. to. turn. right. almost. maybe. just. about ... nnnnnnnnnnow. These are the people who are responsible for the majority of rear-ending accidents simply because they make their turns so damned slowly you'd swear they were actually driving in reverse.

3.) Guy Advertising his Small Penis-- Okay, I know, I know. Three entries in and I'm already resorting to cliches. But who cares? No one's forcing you to read this, you know. I don't need your lousy patronage.

Wait! Wait, no, come back. I'm sorry. It's -- It's just been a long week...

So anyway, this guy is usually in his 20's or 30's, kinda twerpy, slick hair, sharp cheekbones, sunglasses, designer clothes -- you know, your basic metrosexual -- and driving a flashy sports car or a small cheftain tank -- I'm sorry, Hummer.

The sports car says he's a soulless fiend with an outer shell designed to convincingly replicate that of a human being.

The Hummer says that Joe "Fights-Like-A-Kitten" Blow regularly engages in urban-based warfare and needs a vehicle to traverse the rough and unpredictable terrain of 6th and Maple.

Both of them may as well have "I am compensating for my limp, unimpressive, two-inch phallus" painted in bright, bold colors on their side doors.

4.) Girl Who Lost on "American Idol"-- She's young, she's proud, and she's singing off-key. Loudly. These teenybopper shits don't annoy me especially, long as they keep their windows rolled up. I just think they're stupid, is all.

5.) Your Blind Spot Buddy-- God, I despise this protozoan-brained fartsniffer. You try to pass this guy, and he suddenly speeds up. You lay off the gas to let him merge onto the highway, and he slows down. There's just no winning with this moron.

It is a biological fact that Blind Spot Buddies can only happily exist next to and slightly to the rear of your vehicle. The bolder subspecies, the Travellin' Twin, actually wants to travel the globe together with you, side by side, one-lane roads be damned!

All right, people, listen up. To avoid becoming a Blind Spot Buddy or Travellin' Twin, practice the following easy steps. Are you ready? If you're in the left lane ... speed up! If you're in the right lane ... slow down! If you're trying to merge onto the highway, well, sorry, pal, but you were here last, so right of way goes to the guy who got out of bed before you, crusty-eyes.

If you're in the middle lane, I'm sorry. You're on your own.

6.) Speed Racer-- Go, Speed Racer! Go, Go, Speed Racer! Go, Speed Racer, Gooooo ... fuck yourself. This maniac weaves in and out of tightly-knit traffic at speeds that make a blatant mockery of the limit signs posted by the helpful stiffnecks at the Department of Transportation. Sure, on one hand it's possible that the poor man is rushing to get his pregnant wife to the hospital to give birth and so he can say farewell to his dying father, all this while the building is actually on fire, too.

More likely, he's just a Number 3. Way to woo the ladies, you speedy little guy.

7.) Slower Traffic Keeping Left-- Ahhh, the Speed Racer's mortal enemy. Granted, many times the hapless people clogging up the coveted left lane (or Dead Man's Alley, as a federal mandate should require it so be named) are dopey out-of-towners or confused old folks, and this is understandable. Assuming they quickly learn to get the sweet holy fuck out of our way. NOW.

However, a smaller contingent of Pokey McPutt-putts deliberately bogart the fast lane, going at precisely the speed limit, and refuse to move. Believe it or not, there actually exists a smug, self-serving prick on a message board I occasionally frequent who claims that it is his vehicular right to squat in the left lane and travel at the speed limit ... even though the sign specifically asks that he kindly steer his stick-up-its-tailpipe car to the right hand lane and allow real drivers to proceed on their frustrated way. Not to mention the fact that the left lane is generally reserved solely for passing. Period. You're not supposed to set up camp there just to make a weak, cowardly point.

Yeah, the guy is a liberal, too. Annoying as all get-out.

8.) Lance Armstrong's legions-- Bicyclists. I hate bicyclists. These Tour de France hopefuls in their all-too-revealing spandex are looking to prepare for one of the millions of upcoming bike races that I never see publicized or actually taking place, and guess what? They want YOU to be a part of their insipid, slow-paced journey!

How, you ask, bored out of your gourd? By taking up half of your lane with their bicycles and holding up traffic for a mile while you wait to clear that hill. Dangerous? You bet. A waste of time? You're not wrong. Selfish and idiotic? Ding-ding-ding! We have a winner!

Attention all creepy, rail-thin living skeletons on bikes: USE A DESIGNATED BIKE TRAIL.

BONY FREAK: But, but I can't work up a decent speed on a bike trail!

MATTHEW: And what speed would that be? Negative three miles per hour? Negative four?

BONY FREAK: But, but I don't have a bike trail near my home!

MATTHEW: Then drive to one.

BONY FREAK: But, but that defeats the whole purpose of biking!

MATTHEW: That's because people over the age of twelve DON'T RIDE BIKES, you loser.

Okay, maybe I'm being a little harsh on these abnormally-shaped twigs. If you can stay to the side of the road, waaaaaaaaaaay to the side of the road, like, off it, then fine, pedal away, shmuck. But don't give me dirty looks because I'm practically on your ass and won't pass you. I won't pass you because there are CARS travelling on ROADS BUILT FOR CARS in the next lane.

Go to the gym. I see bikes there all the fucking time. Idiot.

