Driving Me Mad, Dept.
Do you know what scorches my permanent-press? Well, actually, if you've frequented this space for any length of time, you know the correct answer is "pretty much everything." But one thing that extra-specially ticks my box?
Say we're driving here in Choc City. And someone comes screaming the wrong way down a one-way street at 30 miles over the speed limit with the headlights off at night. We honk the motherfucking bitch because, you know, she's not observing either the letter or the spirit of the rules of the road. And the piece of shit honks back. As if we were engaged in a debate rather than my expressing disapproval with the car horn because, at that moment, I can't drop a 16-ton weight on her head.
I do not understand this. If you're driving so fucktardedly badly that I have to honk my horn at you, you should meekly accept your reprimand and resolve to improve your driving skills, not chestbump me and say, "Oh, yeah?"
I regularly wonder how it is, exactly, that we survive as a species.