Weenie Roast.

As hard as you can try, eventually you will find yourself in a position where you look like a weenie, or feel like a weenie, or are just acting like a total weenie.  It can creep up on you and come at you unexpectedly, or, at times, you can see it coming from a mile away.  Some people are just total weenies all the time, and to those people, I apologize.  There is little that I can do for you.  For the rest of us occasional weenies, I will try and help you navigate the road of life avoiding the obstacles that can obstruct your overall coolness and make you feel like a weenie.  Some of these obstacles can’t be avoided, and in those cases, I’ll try and help you cope.

According to the dictionary, a weenie either means a frankfurter, a penis, or a nerd.  According to me, however, a weenie is not so much being a nerd, which can have certain positive connotations, so much as just being totally lame.  

I guess that for me, it can still mean frankfurter or penis as well.

When it comes to looking like a weenie, obvious examples would be faux-pas’ like ‘socks and sandals’, the ‘bowlcut’, wearing snowpants or those awful hats with the big ear flaps.  I won’t go off on a hat tangent at any point, as I have already done that once before (see: Accessory Before and After the Fact).  Obvious examples of feeling like a weenie could include losing at dodgeball, having your credit card denied or failing a driving test.  Obvious examples of acting like a total weenie should include mispronouncing easy words, confidently shouting the wrong answer in a game of Trivial Pursuit or singing in your car with the windows down (see: Turn it Up, Man).  

Are you starting to understand?  

In short, sometimes you can avoid being a weenie, but sometimes you just can’t.  The best that we can do is deal with the risk factors that we can control.  I can’t cover everything, but these basic examples should help (one for each kind of weenie moment).

On looking like a weenie...

One of the easiest ways to look like a total weenie is to wear a backpack.  Now, before you get all in a tizzy and tie up your panties into infinity knots, yes, I do recognize the usefulness of backpacks.  And it’s not everyone that needs to avoid them altogether.  But it’s kind of like how some guys put on a suit and look like they’re wearing their dad’s pyjamas, and other guys put on a suit and look quite dapper and shit.  In turn, some people rock the backpack just fine.  They look like a casual businessperson on the go.  But you know the type of backpackin’ weenie I mean.  You know how some people put one on and instantly look five years old and just begging to have their lunch money stolen?

If you absolutely must employ a backpack, then there are some things that you should know.  This can help reduce your wienieness.

Don’t tighten the straps all the way to the max.  It’s like when you see a guitarist with the strap all tight and the guitar is up at his chest.  He doesn’t look like a rock God anymore.  He looks like a member of the wiener patrol.  Another example is someone with their shoelaces tied real tight.

“Look how tight my laces are, these babies will never come off.”

What a weenie.  If the backpack straps are that tight, you may as well just bite the bullet and sport the fanny pack, taking you into ultimate weenie territory.

Don’t fill the backpack to capacity either.  There’s no way that you need to be carrying around enough stuff to fill a whole backpack.  What’s in there, a basketball?  Honestly, now you look like a lil’ kid on their way to the basketball court to shoot some hoops with his pals.  Except you don’t actually have any pals.  All you have is a backpack full of shit and a weenie aura that alienates all of those around you.  You don’t make friends with backpacks.

A full backpack just makes you look small and weird, like when people wear exceedingly large sunglasses.  Seriously, don’t wear gigantic sunglasses unless you are:

a) Elton John

b) A pilot in the movie Top Gun

c) Dead with both eyeballs missing

d) A clown

e) All of the above

Moving right along… The worst thing you can do is have a full backpack with the straps tightened all the way.  Even if you’re hiking, you should try and avoid this, because you’ll just look like a granola weenie.  And isn’t that just the worst kind of weenie?

Also, put both shoulder straps on.  The backpack slung over one shoulder doesn’t look casual after the age of twelve.  It looks ultra lame, and thus, quite weenieful.

I have a backpack that I bring to work, and every day, when I go out to the car, I feel slightly less cool then I did before.  Still, it seems better than paying money for a more adult looking bag.  At least my backpack is black, and truth be told, that’s another thing that can help.  Don’t have a bright ass backpack that looks like it has all sorts of nifty pockets made to hold your pencil case, calculator and retainer / headgear.

On feeling like a weenie...

Bringing the car in for maintenance at a garage is a surefire way to make yourself feel like a weenie.  Most of the time, I don’t even understand what I am asking them to do to my car.  I just read what needs to be done off of my vehicle’s maintenance schedule thingy they gave me when I drove it off the lot.  When I am reading it off to the guy at the garage I just try and mumble it, or cough while saying it, in the hopes that he will correct me, and guess what I am talking about.

