Bad drivers and other things that grit my craw.

My mother is a wonderful woman in many ways. She carried me for nine months and brought me wrinkled and screaming into this world in a painful and disgusting process I would rather not think about. I owe her a debt of gratitude for that. And after the whole being born incident, she continued giving to me in many ways. She donated a significant amount of milk towards my continued existence. There was the whole ordeal with learning to use a toilet, which is a serious sacrifice by any stretch of the imagination. She taught me to read and write, and to count and add and subtract, and eventually even multiply and divide. She taught me how to cook. She taught me how to do laundry, an art I still haven’t perfected. (I’ve donated towards charity many of my belongings that mysteriously shrunk to the point I could no longer fit into them. I suspect magical foul play) All in all, she’s taught me a great deal of what I know today. She did not however teach me how to drive. I love her, but the woman can not safely handle a moving vehicle. Honestly I don’t really trust her behind the wheel of an immobile vehicle. She’s what I would consider a typical woman driver.

Now I would like to point out that I am a huge fan of women. You have many things to offer society such as intelligence, striking inner strength, a nurturing nature, and boobs. And there are women out there who are perfectly capable of driving in a controlled and non-maniacal manner, however, it has been my observation that 95% of women out there are horrible drivers. I’ll be the first to admit that women are not the only bad drivers on the road, but in all honesty, you scare me. When I see a woman driver I try and steer clear, knowing that at any time her gender handicap might take control of the wheel and send her careening on a path of carnage and destruction. You haven’t looked into the eyes of death until you’ve let a distracted woman drive you around. As suddenly as a Florida thunderstorm, the pleasant spring drive you thought you were on can transmogrify into a horror fest of shoddy lane changes and erratic stop and go mind fuckery.

I would ask that all women who drive vehicles please either stop doing so, or pay fucking attention to what you are doing. If the car you’ve been driving for five years still confuses you with it’s simple controls, that could be a sign to let a man drive. If you still have to stop and read the traffic signs in the neighborhood you’ve lived in for say, three weeks or more, don’t leave your driveway. Stay at home and try not to kill me. If you drive a school bus, this does not mean you are the king of the road, it means you are supposed to drive well enough to carry in your hands the lives of thirty or so children who may or may not have futures to look forward to if you can’t remember that the tires on the right side of your vehicle are farther out than the ones in the Camry you drive at home. Those lines painted on the street are there to help guide you, try and keep track of where you are in relation to them. If you miss your exit on the highway, please don’t stop on the side of the road and put your car in reverse. You are only begging to end your blood line. Continue on to the next exit and turn around like an intelligent, educated person. And lastly, put on your make up at home. I’m not even joking about that, don’t fucking do it in your car, or I will make it my life goal to donkey punch your dumb ass. Stop it.

You may be wondering why i feel it is my job to educate people on how not to be fucktards. Well the simple answer is that I drive a scooter, and the odds of me surviving on the roads with bad drivers are significantly less than they were when I was driving in one of those bigger thingymabobs. You know the ones with steering wheels and safety belts and airbags and the like. Cars I believe they are. At least in a car I had some metal to stop the crazies from crushing my fragile body into people paste. On a scooter I have exactly one helmet to cushion the impact. And after the initial car meets body scenario, I get to become reacquainted with asphalt. I realize scientists have conjured up with many amazing upgrades to the road ways of yesteryear, but I assure you the pavement is just as hard and abrasive now as it was when you were a child.

“But Josh,” you say, “you are so incredibly good looking, surely a few scars would only make you more rugged and handsome, a true sight to behold!” Yes, it’s true. I do look incredible, and scars only make me more irresistible to women, but actually getting them, especially in the face area, is a rather unpleasant process. I mean, Jesus took extra time chiseling this face out of granite, you wouldn’t want to deface his art would you? Would you want to piss off Jesus? No, I didn’t think so, so drive carefully. “But Josh,” you say, “you have the body of a Greek God, surely a little tumble wouldn’t phase your Herculean physique.” Yes, it’s true. As a matter of fact I have already lived through one such incident. Back in the day, I was driving myself home from my job as half mayor of kickassville, half male model, and some rednecks decided to have a little fun with me. They ran me off the road, and I promptly lost any and all traction in the gravel on the side of the highway. I was traveling at approximately forty miles per hour. For those of you who use the metric system that’s approximately fast-as-shit. It doesn’t really matter how fast you’re going, hitting the ground from a standing position hurts. I’ve got some wicked scars from that incident. So long story short, I know what it feels like to survive a wreck with no protection besides a helmet, and I’d like to leave my personal experience with using rocks to remove my face at it’s current status. No more road tumblin’ for me, Let’s leave the tumblin’ for the weeds and the bedroom shall we. Learn to drive people.

