My mouth has tasted like dissolving aspirin for two days now, and I canít figure out why.
You wouldnít believe how little that sentence has to do with the rest of this post. Unless Iím missing the underlying connection, and itís all tied together, but Iím too close to see it, Iím too personally involved, Iíve been blinded by my emotions, and thatís why I donít get it even though itís so blatantly obvious to everyone else.
But I really doubt thatís the case.
I almost got in a car accident today. Actually, I almost got fucking creamed, is what happened. Itís weird, because I had actually been thinking about writing something about traffic, and then suddenly BANG I about get killed.
If there were still gods roaming around, like Greek deities and such, you can tell that Traffic would be one of them. Traffic would be a woman, of course, not because I think females are evil and fickle, but because thatís how they were always portrayed back in the day.
I donít think youíre illogical, vengeful masses of irrationality and rage, ladiesóI believe it was the Romans who created that stereotype. Iím just saying that since Iím styling this imagined minor god after the old myths, I should probably stick to their molds, you know?
So Traffic would definitely be a chick. Angry and evil, and always demanding sacrifice. Especially if you go out on the town with your boysóyou pay out your ass for that shit. If you piss her off, or fail to offer proper sacrifice, she will unleash her minionsóthe Highway Patrolóon you, and youíre locked away in the dungeon. Or perhaps she will demand your car, or even your life if you fail to appease her.
And apparently she didnít take too kindly to me thinking about writing a post about her. See how that works, Traffic? You donít threaten me!
Anyway, so I was driving along, thinking about how everyone in this city has that stupid Longhorn logo on their vehicle. You know, this one:
School just started back up, so those stupid logos are stuck on just about every vehicle that cuts you off, drives up on the curb, backs over an old lady, or kills a childís puppy. Even when school isnít in session, you see that shit everywhere.
If I have any Austin readers, Iíll probably lose them, but to tell you the truth, I donít give a shit about the school or the football team. A bunch of college kids win an important football game, how does that make my life any better? What possible impact could that have on me, other than suddenly forcing me to navigate the roads with these idiots after theyíve been drinking all day?
I see one of those little logos on a vehicle, I know to expect some shitty driving. And Iím not just referring to college kids, either. One thing Iíve learned that if thereís anything worse than a fresh-out-of-high school driver with all sorts of school pride, itís the middle-aged man with his cell phone and his styled hair and styled teeth and creepy tan. You see a forty-year-old with one of those little logos on his truck, you might as well just pull over and wait for him to kill someone further up the road. I canít stand these guys. Always laughing on their cell phones. You arenít funny, you dicks. The person on the other end of that phone doesnít like you, so just hang up and go kill yourself.
I saw this guy in a burnt-orange pickup today, his entire grill was covered with a giant longhorn insignia. He shot through a red light, swerved across three lanes of traffic, drove off of the asphalt for a second, swerved back on and crossed back across two of the lanes he had already cut through. No blinker, missing one car by mere inches, and this dickslurp didnít even look, man. He was on his cell phone, laughing, and drinking a Dr. Pepper. He must have been using his knees to drive, because I donít think he was even holding the steering wheel.
I wasnít surprised even a bit. In fact, I had actually hung back as I saw him approach the yellow light. I mean, he was still about half a block back when it changed to red, but I knew this jackoff wasnít going to stop.
And you know what? That wasnít even the part where I almost got into an accident. The douche in the University of Texas pickup got me to thinking about writing a traffic post, though. Maybe something about how the ability to handle a vehicle decreases with each piece of school flair you clutter up your vehicle with.
While I was thinking about it, I saw this lady pull up in this giant diesel truck next to me. This chick was a hoss, man. Bass thumping so loud that I could hear the music over the sound of her engine, she had a headful of curly brown hair tucked under a trucker cap, and she didnít look like she was wearing that particular style of cap for itís stylistic value. This chick, she was the type of person that the trucker cap was actually made for. Her arms were as big around as my head.
And when you calculate in all of my chins, and my store-food-for-the-winter size jowls, youíre talking a lot of girth, my friend. She looked down at me and nodded her head in a cordial ďheyĒ gesture. I just stared up in awe.
She was amazing. Iíve seen fat girls, and Iíve seen butch girls. Iíve been around women who put my masculinity to shame (one time I was trying to fix my car while a few of my friends looked on, and these two lesbians came over, took my tools away, and fixed the problem; after asking about the sound quality of my speakersówhich I had no idea about because I had never had the stereo hooked upóthey commenced to install my CD player for me).
This woman wasnít beautiful, not in the traditional sense of the word. But she was breathtaking, all the same. Maybe like when you see a mountain range for the first time, or perhaps a typhoon. She was a force. I stared at her until the light changed, and it didnít even seem to faze her. She waved as she pulled away, and I saw the bumper sticker she had stuck across her back window.
ďBush is a punk ass chump,Ē it declared.
If youíve been a loyal reader for long, you probably know my stance on slapping stickers onto your vehicle. In case you havenít been around for long: I feel that people who put stickers on their vehicles are, for the most part, a bunch of brain-dead, shit-eaters that shouldnít be allowed to use our public sidewalks, much less our roads. How these people get drivers licenses is beyond me.
There are exceptions, of course. But if you slap one of these bad boys
on your car thinking that youíre clever, you are terribly mistaken. Or perhaps you just think itís a good way to show your opposition to our nationís leader. Youíre still a fucking moron.
To tell you the truth, I got no love for the President. I feel that he is an embarrassment to our country. He is supposed to be our representative as a people, and yet instead of presenting himself as the most powerful man in the world, he bumbles around making remarks he shouldnít make, doing things he shouldnít do, being a jackass in general. You know when Tom Cruise started acting like a complete buffoon because he hired a new agent that didnít know how to control him? Jumping on couches, ranting about Scientology, making Mission Impossible 3?
Thatís what I feel has happened to our national leader. Maybe he fired his original keepers and hired a couple of his college buddies instead, I donít know.
My point is, although Iím not a fan, I donít think vandalizing my car with an unoriginal piece of adhesive garbage is a good way to tell the world about it.
Get a website, shit-chin. (In case youíre wondering, thatís actually a double insult, because I am implying that not only are you a person with shit on your chin, but you more than likely got that shit on your chin by sucking dirty ballsóit was a subtle implication, which is why I felt I should go all directorís commentary on your ass)
But even her sticker didnít piss me off. I really doubt that itís all that original, but itís the first time that Iíve seen this particular bumper sticker. And plus, it just really seemed to fit.
So, yeahÖthat was kind of the rant I was thinking about when some jackass blasted out through an intersection for no apparent reason, and almost t-boned me. I had my window down, my left arm hanging out, and as he closed the distance between his vehicle and mine at a speed close to the sonic boom shit, I held up my hand to stop him.
Yeah, man. Like a traffic cop or something. My left hand shot out in a ďSTOPĒ gesture, and I donít know what kind of good it was hoping to accomplish. My right hand jerked the wheel, and I nearly drove up on the curb, away from the lunatic that had brazenly decided to launch into me.
Whatís weird is, this whole post was supposed to about this asshole who just about rammed meóreally out of the blue, too. Instead, itís aboutÖwell, whatever the hell itís about.
Night, Liíl Homies.