2. I was driving home from work the other day and something occurred that I found hilarious. I forgot to put it on here and I feel that it deserves to be added. I'm following a green dodge neon that looked a lot like this car (only dark green).
This particular neon wasn't all green, one door was primer gray, and one wheel was a donut. You know, the little tire for replacement when you get a flat. You know, the type that you aren't supposed to drive farther than 50 miles on or faster than 45 miles per hour or something like that. This neon was equipped with a performance muffler (gotta have the fart tube) and a wing. Straight fast an furious style wing too. If it wasn't this exact wing, it looked just like it.
With one racing rim, two black ones, one donut, a wing, and fart tube, this dude was ready to destroy the competition.
Little did I know, I was to be that competition. So speed racer is driving along at roughly 40 mph which just so happens to be 5 miles per hour slower than the speed limit. My only guess is that it's difficult to maintain speed and work the carb on your bong at the same time. I waited and waited and he didn't speed up. Finally a passing zone came so I clicked my turn signal and began to go around him. This was the signal for our protagonist to wake the sleeping giant which was his roaring beast of a 4 cylinder engine (which I'm quite sure was only running on 2 or 3).
I get half way around an my scally friend decides to floor it. What could I do? Slow down and just give up the pass? Not likely. I hit the gas too. Apparently my extra cylinder was enough to give me the necessary edge. He accelerated, I accelerated. I began to pull a slight lead, he kept on it. I pulled farther up and he kept trying. He kept on it and I could hear the roar (not a good roar). All of the sudden there was a bang like a gunshot going off. Black smoke begins to pour from his car and he quickly begins losing speed. I watched in my rear view as his car coasted to a stop on the side of the road. His girlfriend in the front seat, his friend in the back. I could almost feel the disappointment in their car for their imagined loss of pink slip for his tuned up racer.
For a second I thought maybe I should feel bad for him, losing such a treasure as that awesome, high speed power plant under his hood, but only for a second. I realized that he was going to lose his girlfriend to somebody with an even cooler car. Probably a chevy cavalier with a bigger fart tube and more impressive wing. This is how things go in the world of high stakes redneck racing, you have to stay on top to keep the girl, he knew it when he got involved. I ain't saying she's a gold digger but she ain't hanging wit no broke wiggers.
I take solace in knowing that he cried himself to sleep that night, a broken man. For the next two weeks he will tear apart broken leaf blowers and lawn mowers in a desperate attempt to get his pride and joy up and running again. He'll be back on the roads soon, striking terror into the heart of all those who dare challenge his reign of the roads. I wish him the best in his quest for future domination.
3. I drove to Virginia for the weekend, as I always do. I'm kinda starting to enjoy it. It's time to myself, to think, and listen to my coveted audiobooks. Maybe it's simply the end result that I love so much, I think that's probably it. Point being I look forward to it all week. I look forward to it until I get to the beltway. What a fucking atrocity. There are far to many people on this road and I always hit at rush hour.
Why can't people drive? This is not a difficult task. Every single person must jockey for a better lane. Choosing the proper lane on the beltway is like standing in front of 4 heavyweight boxers and trying to decide which one you would like to punch you in the face. You aren't going to win no matter how hard you try. If people would just stay out of the right lane so that cars can move onto the road, and stay in their own lane so others don't have to constantly hit the brakes, shit would work out, I promise.
Instead, people insist on weaving back and forth from this side to that like a drunk in a titty bar. With each reckless lane change, 2 miles of cars in three lanes behind have to slam on their brakes. Traffic comes to a crawl and idiots eventually and inevitably slam into one another. Every single little thing brings traffic to a halt. I would rather drive for 2 hours at speed limit than sit for a half hour fucking around. It never fails that as soon as traffic stops I realize I have to piss. My blood pressure rises to dangerous levels, and I wish I had the truck from Mad Max so I could just plow them out of the way. My goddamn GPS said 24 minutes to arrival for at least 34 minutes.
It never fails that in roughly 20 miles I pass at least 2 accidents. I always think the same thing to myself. Somebody better fucking be dead! Nobody ever is dead and I find this disheartening, I know they'll be back driving like an asshole next time, causing more accidents. This past trip there were three cars in one "fender bender". This was a weak ass accident. There were no fire trucks, no medics, just two cop cars. All 5 cars are parked on the median well out of the way of traffic and they'd obviously been there for a while. Still, every single asshole has to slow down and rubberneck to see what the fuck has occurred. I have a great plan. How about you fucking idiots just drive. Pay the fuck attention to what you're doing and get where you're going. It is none of your business what has happened and you can't drive when you are concentrating on it so stop worrying about what they're doing.
My trip always takes an extra hour because of you ass clowns. I just hope that the same fate befalls everybody who slows traffic just to get a good look at the misfortune of others. I really need to find a better way to get where I'm going.
4. I'll never drink Samuel Adams beer again. That awful shit tried to kill me this past weekend!
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