Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Twitter!
Yes, two real posts within ten minutes is too good to be true. Stop whining. Shit That Makes Me Angry is on Twitter! Rejoice! Follow me at @angryshit (am I supposed to say "at" and use the @ sign? or just one or the other?) and feel free to leave in the comments if you have a better idea for a twitter handle. It can't be more than 15 characters, which blows. Have at it.
Groundhog Day
What's that? Groundhog Day was almost five months ago? Groundhog Day was actually several days before the date I last posted, which was ages ago, because I'm a lazy piece of shit? Groundhog Day is no longer relevant? Wow, you are right. I'm so sorry, I should be a better blogger and write about things when they're happening. You know what, I'm just gonna go ahead and save this post for next February.
Oh, my bad, I forgot...I don't give a FUCK when Groundhog Day was, because it's making me angry right fucking NOW and it's my blog and I will write about whatever I want whenever I damn well please.
The U.S. has plenty of crazy, stupid, weird customs. But none of them seem to captivate the whole fucking country the way Groundhog Day does. You know what, it's so fucking dumb I'm not capitalizing it anymore for the rest of this post. It's not worth stretching my poor pinkie to the Shift key. So groundhog day it is.
As I have mentioned a few times, winter BLOWS. It sucks SO hard. It makes you sad, and depressed, and often unable to do basic things like, oh, OPEN YOUR FUCKING DOOR. Because there's FOUR FEET OF FUCKING SNOW BLOCKING YOU IN BECAUSE APPARENTLY THE NEWEST DEFINITION OF GLOBAL WARMING IS "MAKES NEW YORK CITY LOOK LIKE MOTHERFUCKING MONTANA IN THE WINTER." What the fuck IS that? Why does it snow 45 feet every winter in the tri-state area now? At least in Montana the snow stays white for more than 6 seconds. It glistens on trees, and stays intact in mountains and valleys that no one walks on and creates beautiful landscapes. New York doesn't even HAVE trees for snow to glisten on. And any trees we do have are being shit on by pigeons 24/7. Sort of takes away from the whole "glistening" effect.
And in those places where it's all glisten-y? It's like 1000 times colder than it ever will be in NY. And it is fucking COLD here. Some people say winter is better than summer. Those people should kill themselves. Because while it may be sweltering hot and quite uncomfortable in the summer, let me ask you some questions. When was the last time you walked outside in the summer and you literally could not breathe because of the temperature? How many times have you walked outside in the summer and immediately yelled "FUCK FUCK FUCK JESUS FUCKING CHRIST IT IS SO FUCKING HOT! HOLY SHIT!" How often do you sprint from your house to your car, only to find that your car is so fucking hot that you're literally moaning in pain as you drive until the A/C gets going? Never. None of you have ever done that. If I somehow have attracted some unknown reader who lives in a desert or a fucking rainforest and you've done one of these things, then fuck you. Remain silent. If the rest of you take my questions and replace hot with cold, summer with winter and A/C with heating, you have done those things. All of them. Like sixty hundred million times each winter. Summer vs. winter argument is over.
So since winter is so shitty, I always want to know when it's going to be over. My ideal choice for the source of this information would be, oh, a weatherman. Maybe an atmospheric scientist. I would even take one of those crazy tornado chasers. You know who is at the absolute bottom, cellar, basement of my list when it comes to being told when winter is ending? A fucking RODENT. A squeaky, buck-toothed, clueless, soon-to-be-roadkill ANIMAL. I don't want weather predictions from something that can't fucking SPEAK! And it's not even like that genius sports predictor octopus. It doesn't go up to two boxes, one that says "winter. fuck your life." and one that says "Hallelujah sing to Jesus your giblets will thaw out soon" and like pick one or poop on one or anything. We decide the weather based on whether or not it comes out of its motherfucking hole. Pretty sure that's an every day occurrence for a groundhog. Leaving his fucking house. Should we pick some sorry motherfucker in America, make a day in November "Sorry Motherfucker Day" and every four years, pick a president based on whether he walks out the front door that day? Why not? In my humble opinion, when winter ends is basically as important as who is president.
