Friday, October 30, 2009

My Little Road Rage

To say that I am an angry driver is a bit of an understatement. When I am alone, behind the wheel of my girl (a '98 Saturn who is way too good to me), I make Patrick Bateman look like the kind of guy you would think is a good cuddler. To those of you who make me want to chase you down, drag you out of your car, hit you on the nose with a rolled up magazine and yell, "NO!" - this is for you:

You people who drive the speed limit in the fast lane: Hi! My name is Drew! I drink too much. I am unhappy in my job. At any given time, it has probably been too long since I have been laid. I am prone to fits of rage, and my foul mouth could make a Tourette's sufferer stare in stunned silence. I like old movies and showtunes. And if you don't get out of the fast lane when I am clearly going faster than you, know this - behind you, I am planning your brutal demise. It probably involves my scrotum on the forehead of your dead corpse at some point.

You people who get butt-hurt and speed up to keep me from passing you on the right: I am not afraid to go to jail. You will lose this particular battle. Be the better person, and let me by. And that gesture you see as I race past? Don't take it the wrong way, I am just letting you know that you are #1 in my book.

And finally, you people who don't give me that little wave after I let you merge in front of me: I feel terribly sorry for your parents. They probably tried their best to raise a well-mannered, polite son or daughter. They probably speak so highly of you when someone asks them how you are doing at dinner parties. Let's just hope they never have to see what a terrible waste of human blood you have become. Seriously, on the scale of value that you bring to human society, you rank somewhere in between the still living member of Milli Vanilli, and a kiddie rapist. Say hi to your mom for me.

Hope to see you on the road!

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