It’s like ordering off of an Italian restaurant’s menu, when they obnoxiously put the stupid fucking menu items in Italian.

“Yeah I’ll have the … ummm… panooni… giupallda… pancechia.. bruschegnochi?”

“The ravioli?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

The mechanics tend to worsen the situation, by asking you questions that you don’t really know the answer to.

“Yes, I need my breaks serviced.”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“Umm... nothing I think, just according to my maintenance schedule, they require servicing.”

“You been having problems or… what is it exactly you need done?”

“Would you like to see the maintenance schedule?”

“No, that’s ok.”

“You know, I’m not normally such a weenie.”

This is much like how an overall lack of sports knowledge can get you into similar weenie waters with sports superfans, but I believe I tackled that already (see: Color Commentator).  There are two ways to not feel wienerific in front of the mechanic.  Either educate yourself about the inner workings of your automobile (not happening), or just fake that you know what they are talking about (that’s the one).

“There’s a problem with your Flarnder Rodenspiel.”

“Oh yeah, I totally noticed that last week, just you know, give it the usual.”

“What?”

“Proceed with the tune-up.”

The mechanic will still know that you’re a weenie, but you’ll walk away with your head held high, a proud weenie.

On acting like a weenie...

 “I bike to work every day on my banana seat bicycle.  Kneel before me, the king of all weenies.”

They take up an entire lane as if they are a car, but then go through red lights.  They have pants tucked into socks, or are wearing one of those elastics to stop their good work khakis from clogging up the gears.  They ride the elevator up to their floor while still wearing their helmet, as well as the previously mentioned pants elastic.  They have super aerodynamic sunglasses.  They are the weeniecycles.

“Of course I’m turning, did you not see my hand signal?”

Riding a bike in the city does not automatically make you a weenie, but it doesn’t help.  If you have a bell, horn, basket or tassels on your bike, please close your computer and go set fire to your bicycle immediately.

With these three examples you have the blueprint for what makes a true weenie.  Try your best to extrapolate from this guide other situations during which you may look, feel or act like a weenie, and avoid them forever.

That’s it.  These snowpants are really making my balls itch and chafing my groin.

Requesting an Audience.

Going to the movies is not what it used to be.  And no, I don’t mean because tickets cost infinity and no one can even afford salty snacks or sugary treats any more.  It's not the gigantic overcrowded parking lots and uncomfortable saggy wobbly seats.  It's not the sticky floors and smelly recirculated air.  While all of those factors definitely add to my frustration, what actually sends me over the edge is the movie goer population, made up of horrifyingly annoying people.  If you are in fact one of the cinemorons that I am about to describe, then please do us all a favor and stop going to the movies, forever and ever.  If, like me, you are stuck dealing with these people, hopefully this helps you cope, and realize that you are not alone when facing the human obstacles that stand between you and a pleasurable viewing experience.

A) Talking Heads

I don’t mean a tiny whisper into your neighbour’s ear.  I mean talking or whispering so loud that everyone can hear.  If you have the balls to be a shusher, or call the fuzz (the dreaded pimple-faced teenager with a flashlight), then please do so for the sake of everyone.  You may even get applause upon successfully terminating the talking.  Personally I just like to throw my drink at their head.  Well, I don’t actually do it, except of course in my non erotic fantasies.

The Narrator

This is the person cheerfully sitting with the dumbest person, possibly in the entire world, and decides it is their responsibility to explain everything that is happening throughout the entire movie, so that ol’ half wit can keep up.  Sometimes the half wit is a child, which does not excuse this behaviour.  It is still completely fucking unacceptable.  

Take them to see Justin Bieber and keep them the hell out of my movie theatre (whether we’re talking about a child or not).

The Detective

This is the person whose powers of deduction are so startlingly poor, that they might actually feel that the comments that they are announcing to the crowd have not crossed the mind of every single living thing in nature.

Scene: Bruce Wayne lowers himself into a cave, full of bats.  

The Detective says: “The Batcave!  I think that will become the batcave.”

Scene: Bruce Wayne is presented with a prototype armoured vehicle.  

The Detective says: “The Batmobile!  Did you see the Batmobile?”

Scene: A new villain leaves behind his calling card, the Joker from a deck of cards.

The Detective says: “The Joker!  Oh I bet it’s the Joker, the new villain is the Joker.”

Even half-wit I mentioned before probably figured these ones out.  I can’t even imagine what an actual conversation with one of these people would be like.

“Oh wow.  You kicked me square in the nuts.  I bet that means that you have a problem with me.”