But people in charge of things like groundhog day don't care about my opinion. No one, unfortunately, is going to read this blog and cancel groundhog day forever. (if that happened, I would throw the MOTHER of all parties.) But the least--the absolute LEAST these motherfuckers could do is change the main groundhog's name. His name is Phil. PHIL! He is the boss hog (ha!) of all groundhogs, and he's named Phil? Just because "Punxsutawney" has to precede it? I get alliteration and all, but the p's don't even make the same phonetic sound. Weak ass excuse for a name. How about..."Punxsutawney Pussy Magnet?" You know all the lady groundhog's hairs spike up when Phil walks by. Or we could go the intimidation route: "Punxsutawney Piledriver." No one would EVER fuck with Piledriver at the bar. No one.
Oh, my bad, I forgot...I don't give a FUCK when Groundhog Day was, because it's making me angry right fucking NOW and it's my blog and I will write about whatever I want whenever I damn well please.
The U.S. has plenty of crazy, stupid, weird customs. But none of them seem to captivate the whole fucking country the way Groundhog Day does. You know what, it's so fucking dumb I'm not capitalizing it anymore for the rest of this post. It's not worth stretching my poor pinkie to the Shift key. So groundhog day it is.
As I have mentioned a few times, winter BLOWS. It sucks SO hard. It makes you sad, and depressed, and often unable to do basic things like, oh, OPEN YOUR FUCKING DOOR. Because there's FOUR FEET OF FUCKING SNOW BLOCKING YOU IN BECAUSE APPARENTLY THE NEWEST DEFINITION OF GLOBAL WARMING IS "MAKES NEW YORK CITY LOOK LIKE MOTHERFUCKING MONTANA IN THE WINTER." What the fuck IS that? Why does it snow 45 feet every winter in the tri-state area now? At least in Montana the snow stays white for more than 6 seconds. It glistens on trees, and stays intact in mountains and valleys that no one walks on and creates beautiful landscapes. New York doesn't even HAVE trees for snow to glisten on. And any trees we do have are being shit on by pigeons 24/7. Sort of takes away from the whole "glistening" effect.
And in those places where it's all glisten-y? It's like 1000 times colder than it ever will be in NY. And it is fucking COLD here. Some people say winter is better than summer. Those people should kill themselves. Because while it may be sweltering hot and quite uncomfortable in the summer, let me ask you some questions. When was the last time you walked outside in the summer and you literally could not breathe because of the temperature? How many times have you walked outside in the summer and immediately yelled "FUCK FUCK FUCK JESUS FUCKING CHRIST IT IS SO FUCKING HOT! HOLY SHIT!" How often do you sprint from your house to your car, only to find that your car is so fucking hot that you're literally moaning in pain as you drive until the A/C gets going? Never. None of you have ever done that. If I somehow have attracted some unknown reader who lives in a desert or a fucking rainforest and you've done one of these things, then fuck you. Remain silent. If the rest of you take my questions and replace hot with cold, summer with winter and A/C with heating, you have done those things. All of them. Like sixty hundred million times each winter. Summer vs. winter argument is over.
So since winter is so shitty, I always want to know when it's going to be over. My ideal choice for the source of this information would be, oh, a weatherman. Maybe an atmospheric scientist. I would even take one of those crazy tornado chasers. You know who is at the absolute bottom, cellar, basement of my list when it comes to being told when winter is ending? A fucking RODENT. A squeaky, buck-toothed, clueless, soon-to-be-roadkill ANIMAL. I don't want weather predictions from something that can't fucking SPEAK! And it's not even like that genius sports predictor octopus. It doesn't go up to two boxes, one that says "winter. fuck your life." and one that says "Hallelujah sing to Jesus your giblets will thaw out soon" and like pick one or poop on one or anything. We decide the weather based on whether or not it comes out of its motherfucking hole. Pretty sure that's an every day occurrence for a groundhog. Leaving his fucking house. Should we pick some sorry motherfucker in America, make a day in November "Sorry Motherfucker Day" and every four years, pick a president based on whether he walks out the front door that day? Why not? In my humble opinion, when winter ends is basically as important as who is president.
