License to Muck Up
Well my friends, I’ve been feeling like I’ve shortchanged you by not posting any rants. The phrase “false advertising” comes to mind whenever my brain enters blogphase. (Yes, I will be trademarking that term. Don’t nobody try to tell me it’s already been coined ’cause I will throw down. And for those of you keeping track I’ve decided double negatives are now required in a rant for it to qualify as a bona fide rant.
Oh, Nefretiri, you just got SERVED! Moses ain’t got no time for your golden a$$! Moving on…)
Of course, I’ve set myself an impossible task here, so I delay. Per my specifications, ranters must meet certain eligibility requirements to deserve the title, and I’ll admit I’m a lit-tle nervous about making good on that expectation. Lotta pressure. But I suppose if I muck it up I can always deliver a new rant about how much my first rant sucked and hope that the second rant sucks less than the first.
So here we go. My topic for today is bad drivers. I live in a city that breeds them like bunnies. Only they’re not cute or fluffy or soft. (Actually some of them probably are soft.) They’re not fast, either. Unbelievably, unbearably not fast. They do, however, sit frozen in the left turn lane like startled rabbits and wait until oncoming traffic (me) closes in on them before deciding to shoot into the turn at the last minute like there’s no tomorrow- and there may not be if God forbid somebody barrels down on them while checking emails in his car.
Are people really this bad at judging distances? I have several times asked myself what leads a person to sit, and sit, and sit, watching cars approach, blink, and blink, and blink goes the turning signal, and then careen out like a derby horse at the last, worst, most reckless possible minute. I’ve never been able to come up with any sort of answer. It is behavior too dumbfounding to be believed, let alone explained. But I’m resolved to give it one more try (ok, five more tries).
Why did the bunny driver cross the road with a death wish?
- Distracted by constant calls from 15 bunny teenagers at home asking for deep fried carrots, video games, lip gloss, and cars of their own, arguing that if they had the latter they’d never need to ask anyone to pick up all the former.
- Seriously wanted to die (see reason #1).
- Was turning into the parking lot of a Target, Wal-Mart, Best Buy, or mall for some post-Thanksgiving shopping. Everybody knows one is expected to drive like a self-absorbed, unmannered, undisciplined bastard who ain’t got no raisin’ in circumstances such as these.*
- New shipment of Cabbage Patch Kids at Wal-Mart. Does not realize CPK dolls are A) much easier to get your fluffy paws on now than in 1983 and B) not actually made of cabbage.
- Is inevitably cursed, like all bunnies, with the inability to see what’s directly in front of its face.
*Not sure if you noticed, but you just got two rants for the price of one. I will call this practice “nested ranting” (TM).
That’s my best crack at this great mystery of life and nature. Of course we are left only with conjecture, and may never know what feral instincts are at work in this all-too-frequent phenomenon. If anyone has any insights on the subject you’d like to share, please make the world a better place and enlighten the rest of us in the comments section below.
Coming soon: I will share with you my abiding and bitter disdain for a local man who drives (poorly) through my neck of the woods on his way to work every day in an obnoxious black Lincoln Town Car that obviously makes him superior to the rest of the world which is why he can’t be bothered to even meet the speed limit as he meanders along on weekday mornings, when no one has anywhere to be or any sort of schedule to keep, so it’s all good, right?
Until then, my friends, the comments section is at your disposal…bad driving: rant it off!!!