The Stand-In

This is the person that has already seen the film, and thinks that loudly fucking up lines of dialogue moments before they are actually spoken in the movie will somehow gain them some kind of street cred.  Honestly what’s the thought process here?  That afterwards we’ll all join together and say “Oh, YOU were the guy that knew all the lines, man, you were so cool, even when you messed 95% of them up you totally improved the movie, I preferred your version, and you’re the winner of life”?  

You know what?  Fuck you.

The Too Cool for School

Maybe he’s on his cell phone, maybe he’s with some other asshole and they are talking about the stock market, but the point is, with how expensive the ticket and snacks are, you have to really be ignorant to sit in a movie theatre, think you’re too good to bother paying attention and carelessly ruin everyone else’s fun.  You’ve just paid a bunch of money to promote and showcase just how much of a piece of shit you are.  

Congratulations.

The Open Book

This is the person that screams in horror films.  They say “OH MY GOD!” or “DIOS!” or “I CAN’T WATCH!” when there is a tense and suspenseful scene.  They laugh way too hard during funny scenes (they’re all “THAT’S HILARIOUS!”).  They say “YES!” really loud when something triumphant transpires.  They might even say “OH NO!” as something bad is happening or “I DON’T BELIEVE IT!” when a sad scene arises.  The worst ones actually try and talk to the characters on screen, in the hopes that the movie is actually some sort of interactive Choose Your Own Adventure, that the projectionist can and will swap in different rolls of film depending on the reactions of the crowd... “DON’T OPEN THE DOOR!”  

Please, hold that shit in, from now on, until the end of time.

B) Make Some Noise

Coughy

Whether choking on expensive popcorn, loosening up some phlegm from a nasty cold or just the result of an overall shitty airway system, Coughy will gross you out and ruin your movie.

Chewy

This is the kind of person that gets the stickiest candy and produces wet smack noises in between moo-cow grade mastication noises.  Chewy doesn’t care about you.  Chewy wants you to have an awful time.

Crumply

“My popcorn bag is almost empty, but rather than just put it aside, I will fold it over one million times, quite loudly might I add, so that I can save the rest for later” thought Crumply.  Does anyone EVER eat the popcorn they bring home from the movies?  Answer: no.

Slurpy

“MY DRINK’S ALMOST EMPTY. LISTEN TO HOW LOUD I CAN BE!!!!” slurped Slurpy during the film’s climax.  Then he shook the drink to listen to the maraca sound of the ice cubes.

Sobby

Honestly, my heart goes out to Sobby, it really does.  But if a movie is making you sniffle and moan that loudly in public, maybe you should stick to reality.

Your best bet in these noisemaker situations is to give them one of those double-entendre coughs, It's a cough, but it really means “Ahem… excuse me, but please refrain from further nuisances” (picture that in a snooty euro-trash kind of accent).  Just don’t do it too often, or you might turn into Coughy.  If the shut up cough doesn’t work, you’ll have to upgrade to a full shush and failing that, once again, resort to the ratting the perpetrator out, if you have the balls of course, as mentioned earlier.  You can always mimic what they are doing, but sometimes people don't clue into that very quickly.  Especially not these keen minds. 

C) Let’s Get Physical

High Beams

This is when the dingbat in front of you is texting or browsing the internet on their phone and blinding you with the light, making it somehow impossible for you to see anything else.  The best thing to do is to turn on your phone and hold it in directly against their eyeball.   They won’t always get why, but chances are they will stop shining the light in your direction since most likely their phone will be on their ear as they call the police.  Hopefully the response time around where you live sucks and you’ll get to see most of the movie.  If you don’t have a phone, use a match, lighter, flashlight or shoe.

Decreased Visibility

I have a huge head so I know to sit low.  People with big heads that haven’t figured this out yet should be in prison.  If it’s the hair that’s making the head in front of you so big, just trim some of it off with a pair of scissors.  It’s dark, and they won’t notice what you've done to them until they get home.  By that time, you’re already half-way to Mexico.

Kick It

Sometimes the person behind you kicks the seat accidentally.  Fine.  Sometimes it happens over and over again.  Noticeably less fine.  Next time this happens start swing your arms behind you.  Once you eventually make contact, turn around and confess “oh, I’m sorry, I, like you, totally forgot that there were other people sitting in the chairs around me.”  You can replace arm swings with throwing ice cubes or gummy worms over your shoulder, and generally, it will produce the same results.