But people in charge of things like groundhog day don't care about my opinion. No one, unfortunately, is going to read this blog and cancel groundhog day forever. (if that happened, I would throw the MOTHER of all parties.) But the least--the absolute LEAST these motherfuckers could do is change the main groundhog's name. His name is Phil. PHIL! He is the boss hog (ha!) of all groundhogs, and he's named Phil? Just because "Punxsutawney" has to precede it? I get alliteration and all, but the p's don't even make the same phonetic sound. Weak ass excuse for a name. How about..."Punxsutawney Pussy Magnet?" You know all the lady groundhog's hairs spike up when Phil walks by. Or we could go the intimidation route: "Punxsutawney Piledriver." No one would EVER fuck with Piledriver at the bar. No one.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Domino's
Note: Sorry for the delay. I had an unusually pleasant, carefree anger-less month of January. But then February rolled around, which is the worst month of the year, no contest. Valentine's day, cold, snow, no fucking holidays (Groundhog day does NOT count, it's just a day during which we get reminded by a fucking rodent that the world is going to be February-style miserable for another month and a half), and cold, and snow. I mentioned cold and snow twice because this fucking atrocity of a winter deserves two cold/snow mentions. Anyway, now that you are convinced that I'm suitably angry, here goes.
Domino's pizza is the scum of the pizza earth. Always has been, always will be. It tastes like shit, looks like shit, smells like shit. The only time you should EVER order Domino's is if you are at least two of the following: 1) Drunk 2) High 3) Attending college in a poor excuse for a city that closes everything except Chinese food places at midnight ('sup Boston) and you've had Chinese food the past 7 times you have been drunk or high, which is coincidentally the past 7 days 4) In the midwest, at least 2 hours outside of Chicago. Notice I said two of the following. Not one. If you are two hours outside of Chicago and sober, fucking drive to Chicago and get a deep dish. No excuses.
Apparently, Mr. Patrick Doyle, Domino's CEO, was unaware that his company's pizza tasted like asshole until 2009. I'm not sure if he never ate it, or his pizza "chefs" got pizza from New York airlifted in whenever they knew he was coming by for a taste test, but it took him until then to decide that all the hate mail, pictures of nasty pizza, death threats, and dead delivery boys might mean that his pizza was, shall we say, subpar.
What did Mr. Doyle and his team of all-star ad gurus come up with? A nationwide ad campaign that they would bombard the country with, trying to drive home on single, simple message.
The message? DOMINO'S PIZZA TASTES LIKE POOP SHIT KETCHUP COVERED CARDBOARD ASSHOLE RAT DROPPINGS!
Don't believe me? Watch the first few seconds of this video.
And you remember the rest of them. Thousands and thousands of ads saying "look how much we suck! We can't put sauce and cheese on dough and make it work! Looook! LOOOOOOOK!" And then Mr. CEO at the end, saying. "Don't worry, we'll make it better."
The thing that embarrasses me is that I believed them. Once they said the revamp was done, I was all for it. Let's go order some fuckin' Domino's! It arrived, I opened the box, took a bite, and made a discovery. Domino's had indeed changed their pizza. It was not the same. They had spent thousands of dollars on an ad campaign, focus groups, and a "pizza makeover" to do one thing: absolutely cover the SHIT out of the pizza in garlic. Literally...that's it. Same rubber crust, same ketchup sauce, same fake cheese...just SMOTHERED in garlic. Only difference between old Domino's and new Domino's: now, after eating it, you could literally kill Edward Cullen. Which is actually great. Patrick Doyle for president.
So after Domino's comes out with its vampire-killer, they go around to a bunch of people who talked shit in focus groups and feed them the new garlic monstrosity. The result:
This video can be summed up with the following question by Chef Sam: "You're not just saying the pizza's good because the cameras are on, right?" YES. Yes she is. She is lying to your face because she is on a fucking commercial for your fucking PIZZA! When she was talking smack, she was paid to sit in a room where some lowly shithead from marketing asked her about Domino's. This time, she was probably so overwhelmed by the garlic that she just felt she should answer affirmatively to every question you ask. "Yup, pizza's great, no it really is, not just saying, uh-huh, k, gotta go," door slam, commence ralphing.
