Bad Drivers Follow Me Everywhere
Come live with me . . . assuming the garage gate is working and not jammed because the weather has hurt the little electric box’s feelings again . . . they have my entire street torn up with construction because they literally JUST got done repainting the lane divider lines and making everything all pretty just in time to rip it all up again. To get to work you are required to sit on the freeway for 15 miles with a bunch of morons who should never have been issued birth certificates, let alone driver’s licenses, and who especially should not be driving fast cars with V8 motors at the approximate speed of pushing a supermarket cart on a clear road. Then there’s the psycho tailgaters. Let me get something straight here, I drive fast. VERY FAST. There is a lead-liner in my right foot that not even a nuclear explosion could remove. So, if I am not going faster, folks, it’s because there is no possible way I can go faster unless my bloody Jeep sprouts wings. So, to the guy in this morning’s Chevy Blazer who was so far up my tailpipe that I’ll expect a morning-after phone call: BACK THE FUCK OFF. If all that isn’t thrilling enough then there’s the whole Fournace Exit Fiasco wherein the exit SUDDENLY branches off the main freeway and 10 billion cars try to cram into two lanes, one of which is VERY CLEARLY posted as being LEFT TURN ONLY which doesn’t for a moment prevent our intrepid little right-turn drivers from blocking the left turn lane while the traffic light slooooowly cycles from 10 minutes of red to 30 seconds of green . . . and don’t even get me started on the old farts who can’t make a left turn from Avenue B onto Bissonnet before the light changes and more than 2 cars get through.