Close Encounters

If the theatre is completely packed, and there is not a single empty seat in the house, then, yes, I understand when a complete stranger sits directly next to me.  But when there are ten thousand empty seats, why would you not give me, at least ONE FUCKING SEAT of buffer zone.  Seriously, it’s like when a dude chooses the urinal right beside me, when there are so many other urinal options to choose from.  These people need help.  

And then I end up feeling guilty when I get up and move over, as if I am telling them that they repulse me, or smell bad.  Well, probably they do, so maybe it’s not such a bad thing.  If no one ever tells them, they will never improve.  Or shower, apparently.  It helps if as you move over you casually mention “God something really smells.”

Please note that these are usually the same people that get up in the middle of an important scene to go to the washroom and step on your foot while shoving their ass in your face.

Peep Show

Honestly, don’t come to the movie theatre just to make out and touch each other’s peens and vageens.  Just go get a motel room.  It’s probably cheaper and maybe even a little more comfortable.  If it’s the public nature of it all that bakes your beans, then at least find somewhere that the rest of us haven’t paid to be.  If you catch someone in this type of scenario, just shine a flashlight on them and yell “TICKETS PLEASE!”  They’ll probably stop, if not, try hitting them with it, repeatedly.

Maybe I just didn’t notice it as much when I was a kid, but it really feels like it’s getting worse and worse.  The only real way to get around these obstacles is to go to the movies when absolutely no one else is there, in the middle of a weekday, on your half hour lunch break.  I know what you’re thinking, that there would be lots of old people there at that time, and that, certainly old people must fit into many of the above mentioned categories.  Wrong.  And shame on you for stereotyping.  Old people fall asleep when they go to the movies, and don’t bother anyone.  Unless they start snoring, at which point it is best to shove a kernel of popcorn into each of their nostrils.

That’s it.  The best scene is coming up.

Pack Man or Mispack Man?

Packing a bag for a vacation is the worst part of the vacation. It almost ruins the whole vacation. You put it off as long as you can. You’ll eat, you’ll exercise, you’ll call relatives, or you’ll do whatever. You may even find yourself cleaning your entire apartment the night before you leave, before you have even packed, because, apparently you would just hate to come back to a mess. You haven’t even left yet, and already you’re thinking about what will happen when you come back. Can’t you even relax for a second? Fuck! Why is it that the current present ‘you’ can live in this pig sty, but the future post vacation ‘you’ can’t put up with it for a second? What a condescending prick, all relaxed and vacationed and shit. Future Kevin thinks he is so much better than me. Why should I clean? He’s the one that just took a vacation.

Anyways, all of this procrastination stems partly from the fact that packing makes you feel stupid. You wind up losing the ability to perform even the simplest mathematical equations and arithmetic. Even worse, you start talking to yourself. You could be a mathmetologist for NASA and still need an old school abacus to pack for a three day retreat to some fucking log cabin. Out loud you say unto yourself:

“Ok, let’s see, I’m leaving tomorrow and coming back the following Tuesday. SooOOOooo, tomorrow is Friday and that means I need… eight pairs of underwear? Wait do I need to count tomorrow? Hmmm… I’ll already be wearing some tomorrow. Gee this is tough…”

Using the Harry Potter calendar on your wall and a solar powered calculator from high school, you come up with a number that seems right, but, regardless of your day count, the packing experience ends up becoming a frantic free for all, where you’re pretty much just trying to fit as much stuff into your bag as possible. Bringing a tube-top to a wedding in the Yukon? Why not?! Then the zipper on the bag won’t close, and you wind up having to cut some articles from the vacation team. The first few articles are always easy to cut.

“Yellow turtle neck? You’re cut, sorry, try again next vacation.”

“I guess I don’t need every pair of jeans that I own.”

“I suppose one bathrobe is enough.”

“I’m not exactly sure when I would even make use of this DICKEY.”

After that it’s more difficult and you wind up trying to figure out which sweat-stained half-ripped band t-shirt you absolutely need, or don’t need. You may like to tell yourself that you would do well in a desert island situation, but I think that inability to make decisions would probably do you in.

“Oh gosh, which plantain skins would make for a more durable beach hat? … hmmmm…”, thought the castaway, and then, out of nowhere, a monkey tried to eat his two eyeballs.

Imagine building a raft to try and sail back to the mainland and having to pack a desert island bag for that trip? You’d wind up cleaning up your base camp five times before choosing which coconut halves would make for better goggles, or earmuffs, or miniature helmets for your monkey. No, not the eyeball eater, it’s a different monkey. It’s a helper monkey.

“You never know, I just might wash up onto shore again, and I’d hate to come back to a mess.”

Moving right along.