And now they've come out with these fucking ridiculous spots where they show focus groups talking about how they don't use real tomatoes, and then the walls fall down and they're in the middle of a goddamn farm. And the one where they say they think Domino's crust is tossed by machines, and the walls fall down, and they're in the middle of a fucking Domino's pizza kitchen. I'm not even sure where to begin with these ones, but I'll start with this: Umm, when these people arrived at the site of the focus group, they didn't think "Huh...weird...wonder why they're having this in a 40 by 40 foot box in the middle of a field?" My sister tells me there's another commercial that shows all participants arriving in a limo with tinted windows that you can't see out of. Ah, ok, makes perfect sense. Here is a list of questions I would ask, out of concern for my own health and safety, if I participated in this focus group: 1) Why can't I drive there myself? 2) Why is it necessary for this to take place 4 hours away from civilization? 3) Why isn't there any liquor in this limo? 4) Why are the people bringing us there wearing ski masks? 5) Why did I get pistol-whipped when I tried to open the window for some fresh air?
Like, what if someone gets car sick? Can't open the window, can't let them see where we're going. The look of surprise must be AUTHENTIC when the walls drop down around them to reveal happy farmers picking plump, ripe tomatoes.
Even if these people really had no clue they were on a tomato farm, I REFUSE to believe the ones who were secretly in a Domino's kitchen didn't know. You can put a burlap bag over my head, toss me in the back of a van and throw me into a temporary room if you want, but nothing, especially not a fake wall, will hide the smell of the devil's garlic pizza being made next door. You can smell that shit from a mile away. Those people knew they were in a kitchen. They knew.
Lastly, with these commercials, Domino's fails to see the problem. The sauce tastes like it's made from fake tomatoes. Showing me the tomatoes it's made with does not change this. It only makes me wonder what you do to these delicious juicy tomatoes that makes them taste like ass. Same with the crust. Showing me some nasty "chef's" dirty hands kneading the pizza does not mean it tastes like it is made by a human. So, all the energy you went to coming up with this great idea, constructing fake rooms, hiring hitmen to keep everyone in line...went to waste. I would ask you to just make your fucking pizza better, but as we know, the last time you tried that, we ended up with the same shitty pizza, except it also offends anyone who has to stand close to you within 48 hours of you eating it.
If this post has somehow intrigued you into trying Domino's, please don't. If you want to know what it tastes like, do the following: Take garlic powder out of the cabinet. Pour the powder on to the counter, shaping it in a little line. Roll up the $20 bill you won't be spending on Domino's. Snort the garlic powder.
Fun, huh? Now you know what it tastes like.
Domino's pizza is the scum of the pizza earth. Always has been, always will be. It tastes like shit, looks like shit, smells like shit. The only time you should EVER order Domino's is if you are at least two of the following: 1) Drunk 2) High 3) Attending college in a poor excuse for a city that closes everything except Chinese food places at midnight ('sup Boston) and you've had Chinese food the past 7 times you have been drunk or high, which is coincidentally the past 7 days 4) In the midwest, at least 2 hours outside of Chicago. Notice I said two of the following. Not one. If you are two hours outside of Chicago and sober, fucking drive to Chicago and get a deep dish. No excuses.
Apparently, Mr. Patrick Doyle, Domino's CEO, was unaware that his company's pizza tasted like asshole until 2009. I'm not sure if he never ate it, or his pizza "chefs" got pizza from New York airlifted in whenever they knew he was coming by for a taste test, but it took him until then to decide that all the hate mail, pictures of nasty pizza, death threats, and dead delivery boys might mean that his pizza was, shall we say, subpar.
What did Mr. Doyle and his team of all-star ad gurus come up with? A nationwide ad campaign that they would bombard the country with, trying to drive home on single, simple message.
The message? DOMINO'S PIZZA TASTES LIKE POOP SHIT KETCHUP COVERED CARDBOARD ASSHOLE RAT DROPPINGS!
Don't believe me? Watch the first few seconds of this video.
And you remember the rest of them. Thousands and thousands of ads saying "look how much we suck! We can't put sauce and cheese on dough and make it work! Looook! LOOOOOOOK!" And then Mr. CEO at the end, saying. "Don't worry, we'll make it better."