Several other things have pissed me off lately, and I will gladly inform you of what those things are right now. Look, I understand that if you are a high school drop out with a vague-at-best grasp on English (that means you, Ebonics speaking mother fuckers) I understand it may be hard to find a good job, and you may have to seek employment at the grocery store I’ve been going to for the last decade. I’ve seen many of you come and go in that time. However there is no excuse for not knowing how to use the register. You scan something, and then move on to the next item. For items like produce, someone who actually knows their head from their ass has programed the computer sitting in front of you to help you identify those objects using pictures, since clearly learning the actual names of food (in proper English) is far beyond your grasp. Just one time I’d like to make it through the express lane with my three items without waiting fifteen minutes while Shameka goes and gets her manager Lavonda to help her figure out what all those weird curvy lines mean. They’re letters idiot, and together they form words and sentences. Try and keep up, I don’t have all day. And please use protection next time you are sleeping with every guy you see, because clearly you shouldn’t be reproducing. Also learning how to count to one hundred might come in handy since making change is part of your job. It’s not hard, we’ve taught horses to count, even you can do it.

If your eyes point in different directions, I’m allowed to stare at you. If your ass squishes out eight inches past your hula hoop sized belt, and you take up more than two chairs, I’m allowed to stare at you. If you are severely scarred or deformed, I’m allowed to stare at you. If you kid is retarded, I’m allowed to imitate them. If you hair is fake, I’m allowed to point and laugh. If people can’t tell if you are a man or a woman, I’m allowed to say “it’s Pat” and laugh like I just came up with that myself. If you are more than forty years old, or two hundred pounds, and you leave your house without a bra, I’m allowed to grimace and make saggy boob movements. If you’re a man and you swish when you walk, have a salmon colored shirt on, or clearly do stuff to you eyebrows, I’m allowed to make gay jokes in public and throw my wrist forward in the universal homo-gesture. If you are too old to walk at normal speed, I’m allowed to cut in front of you at any time. If you don’t hit your children enough to shut them the hell up when they are in public, then I’m allowed to yell at both them and you. Hey, they can yell apparently, and so can I, but I do it better and louder, and I’ll teach them words you’ve never even heard of. If the office people get fancy coffee shit, and I have to start work an hour before them, then it’s my right to take their coffee shit and use it for the guys who do real work every morning. You can buy some star bucks with all that money I keep hearing about. If you dress like a slut, I can treat you like one. If you act like a bitch, I can call you one. If you talk about shit you don’t know anything about, I can call you out, I would expect you to do the same for me. If you approach me in a parking lot and talk to me about Jesus, I’m allowed to send you to meet him. and lastly, if you don’t know me, you don’t get a cigarette, or any change, (sorry Em, I know how you feel about bums, but I just can’t do it) you may however have the time, which is always “time to get a new watch”.


15 responses to “Bad drivers and other things that grit my craw.

  1. Transmogrify! You totally read Calvin and Hobbes! Yes!!!! And while my eyebrow does raise at the whole women driver thing, I don’t drive, so I suppose I can’t comment. Also, I KNOW that I would be a bad driver. I have road rage and I’ve never even looked at the how-to book! And I’m all about the pointing and laughing. And I know there’s this whole equal-opportunity thing, but I don’t want someone with a scary purple face working at my grocery store!!! At least put them in the back, come on!!!

  2. Dude, you are me, just younger and male. Every one of the things you just wrote I have said at one time or another, and yes, I’ve wrecked on bikes too.
    But goddamn you made me laugh my ass off to the point where the hubby came in to see if I was ok!

  3. Em: Yes, I’m a big fan of Calvin and Hobbes. I think I’ve read every book ever. And you are without a doubt exempt from the bad women drivers bitch fest. Besides even if you did drive, you’re too cute to get mad at. And if you are a freak, just recognize that and go with it. Shit man, you don’t really have much good in your life at that point, just have some fun. And get away from my food.

    Donna: Hard core lady! You wrecked a bike? That’s way cooler than wrecking a scooter, but still about the same as far as bad days go. I just happened to be wearing leather that day or I would have been way worse off. How did your wreck go? I’m glad I made you laugh.

  4. Hahaha…I love calling people Pat, even if it’s like 15 years later from when Pat was at its height!!! πŸ˜‰

    And dude, I am not BAD driver…I am not a great driver by any means, but I promise I wouldn’t harm any scooter-riding greek-god-chisel-face-hottie like yourself, I promise it!!! πŸ™‚

    Finally, I enjoy putting the ‘ol knockers on display from time-to-time, but I knowingly go into such scenarios with the knowledge that I’ll be objectified, and I dig it…..and other days I just wear big sweaters and ask the world to fuck off (that’s usually when I’m having my period…YO! That right there was a “too much information” moment on Josh’s comment-thread, brought to you by romi41 πŸ˜‰ )

  5. Romi: No, too much information would have been if you told us about how you pull out your bloody tampons and whirl them over your head like David facing Goliath before hurling them headlong at the faces of men who do happen to objectify you during ladies days. While farting.