So after carefully discriminating against the swimming trunks (you know you won’t end up in that god damn hotel pool anyways) and the extra pair of running shoes (you know you won’t end up at that god damn hotel gym anyways) the zipper still won’t close, and you take out more and more, almost at random now. You stand on top of the bag to zip it up, unknowingly causing your deodorant/lube/sunscreen/lotion/shampoo bottle to explode. Don’t worry. It will be a nice surprise when you arrive. Unfortunately, as you started discriminating, you completely lost track of the amount of each type of clothing that you actually will need, and you’ll end up with a dizzying array of assorted and mismatched items. Not enough underwears, too many socks. Not enough t-shirts, overload of pants. You get the idea.

I once went on a three day trip and managed to pack six pairs of underwear, three shirts, a single pair of socks and no pants, except for the pair of jogging pants that I travelled there in. By the third day, my pants stank like sweaty farty plane cushions and lightly fermented guacamole. I had a pair of underwear on each foot, due to the sock shortage and the only clean shirt that I had left was soaked in shampoo because the exploded two-in-one shampoo stored in the side pocket leaked into the main compartment. On the bright side, the fruity smell covered up the eerie stench of the jogging pants. Also, my shirt was so healthy looking it shined, and my chest hair never felt so soft! Anyways, needless to say, I did not get the job. Apparently, they went with a more experienced candidate. Personally, I think they smelled the Pert Plus and were looking for more of a Head and Shoulders or Dove kind of a guy. I guess what they say is true. Two-in-one shampoos just don’t work. Anyways, all of this got me thinking.

My solution is disposable one-piece jumpsuits. Not for all of the time, just for when you are travelling. It would make packing real easy. Five days, five jump suits. Even better, all hotels could start selling them, so you wouldn’t even need to pack. Just show up in a pair of boots and then buy as many as you need. Now, they should be loose enough to not show too much of one’s bits and pieces, but not so loose that they would blow up like a big ol’ balloon every time there is a big gust of wind. After all, we’d hate for people to take off like kites. Anyways, they’d kind of look like those HASMAT suits that the people wore in E.T. when they came to operate on him, except without the helmets and melodrama. Kids, never follow a trail of Reese’s Pieces into a stranger’s house. It will only lead to trouble.

But I digress.

Sure, jumpsuits would make tourists would stick out like sore thumbs, but at least it would make shit simple. And you can still make yourself stand-out by wearing snazzy dress shoes. So, no, not everyone would look the same. They’d have different shoes, and perhaps different hats. Different faces too, I guess. Until the jump suits become widely available (I’m working on a prototype), I would suggest that, after you’ve finished packing, throw in some extra underwears just in case. Even if you don’t end up using them like they are intended to be used, they can come in handy and fill a variety of other uses like handkerchief, bowtie, hat, sock, bathing suit, kite or flag (you know, in case you need to surrender to someone, you can just place white underwear at end of a branch and wave it around).

Even with my eventual jumpsuit solution, you’d still have to pack all of that other stuff that you take on vacation, like bathroom crap. But that’s the stuff you always throw in at the end, and usually forget anyways. Have you ever forgotten your toothbrush and had to ask at the front desk of a hotel for one of those disposable ones? Why the hell are they made so thin, and yet so fucking long? It’s like the toothbrush that a really delicate miniature pony might use to brush his teeth. Some of the toy toothbrushes come with powdered soap already on them. The assumption of course is that if you forgot your toothbrush, you obviously forgot your toothpaste. I’ve always found they look and taste a little suspicious. It’s like they sprinkled some Comet on the end of it. Maybe they are actually meant to be used by the cleaning staff for scrubbing stains off of the sheets and/or toilet seats.  Either way, try and remember your toothbrush.

“I’m sorry, I forgot my toothbrush, do have one of those little ones?”

“Sure, here. Careful, don’t hold it too hard, it might break in half. Also, here is some toilet cleaner, your breath really smells.”

“Thank you. Wow, what a quality toothbrush, I can actually count on my hands the number of bristles. There are four bristles, oh shit, it broke.”

“Here take a few more, we got buckets of them.”

“Do you have any glue? Maybe if I glue seven of them together, it will be a better brush.”

Is the toothbrush the only item that they have little toy store replacements for behind the desk? I bet they probably have some of those little combs too. I wonder if anyone has ever gone up to them and said that they forgot their enema. Surely it happens. Lord knows that we all tend to get backed up when we travel. To me, the need for a replacement enema would come up more often that the need for the shoe shine glove thing, or the sewing kit. Who fixes buttons on vacation?

“Honey, are you coming for dinner?”