9.) Carrie Underwood-- Surprised by this entry? You shouldn't be. Recently, Carrie Underwood won the latest fixed American Idol contest and instantly became country music's -- I'm sorry, I meant to say "bubble gum pop rock thinly disguised as country" music's newest li'l pudge-faced, Aryan darlin'. Inn't she ever-so-sweet? Inn't she?

Well, if you see this bitch on the road, get the hell away from her.

This corn-shuckin' Barbie Doll from south o' the Mason-Dixon just released an especially inane single entitled "Jesus Takes the Wheel." In it, a woman driver (natch) can't stay awake long enough to drive home in the harsh winter weather. So naturally, like any woman, she says, screw it. I'm independent. I'm strong. I'll do what I want. And of course, the friggin' somnambulist loses control of the car on a patch of ice and freaks out.

Now, I know what you rational men are thinking: "Tap the brakes! Tap the brakes! Turn into the curve!" Not so with our brainy, devout heroine. No, no, God, no. Her response is to throw her arms into the air and yell "Jesus, take the wheel!"

Brilliance. Fool-proof. Really. Stellar plan there, Steinmetz. Now, I've never been able to stomach sitting through the entire song, but I think it's safe for me to say in this world of unrelenting predictability that Jesus's dizzy, driving lamb comes out of the situation suitably unscathed, and a profound religious lesson is learned by all.

Actually, I am personally hoping this song leads to a sudden upsurge in unimaginative Christian reactionaries literally allowing Jesus to take the wheel in times of dire emergency on the road. If all Christian fundamentalist extremists took to this dumb and deadly line of thinking, natural selection would slowly but surely sift these contaminants from the gene pool. And wouldn't the irony of that be just too damned delicious?

And now, I must bid a fond farewell to the few loyal Protestant fundamentalists who have frequented my site since its inception. Nothing personal, you understand, and you're welcome back at any time. Although I'll still be a jerk. That's kind of a thing with me.

10.) Mr. and Mrs. Opinionated American-- Do you support the President, Christianity, or guns? Do you not particularly care for the President, Christianity, or guns? Is your child an above-average student at the local undemanding public educational institution? Did your Jesus fish suddenly find the Truth after ingesting a Darwin fish? Are you proud of your sexual orientation? Do you "heart" your preferred breed of dog or cat? Did you graduate from a second- or third-rate state university? Is your "other car" a superior brand of vehicle than the one you are currently travelling in? Are you still in mourning over any specific Nascar drivers? Do you like flags, ribbons, trite sayings, or all three?

If you answered yes to any or (gods help you) all of the above, and have ornamentation on your mode of transportation to prove it, congratulations! You are officially a member of the Loudmouth American Who Shares His or Her Opinions, Background, and/or Beliefs with the Rest of the Mobile World Even Though Nobody Gives a Good Goddamn community. Christ, I witness more heated debate and useless rhetoric during a trip to Blockbuster than throughout any given political campaign.

11.) Superpedestrian-- "Slower than a moving vehicle. Weaker than a moving vehicle. Able to be crushed easily by a moving vehicle. It's ...... Superpedestrian!"

If I were small and frail and made up of soft skin, breakable bones, and mushy organs like, say, a human, I would take extra care around fast, large, heavy, powerful death machines on wheels. But then, I'm also intelligent, and one can never assume that when considering your average human.

Superpedestrian is old and young, male and female, rich and poor, and all the colors of the rainbow. Well, not blue or purple or green, I guess. He is also an arrogant jackass who mocks the gods and Death at every street corner.

For reference, let's make a comparative list of all the things you, the unfortunate pedestrian, and I, the unfortunate pickup driver, could lose should you be stupid enough to get in the way of my vehicle:

I COULD LOSE: My license, my time, my truck, my home, my money, my freedom, my peace of mind, my spotless "no vehicular manslaughter" track record.

YOU COULD LOSE: Your life.

I win. Watch where you're going, dumbshit.

12.) My Brother Tim-- Take it from me, you do NOT want to run into this joker. He drives a blue -- I'm sorry, "electric blue" Audi (with matching travel mug) and is clinically insane when behind the wheel of a moving vehicle. The only thing more frightening then being on the road with this psycho is actually being in the car with him.

If you happen to see his car on the road, it is already too late. I'm sorry.

Well, there you have it, folks. More stuff I hate.

Aren't you getting tired of this yet?

Yeah, me neither.

In closing, I am deeply ashamed to see that I have mentioned the banal TV show "American Idol" twice in this post.

THE CYNICAL IDEALIST'S HATEFUL HINT #146: Looking for a female to share your meaningless life with yet afraid of netting yourself a high-maintenance bitch who thinks she's a fucking princess? One word: PINK. High-maintenance hags loooooooooove the color pink. Pink shoes, pink skirts, pink shirts, pink jacket, pink bra, pink panties, pink purse, pink accessories ... if she has a pink bow in her hair, you might as well just hand over your credit cards now, cause she'll step over your still-warm corpse just to get at 'em anyway.

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Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hey Chuckles,

I totally agree with you. Get these assholes off the road.
They have no clue whats going on around them.
What about the ones that drive for 20 miles with their turn signal on? Are they going to turn or are they going around the world one way?

Looking forward to your next verbal assault.

Sgt Mellors

11:26 PM  

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