I have had it with Calgarians who, in their own horseshoe mustache wearing, 90210 sideburn pomping, drivers seat slouching, wifebeater shirt wearing style think they have more superior driving skills than the average hick. Here are a couple of examples of a typical driving experience on any given day in cowtown:
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Car manufacturers install a small stem with arrows displayed on it located on the left hand side of a steering wheel for one reason. Unfortunately, a large percentage of you don't have the common sense that a Class 5 gave you (if you have the education to have one) to understand what it is for, hence you don't use it. Pull stem down for left, push up for right, not pull wheel to right and left depending on where the closest hockey game is playing. There is nothing more annoying than having Joe Stampede in front of you weaving in and out of lanes without signaling, simply because he is wasting precious hockey time getting to the nearest pub to tell his friends how much he knows about the size differential between Kipper and Iggys dick.
Just because you went to Canadian Tire, blew your cheque on a $100 performance exhaust and a cheap fuel filter to replace those already rusted onto your 1994 Honda Civic and to make your dick feel larger, doesn’t mean that your car is Nascar worthy or that anyone will mistake you for Mario. It’s pathetic when I see gunners blowing rust up a main road, weaving in and out of traffic just so they can meet their friends waiting at a McDonalds parking lot to tell them how many people they blew away. It is amusing when you think someone actually went through the trouble of replacing his exhaust for 30 extra horsepower, half that if there is rust, foolish enough to think that the lawnmower/bee sound is going to impress those around them. Those exhausts will even be more laughable in about 5 years, about as cool as we thought having an Alpine tape deck was 15 years ago. A word of advice: Buy a real car without having to decorate the piece of shit you already have.
It has been 25 years since it was first introduced, but Calgarians and everyone else in the world still think it is the cats meow to be seen on a cell phone. They will risk their life trying to maneuver their vehicle on the road while using it, walk through any public area in an otherwise private conversation using it, and sooner or later they will be able to swim with one so everyone around can see how “uber-cool” you really are. Bluetooth developed the technology for one reason: to get the phone off your ear. It is popular, but not so much for people who are still caught up in the 80’s in the fantasy that people might think you are on a tight agenda at 18 while shopping for a new pair of plastic earrings at Wal-Mart. They are the ones I see who are much too cool to have a wireless transmitter in their ear. I just hope someday that my cell phone will make me as awesome as they are and people will only then understand why I am driving all over the road, slumped in my seat while looking around to verify that people notice I am talking on the latest verge of communication technology from 25 years ago.
The Bumper Sticker
Driving mere inches away from my bumper is not going to make me go any faster. It may have worked for you last night when someone couldn’t see the impatient bastard behind them and pulled to the other lane to let you pass, but it will never work when you are on my watch. I am ahead of you for a reason, so suck it up or pull over and take a breather. If anything, I will be all the more eager to slowing down only to piss your ass off even more. I see you in my rear view, and waving your hands or dancing like it’s senior prom isn’t going to make me fear the choleric prick behind me that is you.
High beam headlights are meant for improving visibility for the road ahead, generally for long distances to avoid animals which may wander into your path or when there is poor visibility due to weather. As important as you might think you are, especially with your new Xenon Halogen headlights blinding towards me on a main road, only reminds me of the little sense you have for using them on an otherwise clear night.
The Christopher Columbus
Sunday drives are great, as long as you have some idea where you are going. If you don’t, get a map. Wandering aimlessly, looking around for something you have no clue of finding is pointless. Unless you know the address, don’t leave home without one.
So someone had a case of misfortune and caused an accident, but that doesn’t give you a right to assess the situation and make traffic even worse by slowing down. Looking at an accident isn’t going to help them, and there is no response team waiting up ahead for your two cents. Keep moving.
If you never had enough time to put on all your makeup before you left, attempting to finish it on your way to your destination only tells me you have too much to hide, like consideration for the road for instance. If you don’t make it a habit to pee in your drivers seat, obviously your car isn’t a bathroom and you can wait to paint when you park.
Yelling at me through a closed window because your dick is too small or my car is everything yours will never be is not my problem. I am not a lip reader, so if you have something to say, try being all you can be and wave me to the nearest exit.
Having bumper stickers that read “Jesus lives” or “Jesus Saves” or “God hates Calgary drivers too” is not going to make you holier than thou. Some extremists here have even hand painted religious rhetoric on their vehicles, probably in the false belief that God will spare their Volkswagon, their vegetables, fuzzy dice and yellow Crocs simply because he appreciated the fact that they visited Paint Your World.
Even though your time is so precious, sitting on a railroad track in traffic is not going to make you go faster in the direction you are going. Rather, if you get hit, you are going to find it a little difficult to switch lanes without signaling, pass everyone else, be uber-cool on your cellphone, ride my bumper, blind me, wonder where you are, ponder accidents, put on your face, yell at me and praise the lord all while the train is pushing your 1994 Honda Civic into oblivion.
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