“Hold on, I’ve got two more shirts to mend and then I need to shine my shoes.”

Anyways, I’d like to see what kind of MacGyver enema that they would come up with (e.g.: Funnel with a Gatorade filled water balloon). Actually, now that I think about it, most rooms already come with a laxative in the form of shitty hotel coffee and powdered dairy creamer. If that fails, hopefully you’re staying somewhere with the free continental breakfast, where anything is guaranteed to make you make the poop (like when you’re climbing up a ladder, and you feel something splatter).

Good thing you packed all of that extra underwear.

And is it just me, or are the shower gel, shampoo, conditioner, facial soap, moisturizer, etc. all just the same goopy mucus shit with a different label and bottle? In the end, sometimes it’s best to just stay home. Packing for that is easy. You’ve probably already done it. You can’t forget anything, because you’re already there. Not to mention, if you don’t leave, you won’t worry about coming home to a messy apartment and can continue to live in your current filthy nasty household. These are the kinds of things that I think about when I should be packing.

That’s it. I have a jump suit to try out.

Stupid is as Stupid Drives.

Seriously, cars create stupidity. I’m not talking about the obvious kind of stupid, like when a person sees a nice car and wants to check under the hood, groan and gnarl with a Timallenesque woof and beat off all over the V8 Carbonomator Spark Ploogues. No, I’m talking about the subtle kind of stupidity that cars manufacture, the kind that cars bring out of people. It takes real smarts to design cars and put them together and be all hella-fast. Wild scienticians are finding new ways to do more with less that costs less and kills less trees and shit. But once it’s finished and one of them geniuses steps into the car… potential moron. While I won’t bother to list obviously stupid driving mistakes made by regular people behind the wheel, I will list through a few of the more convincing and seemingly random arguments to prove that cars bring out the stupidest side of stupid, whether with their operation, their decoration or just their existence in general.

1) Vanity Plates.

Who first thought that this was a fun investment? Have you ever heard of a situation where having your license plate be easy to remember would be a good thing? Every time in life or in the movies you hear “Did anyone get the plate number?”, it’s generally preceded by something like hitting an old person, running through a restaurant terrace, exploding a fruit truck, drive-by shootings or running over a small family. In these cases, if your plate number is snappy and easy to remember, then shouldn’t we assume it makes you easier to catch? Wouldn’t it be embarrassing for a hooligan to get caught because of their vanity plate?

“Surely I’m not the only one in a silver Saab, I mean, what does that prove?”

“Is your plate 'MADD DOGGZ'?”

“Umm…”

“Seriously, otherwise I wouldn't have known where to find you.”

It’s not as if the coppers are tracking down anyone to reward them for good driving.

“Wow, did you see that guy parallel park in one move? Did anyone get his plate?”

“Hi, I heard that you witnessed the lady that came to a full stop at the stop sign… did you happen to get her plate number?”

“That’s the seventh car he has let in ahead of him, I’m going to take down his license plate and give it to the authorities, you know, for reward.”

So why bother having a nifty catchy plate? Is it so that the other drivers can know just a little bit more about you and what you’re all about? Sad.

“Say, that guy’s plate says ‘4 REALZ’. Geez Patricia, do you think he likes reality TV, or reality in general, or maybe he is a very genuine person? Oh! Maybe he is in a boy band called 4 realz… hmmm… well, I guess the only way to find out is to run him off the road and ask him.”

“I don’t know Stan, that one there says 'RKR CHK', she sounds like fun. I would assume that she is a chick, and also that she potentially rocks. We like to rock don’t we? I mean, in general, we rock. Let’s crash into her.”

“You never like any of my ideas!”

Divorce.

Some don’t even make any sense, because people take letters out of the words, usually vowels, and leave it up to you the reader to decide, like ‘BJNSHT’ you know for ‘Blowjobs and Shit’. They’re not always easy to figure out, which, begs the question “what’s the fucking point”. Sometimes the word is pronounceable, but meaningless to anyone but the driver, like 'SARTO' or 'FANAPY'.  Is ‘HPY’ hippy or happy? Is that a ‘5’ or an ‘S’? Who really cares? I saw one that said 'AXNDRA'… which maybe means Alexandra, or maybe has something to do with an axe. Why are people being so cryptic? If you are that lonely and desperate to have tailgaters know just a little more about you, why not just have a regular plate and then put a banner on your bumper that says “my name is alexandra”? Just state facts like “hey man, check me out, I like cats”, instead of ‘CNTLUVR’.

