Saturday, April 21, 2012

Writer's Block, Vol. SOMETHING.

It’s 2012.  People.  It’s time to learn that at the traffic light, when the light is red, ADVANCE ALL THE WAY TO THE FUCKING LINE.  Rule of thumb: If I can parallel park a regular sized sedan between your front bumper and the stop line, you’re a fucking asshole.

Is there a driving instructor somewhere teaching people to do this?  Or is it just passed down generation to generation from one shitty driver to the fruit of that shitty driver’s loin?

Woah, hold up a second!  Don’t get too close to that there line Billy!  This traffic light might be on one of them sensors, and wouldn’t you rather just wait here forever?
Sure would Pa’, sure would.
Now, check all your mirrors, Son.
“Gee, there’s an angry man in my rear view mirror, oh wait, never mind, he just exploded.  From rage.

Do they originate from a town somewhere where elephants or really fat people often and randomly cross the street in front of them and need the extra wiggle room?  Are they hoping for a parade? Is there a ghost car in front of them that only they can see?

All of these questions whiz through my head as I sit wondering if my car has enough power to push their SUV up to the line.  Or into oncoming traffic, whichever.

That’s it, I’m leaving the car here, I can walk the rest of the way.