  6. OH MY GOD, that was the most disturbing/funniest thing I’ve ever read, hahaha πŸ™‚

  7. I don’t understand why mothers gets thanked “for having me”. Big deal…it’s just sorta how it works, y’know? Since I’m female, I had no choice but to do it that way!

    While I am not guilty of any of those terrible driving habits you mentioned, I admit I am not a great driver. My peripheral vision isn’t all that great and I do not like to change lanes. I know one way to get somewhere and that’s it, so don’t tell me any other way to get there, please. But, having said all that, every morning on my way to work it’s some MAN who is on my ass and darting in and out of traffic and running red lights. I mostly think we are all bad drivers, period, because everybody is in a big ass hurry.

    And, Josh, I still don’t agree with everything you say – ’cause you are young and kinda “out there”, y’know – but I always enjoy your writing. Always.

  8. Romi: It’s what I do.

    Belle: I assure you most of my ranting is tongue in cheek and not to be taken seriously. I only harp on poor women drivers because 1) seriously, my mother scares the shit out of me, and 2) it’s funny. I completely understand that all drivers suck. Believe me, I hate men just as much as women when they are on the road. There’s just a lot of comedy in the female side of this topic, so I went there. Thanking the old lady for birthing me was really just a lame segue into the main topic of whining about her bad driving. And I sincerely hope you don’t agree with everything I say because if anyone knows I’m young and dumb and way too mouthy, it’s me. But I live my idiocy with conviction anyway, because I’d rather be all the way wrong and rock solid than right and flaccid.

  9. “You haven’t looked into the eyes of death until you’ve let a distracted woman drive you around.” Laughed. My. Ass. Off. I don’t do any of those things you mentioned, but I drive like an asshole. I haul ass everywhere I go.

    This was one of the best rants ever. πŸ™‚

  10. Ha! Totally laughed my ass off… at work.. and got funny looks but whatev. And you so reminded of the hell I had this weekend driving around with my sister. She had errands to run and her husband was working so like an idiot I said, sure! I’ll go with you! Yeah… my sister on a good day is a scary ass fucking driver but on Saturday I swear to you my life flashed before my eyes and I said, Scare me! more then once. She was driving her husbands big ass Durango and talking on her cell phone and kept going over the lines and I was literally clutching my seatbelt and even once asked, hey can I drive? Which promptly got me, Shut up bitch, I can drive! Which yeah… that’s a joke! I on the other hand think I’m a pretty good driver and have even been told I’m not a scary driver but hey, I agree with you Josh, women can’t fucking drive and are scary as hell on the roads.

  11. Lucky: Yes, I do too, back when I had a car. but I also paid attention to what was around me. And I never did retarded shit.

    Allie: Loved the story. That’s exactly what riding with the old lady is like, except she is laughing constantly as I make fun of her driving, so I’m worried about her getting enough oxygen, or tearing up or something.

  12. I can work on cars. I can sometimes fix them. I can build an engine even, a carb, I can do basic stuff . . however, I can NOT drive worth a fucking shit. And i know this. It’s probably because I have tits.

  13. Red: That’s cool. Having tits and being a woman who can work on cars makes you so desirable that it’s ok to be a public menace.

  14. I know this is a way late comment (I wonder if you read back two weeks ago) but I might have to go along with you in the gender car-driving stereotypes. Here’s a little game that I do. When I see a bad driver in front of me, I do a quick assessment: “are they being stupid, or are they being an asshole.” The assholes (cutting people off, accelerating too fast, tailgating) are likely men. The stupid drivers (distracted stuff mostly) are probably women. I make my stereotype guess as to what gender the driver is, then move up alongside to check my answer. I’m right 90% of the time.

    And I’ll be the first to admit I’m a terrible around-town driver. I get distracted (looking at flowers in someone’s yard or noticing what color bicycle is parked on the curb) and get lost in my own city. I’m also really timid, if I see a car coming up to a stop sign as I’m driving past, I always slow down “just in case he runs the stop sign.” BUT! On the freeway I rock the house, I am the most expert long-haul driver. Maybe I’ll become a trucker in my next life.

  15. Jennifer: You are absolutely right. In fact I do the same thing. But let me put it this way. Around town, men suck just as much, cause there’s less room to be aggressive, and therefore more accidents caused by the street aggression, and on the highway women still get distracted by trying to put on their make up, or talk on the phone, or deal with kids. My point is that I also play your game, and your observations are true, but despite my gender specific rant, both sexes, and all races, suck at driving to the point I want to mount cannons on my car like Batman.

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