I guess that’s all bumper stickers are. I once saw a car that had a ‘Jesus Loves’ type of caca bumper sticker taped to the inside of the back windshield. Were they worried about changing their mind down the road and not being able to take it off the bumper? They don’t want to fully commit to the idea, but still want to display it. Apparently they just kind of love Jesus, for now, but not enough to make it a permanent fixture on the bumper. I find that kind of insulting, you know, for Jesus. I guess when someone better comes along they can just swap it out for Buddha, Tom Cruise or evolution. Bumper stickers are stupid.

Sometimes I come across a plate and I’m not sure if it’s a vanity plate or not. If vanity plates didn’t exist, this wouldn’t happen.

“'583 MAN'… hmmm… well I wonder what the significance of that is” he pondered as he drove the car into the snow bank. ‘Dreamer’ by Supertramp softly played in the background.

The only real use I could see for a vanity plate is if you actually plan on committing vehicular crimes and want to make it impossible for anyone to remember. Get a plate with 27 numbers, letters and symbols placed at random.

“Did anyone get the plate number?”

“I think there was a ‘J’ and a happy face in there somewhere…”

“No, it was one of those winking happy faces… I think… or the one with the tongue sticking out.”

“I think that was a ‘e’ with umlauts.”

2) Rubber Band Traffic.

Nothing says stupid like traffic caused by nothing. People slow down enough, to look at an accident, that it then has a ripple effect and causes traffic, or another accident. All because they need to slow down, check shit out and think or say out loud something extra dumb.

“Oh gee, I hope no one got hurt.”

Who, out there, is hoping people are hurt? Is anyone driving by thinking the opposite?

“Hmmm… ’94 Tercel, I hope they’re all dead.”

“New York plates? Well it’s about time.”

“If only they’d just FUCKING EXPLODE ALREADY!”

I guess it wouldn’t be so bad if people actually had thoughts of that nature. At least then they would likely speed up, and I would make it home in time to watch ‘Kardashians Take a Dump’, or whatever. Sometimes it’s not even an accident, sometimes it’s just some car parked on the side of the road because the driver probably shit their pants or needed to pee. Sometimes it’s because there’s a state trooper on the side of the road, who’s already pulled someone else over, flashing lights and everything. Well, shit, shouldn’t you speed up then? Now’s your chance! Floor that sucker, and give the trooper the finger on your way by.

3) Global Positronic Swerndieferndenspiel (that sounds right).

Didn’t someone follow their GPS into a river? I don’t really think any more needs to be said about that. Granted, it’s not as if before GPS people were smarter with directions, driving all around town with a few notes jotted down on a post-it (like “left at the second lights after the second MacDonald’s” or “you gotta go three stops past the Burger King”) that would cause people to get lost, not pull over to ask for directions, and subsequently have the night end either in divorce or dying in the woods somewhere thinking “we must have missed the turn somewhere back before we hit the Canadian border” or “seriously, I didn’t see any sign that said Fluffandstuff Beach, did you? There was no sign!”

4) Nose Picking.

There’s nothing quite like cleaning house after a long day’s work breathing in conditioned air and office dust. Next time you’re in traffic heading home from work, look around. Two out of three cars house a driver that is up to their wrist digging for gold. These people would never stand in line at the bank or super market and do this, but in the car, in traffic, they somehow feel safe, and are also too stupid to realize that windows are see-through and are too busy flicking boogers towards their passenger seat to notice that they’re being watched.

5) Ritualistic Car Washing.

If you have a good dozen or so bird poops blocking windshield visibility, or better yet, a homeless man used the back seat of your car as a brothel / toilet / bathtub, then go ahead and give your car a good once over. You have my blessing. Otherwise just wait until it rains. I could see cleaning your car religiously every week if you were going to drive it in your house. No sense in leaving pesky tire treads all over grandma’s new carpets. But since no one is really about to do that, let’s just take a deep breath and remember that we drive our cars outside, and outside is dirty. Nothing stays new forever, let your shit age gracefully, it’s embarrassing.

“Look at my car, it’s clean, it’s like new, I’m like new, I’m shiny, my life is empty.”

6) Motocyclette.

You know what? I won’t even get into this right now. They are half of a car and exponentially more stupid. Screw motorcycles. Motorcycles don’t make stupid, they just are stupid. You like motorcycles? You’re stupid.

7) Laws.

Why do we need so many road signs? Because we’re that dumb in cars. 'BRAKE FOR MOOSE'? As far as I’m concerned, if you can’t figure that one out, maybe it’s just your time. And what’s with those deaf child ones? Are people coming up to a kid in the middle of the road and not stopping? Are we not trusted to stop for a child unless we are told they are deaf?

