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.


  1. I think I know this Billy, that elephant-watchin'-parade-lovin' bastard.

  2. People at stop lights who put their cars in neutral and put on the handbrake, then reverse the procedure when the green light comes leaving only them with enough time to go through before the light turns red again should have their own cas forcefully inserted into their anuses.

  3. Yes, it is genetic, and they ALL LIVE IN OREGON.

  4. I haven't really experienced this problem. What drivers in my area do is that they pass the line completely. Half of their car ends up past the line. Bastards.

  5. I am the only good driver.

    Everybody else is a maniac.

  6. I bet when they are way far away from that line, they are thinking, "I am being safe." Little do they know that someone like me is behind them plotting their violent death. Not safe at all, Billy. Not safe at all.

  7. 1000 times yes