Maybe you didn’t like it when I honked at you, but while you were reading your sports section, three cars cut ahead of you in the space you left between you and the car ahead of you. This happened four or five times before I was able to get out from behind you.
I drive the same miserable chunk of tollway as you, I see you driving your fuckbucketmobile almost every day. You’re so tied up in whatever the fuck you absolutely must read in that newspaper, you regularly leave half a mile of space between you and the car ahead of you. Then to compound your ignorance, you spend the rest of your commute gaping and gawking at everything on the road
Here’s a few little pointers that might help you get your finger out of the sports section and move it a little closer to the clue button:
Those guys working on the side of the road? They’re fucking construction workers. They’re here every year. They all pretty much look the same, big burly guys with sun-browned skin and jeans, bright orange vests. Nothing has changed about the look in 100 years, except they sometimes have women holding flags. They are doing their fucking jobs, do yours. Stop gawking at them and drive.
Those funny sawhorse things on the side of the road? they’re safety markers. Oh, sometimes they are big orange barrel shaped things, sometimes just little orange cones, sometimes they have lights which flash, sometimes they don’t, sometimes the lights are there but the batteries are burned out so they no longer flash. At no time are they likely to jump out in front of your car and sacrifice themselves in the great warning marker revolution. Though if they did they’d be exhibiting more intelligence than you. So you don’t have to drive at 15 miles per hour. Nor do you need to allow 15 feet between you and them.
That driver alongside the road with his/her hood up, tire flat, whatever? they’re in trouble. Unless you intend to stop and help, DON’T come to a near fucking stop gawking at the incident. This is almost a guaranteed way of being the NEXT idiot in an accident. From the looks of the fuckbucketmobile, this has already happened to you several times.
And those cars with flashing lights and sirens? Those are police officers’ cars. They are trying to do their jobs. Let them. Respect the space they occupy by changing lanes and getting out of their way if you can. They do a thankless job for not much pay, cut them some fucking slack, you brain dead lump of twice digested gorilla shit. And Oh, by the way, they have ALREADY CAUGHT THEIR SPEEDER- they will be busy for at least a few moments, you don’t have to slow down to 45 MPH. As an aside: Some of the police cars don’t look like police cars used to, but they really are just regular cars. I am willing to bet that they aren’t “Transformers”, waiting for your approach to turn into giant mechanical monsters who will pluck you out of your fuckbucketmobile and pile drive your vacuous head into the hot asphalt time and time again, as much as it might please the rest of us.
The left lane of the expressway? it’s called the FAST LANE. that means people go FAST in it. If you’re going to go SLOW, keep to the right. In some places, there are even signs which read “slower traffic keep right”. I presume you can read, you’re slowing us all down with a newspaper, remember?
And last but not least, if you must read the fucking paper, pull off the road. Read it at work. Read it at home. Or listen to the radio. You are clearly not possessed of sufficient intelligence to read and drive at once.
Maybe you’ve noticed the people you’re pissing off, because dozens of people honk at you each week, I see and hear them.
Maybe you realize that YOU ARE THE REASON for the congestion the rest of us face every morning. But probably not.
Or maybe you enjoy being part of the fraternity of morons that all drive like you, the hundreds of idiots I see every day reading, carefully stirring their Starbucks as they yap on their non-handsfree cellphones and drive 20 MPH slower than the balance of the traffic. I doubt it, though, because that awareness assumes a level of intelligence which is clearly beyond you.
So until you drop the newspaper and pay full attention to your driving every single day, I have a few things I must say:
Fuck you.
Fuck your car.
Fuck the people you like.
Fuck the people who like you.
Fuck the manufacturer of your fuckbucketmobile.
Fuck the barber who cuts what’s left of your hair.
Fuck the people who brought you into this unsuspecting world.
Fuck the genes that you are passing on to junior fuckbuckets.
Fuck the publisher of the fuckbucket gazette with which you torture thousands of people every day as they try to get to work on time.
Fuck the pimply faced asshole who pours you your double mocha frappuchino latte each morning.
Fuck the people who made your dishwasher.
Fuck the company who built your house.
Fuck the tires you drive to work on.
Fuck the third world sweatshop workers who sew the sans-a-belt slacks you wear to work every day.
Fuck the wal-mart where you buy your BVD’s.
Fuck the cow that makes the milk you have on your cornflakes every morning.
Fuck the cornflakes.
And the bowl.
And shove the spoon up your ass while you’re at it.
Fuck all the people you work with.
Fuck the company you work for.
Fuck every sheep that ever gave wool to make you a sweater.
Fuck all the shepherds who tend those sheep.
Fuck all the people in your hometown.
Fuck the dogs of all the people who live in your hometown.
If I missed anyone important, well, fuck them as well.
b.