“It doesn’t say deaf child anywhere, any non-deaf child should really know better.” BOOM.

Or honking once and hoping for the best?

“Well fuck him, I honked, he had his chance.” Kablammo-Smoosh.

I wonder if those signs are the result of some lawsuit where some scumbag got off scot-free.

“If I’d known he was deaf I would have flashed my brights at him, thrown my water bottle at his head and slowed down a little. But I really thought he heard the honks. I gave him a good half second to get out of the way. I’m the victim here. I thought this is what he wanted. You know there really should be a sign.”

How come you don’t see any signs regarding blind children? I would assume they’d be more likely to be out in the road accidentally. And why stop at blind or deaf children, or, hell, why stop at children at all? Why not just have a big sign that says ‘TAKE’ER EASY – people jump out into the road around here, totally at random’. That’ll get people’s attention. Sadly, while they are reading it they may have run over a child or two. Maybe we should stop building roads that go directly through play areas. Or were the playgrounds built near the roads? Chicken and the egg, I guess. Maybe they should point the signs towards the side of the road where all the kids are running out from and write ‘WATCH OUT FOR ROADS’ on it or something, or ‘CARS WON’T NECESSARILY STOP FOR YOU, KID’, or build a fence.

Even speed limits exist because people can’t be trusted. Without them people would just never stop speeding up.

“Slow down Gerald the exit is coming up!”

“Blow your exit out your ass, Vera! I’m going to keep going until the needle flies off.”

In any case, regardless of all the road signs and laws, people break them all anyways. You’d never shoplift, or kill your wife, or hamburglarize. But get behind the wheel and you’ll definitely do a U-Turn over a median going seventy-five in a school zone, drunk.

“Stick it to the man, God damnit! Laws were meant to be broken!” said Nigel, the LOCAL PRIEST.

They even have to make laws to tell people what not to do while driving. Like being drunk or making and eating a sweet hoagie. You have to tell people not to text while driving. And still you see people doing it all the time. Well, I assume that’s what they’re doing, as they only have one free hand on the wheel and are looking down towards their crotch and manipulating something. You got it – they may be whacking off. (Texting… masturbating, is there really a difference?) Probably shouldn’t do that either, though. I’d like to see Oprah challenging people to take that pledge. Celebrities would be lining up. Seriously, though,  imagine getting pulled over for that?

“License and registration please."
"Hold on, the license is in my pants, I threw them in the back seat somewhere..."
"No, sir, hand them to me with your other hand.”

“You got any Purell?”

In some colder areas of the universe they had to start forcing people to put snow tires on their cars… assumedly because people weren’t smart enough to feel it was necessary. As long as we’re heading in that direction, let’s ticket the moron that clears a fist sized hole out of the snow on their windshield, for visibility, and thinks they’re fit to drive on the highway.

“Hey, I can see my own hood, and that’s sure good enough to know if I hit anything.”

Helmet laws, SUVs in the suburbs, that robot that gets help for you when you’re in a jam, locking keys in the car, double parking, drive-thru anything, people listening to iPods while driving… ET CETERA ET CETERA.  Look, I know public transportation isn’t the answer either. I saw an ad campaign, for a while, that was trying to be all green and ecosexual, insisting that public transportation was the ‘car of the future’. Have these marketing assholes ever even been on the bus or subway? What a bleak future that would be – unreliable, old, smelly, and being driven by the absolute cream of the crop (people still rocking the mullet and wearing the same outfit since the mid nineteen seventies). Imagine picking up a date in the car of the future.

“Be on the corner of Stain and Shart at 8:02 pm.”

“Can’t you pick me up at my house?”

“Well, no I can't, Wendy, I have a very futuristic car of the future. Now, make sure you’re there at 8:02, because that’s when I will pick you up, in this future car, otherwise the date is cancelled, or I suppose you could just catch the next future car and meet me at our destination. Anyways, look for the car that is big and rectangular and makes lots of noise and says ‘Downtown’ on the front. Oh, and I won’t be driving, and there will be other people in it. See you then.”

“That sounds like the bus.”

“Bye.”

There are certainly some parents that could have some fun with it.

“Hey Dad, can I take the car out tonight?”

“Sure son, you can take the ‘car of the future’. Here are the keys” said the father as he threw some change out the window.

Thank heavens more and more people are working from home or just simply getting too fat to drive. Honestly, until we invent transporter beams or some kind of high speed travelling tube system like they have in movies set in the year 2000, I don’t think there’s much hope for intelligent daily commuting.  In the meantime, at least avoid the crap I just went over, and be safe, please.

That’s it. My exit’s coming up.