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Driving Me Crazy by Ray Printer Friendly

So I’m back from the wedding. It was about as much fun as you would expect, unless you’re the type of person who enjoys weddings. I am not. I hate dressing up, I hate being in front of people, and I’m not too fond of watching people commit to each other.

I heard it was a pretty great ceremony—very beautiful, people said. I mostly just saw the back of my brother’s head, and the back of his dad’s head. They both had nice haircuts. I guess that kind of counts as a beautiful ceremony.

And the bride, I saw her for a minute when she was walking down the aisle. Pretty hot little number—good job, Bro’.

Ft. Worth. Man, freakin’ Ft. Worth. On one hand, you just want to track down the people responsible for making the roads, and kick them all in the throat. On the other hand, you sort of have to respect their total commitment to making a system of roads that doesn’t fucking work. At all.

Ft. Worth roads are like when you read horror novels, and there’s some crazy old man that had his house built from scratch, and although it looks like just some twisted ugly house, the architectural design is actually some weird alter that’s used to bring evil demons and monsters in from another dimensions. And the Ft. Worth drivers, they’re like the evil demons and monsters. I bitch about Austin drivers a lot, because most of the people here really suck at driving. But Ft. Worth is worse. It’s like those people get behind the wheel with a real desire to kill. Or be killed.

In the future, that will be what Texans do with the criminals. Like when the state legislature finally gets sick of hearing all the execution jokes. Every criminal will be sentenced to a certain amount of time in Ft. Worth traffic—no airbags, no seatbelts, and no safety gear.

“In a rather harsh sentence today, Judge Hammer sentenced the killer to four years of Ft. Traffic, in a VW Bug. For more, we go to Becky Lewis, who is live at the courthouse. Becky?”

“Yes, Diane, I am here at the courthouse, where the sentence has just been passed. Behind me you can see the convicted. As you may remember, he killed a family of four last November, and then burned down an orphanage. Now, Diane, even the most die-hard supporters of justice are worried about this sentence. It will be appealed, of course, but until then, the convicted will be driving through Ft. Worth.”

The camera goes back to the studio, you see Diane all pale and shaking her head, wondering if maybe the government has gone too far.

The strange thing is, it’s really difficult to decide what the main problem is. I mean, on one hand, the roads are just downright awful. They make no snese, they don’t connect, and they end abruptly and without warning. Like you’ll be on an eight-lane highway that suddenly turn into a four-lane. No “merge right” signs, no “lane ends” signs, no gradual easing over of lanes. One second, you’re hauling ass beside several cars, all of you in your respective lanes, and then next, you’re in an accident. Or like, you’ll go to take an overpass, and you end up in a pasture somewhere.

Like I saw my hotel, just on the other side of the highway, I take an exit, get on the access road, cross over, and take a left to get back to the hotel. The access road suddenly veers away from the highway completely, and goes like five miles out into the middle of nowhere. The only thing out there is another intersection that leads to a whole different access road that leads you to an empty field, a construction site, and gigantic mud puddle. Once you maneuver through all kinds of shit like that, you finally end up back on the original access road, twenty-seven extra miles on your odometer, even though you’re only like a third of a mile further down than you were a half-hour ago. And if you miss your turn to the hotel, you have to take the entire route again, because there isn’t a single right turn to be found.

Even the parking lots don’t connect. Like I accidentally turned into the Denny’s when I was trying to get to the bank. I figured it wouldn’t be a problem, since it was all part of the same shopping center. But interconnecting parking lots weren’t part of the evil architecture, apparently. Every time you wanted to drive to a new store, you had to pull back out into traffic, wait your two hours for the traffic light to change, risk your life pulling out into traffic, drive ten feet to the next entrance, and pull back in.

And waling through the parking lots? Shit man, I’d almost rather drive. I had to return my rental tux, almost got hit four times. Four times! At one point, I was almost crushed between a minivan that was coming around a corner, and an SUV. Neither of them felt like stopping, and I was trapped in the middle. The bright side being that you really feel like Indiana Jones when you finally get to safety. You make it back to your car from Old Navy, you feel like you’re flying off in a plane, leaving behind the natives with their spears. Of course, then you get out into traffic, and you feel like you’re getting your ass handed to you by some giant bald man, and by the time you can find a propeller to trick him into standing in front of, it’ll be far too late.

A terrible place, that Ft. Worth. If you live there, I don’t even know what to tell you. I would say move, but chances are, you’re already broken, and it would be like a spreading cancer if you went anywhere else. It’s better you just stay there, try not to reproduce, and wait to die your natural death—which, for Ft. Worth, is probably like a ten-car pileup. The whole place should be cordoned off, and the roadways should be blown up. Let nature take over for a few decades, and then maybe try the whole road thing again.

Because whoever did it the first time, they hated you guys. If it isn’t some gateway to Hell, it’s either a terrible practical joke that went too far, or a flat-out attempt to kill Ft. Worth drivers. I can’t say enough about how bad the roads are, or how much ball sack the drivers suck.

You know that part in the Bible where Samson lights that fox’s tail on fire and puts it in the fields? That’s what someone should do to the Ft. Worth roadways. Like maybe just get Godzilla, light his ass up, and set him free. Because that would be safer than what is going on now.

You see cops all over the place, too. At first I thought it was because all you have to do is sit still for about three seconds to see some sort of major traffic violation. Like maybe these guys were just making all sorts of money. But then I noticed that mostly they just sat by the side of the road. Probably too frightened to get out into traffic, and I don’t blame them a bit. So I figured that they’re probably there just to put people out of their misery.

You get in an accident, there’s no way that they’re risking medical people to come save you, so if you can’t make it to the hospital, the cop just walks out and caps your ass. Maybe burns your car up so that people can keep driving, I don’t know.

Anyways, I guess this was supposed to be a post about my trip or about weddings or something, but once I started thinking about my trip, the only thing I could think about was the terrible traffic. Everyone I talked to complained about the traffic. Except for the lunatics that live in Ft. Worth. While there, I decided that anyone who didn’t complain about the traffic, I wasn’t getting anywhere near them in a vehicle. Or urine stains, maybe.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“Not too good, man. Pissed myself.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Traffic.”

“I hear that—look at my pant leg.”

“You, too, huh?”

“It’s crazy out there.”

“Yeah, yeah it is. Wanna carpool?”

“Sure—get yourself cleaned up and we’ll roll.”

They should offer counseling at the city limits. Post traumatic stress or something. Survivor’s guilt. Or we should all get prizes. They check your odometer when you enter, and when you leave, and the size of your prize depends on how many miles you put on.

“I got a teddy bear—I was passing through.”

“I was there for six days.”

“Yeah? What did you get?’

“Got into three accidents. My prize is this prosthetic leg.”

“Looks great—you can hardly tell it’s not your real leg.”

“It itches.”

Anyways, I guess that’s about it. I’m dedicating this rant to any of the survivors form this weekend. Good job, team.


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