The thing that embarrasses me is that I believed them. Once they said the revamp was done, I was all for it. Let's go order some fuckin' Domino's! It arrived, I opened the box, took a bite, and made a discovery. Domino's had indeed changed their pizza. It was not the same. They had spent thousands of dollars on an ad campaign, focus groups, and a "pizza makeover" to do one thing: absolutely cover the SHIT out of the pizza in garlic. Literally...that's it. Same rubber crust, same ketchup sauce, same fake cheese...just SMOTHERED in garlic. Only difference between old Domino's and new Domino's: now, after eating it, you could literally kill Edward Cullen. Which is actually great. Patrick Doyle for president.
So after Domino's comes out with its vampire-killer, they go around to a bunch of people who talked shit in focus groups and feed them the new garlic monstrosity. The result:
This video can be summed up with the following question by Chef Sam: "You're not just saying the pizza's good because the cameras are on, right?" YES. Yes she is. She is lying to your face because she is on a fucking commercial for your fucking PIZZA! When she was talking smack, she was paid to sit in a room where some lowly shithead from marketing asked her about Domino's. This time, she was probably so overwhelmed by the garlic that she just felt she should answer affirmatively to every question you ask. "Yup, pizza's great, no it really is, not just saying, uh-huh, k, gotta go," door slam, commence ralphing.
And now they've come out with these fucking ridiculous spots where they show focus groups talking about how they don't use real tomatoes, and then the walls fall down and they're in the middle of a goddamn farm. And the one where they say they think Domino's crust is tossed by machines, and the walls fall down, and they're in the middle of a fucking Domino's pizza kitchen. I'm not even sure where to begin with these ones, but I'll start with this: Umm, when these people arrived at the site of the focus group, they didn't think "Huh...weird...wonder why they're having this in a 40 by 40 foot box in the middle of a field?" My sister tells me there's another commercial that shows all participants arriving in a limo with tinted windows that you can't see out of. Ah, ok, makes perfect sense. Here is a list of questions I would ask, out of concern for my own health and safety, if I participated in this focus group: 1) Why can't I drive there myself? 2) Why is it necessary for this to take place 4 hours away from civilization? 3) Why isn't there any liquor in this limo? 4) Why are the people bringing us there wearing ski masks? 5) Why did I get pistol-whipped when I tried to open the window for some fresh air?
Like, what if someone gets car sick? Can't open the window, can't let them see where we're going. The look of surprise must be AUTHENTIC when the walls drop down around them to reveal happy farmers picking plump, ripe tomatoes.
Even if these people really had no clue they were on a tomato farm, I REFUSE to believe the ones who were secretly in a Domino's kitchen didn't know. You can put a burlap bag over my head, toss me in the back of a van and throw me into a temporary room if you want, but nothing, especially not a fake wall, will hide the smell of the devil's garlic pizza being made next door. You can smell that shit from a mile away. Those people knew they were in a kitchen. They knew.
Lastly, with these commercials, Domino's fails to see the problem. The sauce tastes like it's made from fake tomatoes. Showing me the tomatoes it's made with does not change this. It only makes me wonder what you do to these delicious juicy tomatoes that makes them taste like ass. Same with the crust. Showing me some nasty "chef's" dirty hands kneading the pizza does not mean it tastes like it is made by a human. So, all the energy you went to coming up with this great idea, constructing fake rooms, hiring hitmen to keep everyone in line...went to waste. I would ask you to just make your fucking pizza better, but as we know, the last time you tried that, we ended up with the same shitty pizza, except it also offends anyone who has to stand close to you within 48 hours of you eating it.
If this post has somehow intrigued you into trying Domino's, please don't. If you want to know what it tastes like, do the following: Take garlic powder out of the cabinet. Pour the powder on to the counter, shaping it in a little line. Roll up the $20 bill you won't be spending on Domino's. Snort the garlic powder.
Fun, huh? Now you know what it tastes like.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
People Driving in the Shoulder
What's an angry blog without a little road rage?
I'll start off here by admitting I'm not the best driver in the world. I like getting places quickly, and I'm also from New York. Add those two things together and you have a sticky situation at times. Just ask my good friend Mel, who witnessed my complete disregard for automobile safety so I could get home before my hungry relatives ate my aunt's clam dip last Thanksgiving. (At one point, she grabbed the sides of the seat, looked at me with terror in her eyes and screamed, "BITCH, THE CLAM DIP IS NOT WORTH IT!!!" "It," presumably, meaning our lives. Then, we got home safely and she tried the clam dip. It was then that she understood. The clam dip was indeed worth it.)
My somewhat questionable vehicular history notwithstanding, there are some moves that people pull on the road that actually make me wish I had a .22 in my car so I could just complete a drive-by and call it a day. Or, whatever you call it when you shoot someone from your car who is sitting in another car. A drive-pull-up-next-to? Whatever.
Sitting in traffic sucks. Really, really, blows. There is nothing worse than sitting in your gas-guzzling SUV, listening to it guzzle expensive gas, going nowhere. You keep looking around, but you see the same fucking thing every time you do because you haven't moved in the last hour. You've listened to every damn song on the six CDs in your changer, and even tried some of your mom's Barbara Streisand CD that she left in there, which made you about 6000 times angrier than you already were. You try listening to the radio, but three stations are playing that Rihanna song from last summer and the other three are playing "Airplanes," which is actually the most overplayed song in the history of radio. After punching the radio, you pull out your phone for the fourth time in 3 minutes, only to see that no one has texted you yet. You sigh, put your phone down, and look out the window again...only to see some jackass douchebag in a Honda Civic blow by you on the shoulder. Cue endless rage.
The shoulder, for the record, is not a lane. It's not part of the road. Off-limits. Against the rules. Not allowed. Prohibited. And lots of other synonyms for don't fucking do it. At some point, Honda driver, you are going to need to get back into the real road. Probably when you see a cop and pee yourself and all of a sudden realize you're not a real badass. If this happens anywhere near me, good luck motherfucker. I will drive within centimeters of the car in front of me until you give up and try to inch your way in somewhere else. Do not try to pull in in front of me. I will rear end the car in front of me 1000 times over before I let your disrespectful ass in. It's especially pleasing for me when everyone feels the way I do, and no one lets you in. Then you're sitting in the shoulder, looking like the moron that you are, and you get the lovely experience of watching the car that you were behind in the first place inch in front of you. Poetic justice, Honda douchebag. That's what happens when you test me.
The same goes for situations when the left lane is closing soon. On my way to work, there is an area of the road where it goes from three lanes to two. There is ample warning in the form of a big yellow sign that says "LEFT LANE CLOSING IN 1/4 MILE, MERGE RIGHT." That sign makes it abundantly clear. Tells you exactly what you need to do. Move over. If that wasn't enough, there's another sign approximately 4 seconds further down the road that says, shockingly enough, "LEFT LANE CLOSING IN 1/8 MILE, MERGE RIGHT." Now you have no excuses. You've been reminded twice in the past 10 seconds. Move. the fuck. over. And I do. I'm happily in the middle lane, proud of myself for following directions, and waiting for the left lane to slowly and calmly taper off. Then, all of a sudden, I have to slam on the brakes, snapping my neck and letting out an embarrassingly vulgar stream of swear words. Why? Because three dickwads in shitty Nissans with bumper kits that cost more than their cars decided to have "whose dick is bigger?" contest and fly down the closing left lane so they could create a bottleneck when the lane actually closes and they have to shove their way in. Why? Please. Someone. Just explain this to me. Is it fun? Should I try it? Do they yell, "Haha, slow motherfuckers!" as they drive by, even though they know they're going to have to come to a complete halt and hope that we are nice enough to let them in? Do they actually not know that the lane ends? That's impossible, right? I mean, there were 2 signs. Two big ass signs. Needless to say, same process goes for these asshats. You wanna be a douche? Fine, I'll be one too. You will sit there, with your car at an awkward angle, while I drive dangerously close to the car in front of me. I will pass you, and probably wave at you as I do. Your small, useless brain probably won't be able to process this and you'll likely think I'm hitting on you, but that's ok. I will be happy in my victory, and laugh maniacally as I see you in my rear view mirror, still stopped, blinker on, hoping for some compassion.
Then I'll rear end the guy in front of me and realize that this whole post could very easily be directed at myself. Fuck.
I'll start off here by admitting I'm not the best driver in the world. I like getting places quickly, and I'm also from New York. Add those two things together and you have a sticky situation at times. Just ask my good friend Mel, who witnessed my complete disregard for automobile safety so I could get home before my hungry relatives ate my aunt's clam dip last Thanksgiving. (At one point, she grabbed the sides of the seat, looked at me with terror in her eyes and screamed, "BITCH, THE CLAM DIP IS NOT WORTH IT!!!" "It," presumably, meaning our lives. Then, we got home safely and she tried the clam dip. It was then that she understood. The clam dip was indeed worth it.)
My somewhat questionable vehicular history notwithstanding, there are some moves that people pull on the road that actually make me wish I had a .22 in my car so I could just complete a drive-by and call it a day. Or, whatever you call it when you shoot someone from your car who is sitting in another car. A drive-pull-up-next-to? Whatever.
Sitting in traffic sucks. Really, really, blows. There is nothing worse than sitting in your gas-guzzling SUV, listening to it guzzle expensive gas, going nowhere. You keep looking around, but you see the same fucking thing every time you do because you haven't moved in the last hour. You've listened to every damn song on the six CDs in your changer, and even tried some of your mom's Barbara Streisand CD that she left in there, which made you about 6000 times angrier than you already were. You try listening to the radio, but three stations are playing that Rihanna song from last summer and the other three are playing "Airplanes," which is actually the most overplayed song in the history of radio. After punching the radio, you pull out your phone for the fourth time in 3 minutes, only to see that no one has texted you yet. You sigh, put your phone down, and look out the window again...only to see some jackass douchebag in a Honda Civic blow by you on the shoulder. Cue endless rage.
The shoulder, for the record, is not a lane. It's not part of the road. Off-limits. Against the rules. Not allowed. Prohibited. And lots of other synonyms for don't fucking do it. At some point, Honda driver, you are going to need to get back into the real road. Probably when you see a cop and pee yourself and all of a sudden realize you're not a real badass. If this happens anywhere near me, good luck motherfucker. I will drive within centimeters of the car in front of me until you give up and try to inch your way in somewhere else. Do not try to pull in in front of me. I will rear end the car in front of me 1000 times over before I let your disrespectful ass in. It's especially pleasing for me when everyone feels the way I do, and no one lets you in. Then you're sitting in the shoulder, looking like the moron that you are, and you get the lovely experience of watching the car that you were behind in the first place inch in front of you. Poetic justice, Honda douchebag. That's what happens when you test me.
The same goes for situations when the left lane is closing soon. On my way to work, there is an area of the road where it goes from three lanes to two. There is ample warning in the form of a big yellow sign that says "LEFT LANE CLOSING IN 1/4 MILE, MERGE RIGHT." That sign makes it abundantly clear. Tells you exactly what you need to do. Move over. If that wasn't enough, there's another sign approximately 4 seconds further down the road that says, shockingly enough, "LEFT LANE CLOSING IN 1/8 MILE, MERGE RIGHT." Now you have no excuses. You've been reminded twice in the past 10 seconds. Move. the fuck. over. And I do. I'm happily in the middle lane, proud of myself for following directions, and waiting for the left lane to slowly and calmly taper off. Then, all of a sudden, I have to slam on the brakes, snapping my neck and letting out an embarrassingly vulgar stream of swear words. Why? Because three dickwads in shitty Nissans with bumper kits that cost more than their cars decided to have "whose dick is bigger?" contest and fly down the closing left lane so they could create a bottleneck when the lane actually closes and they have to shove their way in. Why? Please. Someone. Just explain this to me. Is it fun? Should I try it? Do they yell, "Haha, slow motherfuckers!" as they drive by, even though they know they're going to have to come to a complete halt and hope that we are nice enough to let them in? Do they actually not know that the lane ends? That's impossible, right? I mean, there were 2 signs. Two big ass signs. Needless to say, same process goes for these asshats. You wanna be a douche? Fine, I'll be one too. You will sit there, with your car at an awkward angle, while I drive dangerously close to the car in front of me. I will pass you, and probably wave at you as I do. Your small, useless brain probably won't be able to process this and you'll likely think I'm hitting on you, but that's ok. I will be happy in my victory, and laugh maniacally as I see you in my rear view mirror, still stopped, blinker on, hoping for some compassion.
Then I'll rear end the guy in front of me and realize that this whole post could very easily be directed at myself. Fuck.
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