15 Assholes Who Shouldn’t Be Driving
Many believed the early 21st century as the time where flying cars would be a common means of transportation. Unfortunately, these cars of tomorrow will only fly in the clouds of our dreams. People have yet to responsibly handle the automobiles of today in a semi-intelligent manner, which requires only a pinch more brain power than applying Crayola's within a defined coloring area. Here are fifteen assholes who shouldn't be driving.
"The Hogger" feels the need to take two parking spaces for their one car. This is also the annoying prick who busts phat tunes down your street early in the morning. While desperately trying to find a spot to park that isn't ten miles away, you'll encounter a vehicle wasting an additional parking space in a failed attempt to prevent any kind of blemish on the fine Maaco-paint finish, even though the car itself cost less than the stereo installed in it. Oh, and by the way, I'm the shithead who keyed your Honda.
"The Hesitator" has absolutely no consideration for other drivers and will disregard your presence as if you're a four-eyed fat chick at a nightclub. Changing their mind at the last possible minute, they'll try to insert themselves into the other lane of vehicles stopped at a light, but can't quite squeeze in, screwing up traffic in all lanes. Despite the possibility they may be a 75-year-old man or a middle-aged woman behind the wheel, you'll immediately relish daydreams of pulling them out of their car and violently beating them with a tire iron.
"The Porpoise" lacks the ability to execute the driving maneuver known as merging, completely fearful of the accelerator, and ends up attempting to get on the highway several hundred feet after the onramp has already ended. While enjoying a nice slow cruise on the shoulder, this causes a bottleneck on the highway while holding up others who wish to become one with the vehicular artery, fucking up your entire day and causing those wonderful gaps of slower speeds that last for an hour.
"The Worrier" enjoys stopping one or several car lengths behind the vehicle in front of them in short turn lanes and quick stop lights, wasting space that could be used by other drivers. They distance themselves to protect their spectacular automobile from exhaust and dirt particles. After all, they got a great deal on the lease. However, they don't realize the rest of their vehicle is getting bombarded with the same environmental treatment they're trying to avoid. When the light turns green, they take forever and a day to put their foot on the gas.
When driving, red means no. Red lights mean you can't go. Red circles with slashes through them mean you can't enter, turn, or perform whichever driving maneuver you wish to attempt. "The Dalton" will exempt themselves from red lights and red signs. Their personal schedule and desire to arrive at their destination no more than ten minutes late is more important than you. What? Wrong way? Fuck wrong way! They've got to get to their chiropractor appointment and then to the clinic to have those anal warts removed!
Two-lane on-ramps are quite dangerous, especially when someone ballsy enough to drive a pink Ford Probe tries to pass everybody in order to get in front of the line before the lanes merge together. "The Hare" will rush to be the first to jump on the highway like a fat kid on Hamburger Tuesday. They'd rather let you eat guard rail for lunch then allow you to merge. Be careful not to engage them with a quick bird. They'll put their pedal to the floor and absolutely smoke you before sideswiping the concrete divider up ahead.
One of the most irritating spectacles in driving is watching other vehicles reduce speed and become annoyingly slow at the mere sight of law enforcement. "The Pussy" tends to slow down and follow the police in complete fear of actually having a cop give a shit they're going one mile over the speed limit, even if the police cruiser is well below it. This unfortunate circumstance spreads to other drivers nearby, clogging up traffic and instantly turning speed demons into the slowest of snails, while our donut-binging men in blue laugh at you in contempt.
One of the most outrageous offenses to the automobile is "The Overachiever." This cubical-stuffed poser or their uptight, pretentious wife proudly drives around town in their sport utility vehicle, yet never actually uses it for sport. They will pollute the city and destroy the atmosphere in a vehicle designed to drive over large boulders, mountains, and other tough terrain. However, their vehicle's tires will never once touch anything other than pavement, nor will their storage capacity carry a payload beyond a few bags of groceries.
"The Watcher" will slow down traffic to observe another idiot who wasn't paying attention and wrapped their CRX around a tree. Unless your car is ripped to shreds with your burning body melting against the dash while your severed limbs spray blood several meters in front of your painfully dying torso, drive on. It has nothing to do with you, nor does anybody involved at the scene care that you're interested. Besides, we need to get you back into the frey so you can be next in line.
"The Pac-Man" is doing everything but driving. Due to their lackluster efforts at multitasking, they're driving on the lane dividers instead of in the lanes themselves. They're too busy putting on their make-up, chatting on their cell phone, reading the newspaper, digging a booger out of their nose, eating and drinking, playing with themselves, or any other activity that negates having at least one hand on the wheel, one eye on the road, and one foot consistently on a pedal.
"The Buddy" sticks with you at all times. If you speed up, they speed up alongside you. If you slow down, they'll follow suit. Any attempt you make to remove yourself from their presence will fail. You don't know who they are, what their problem is, or why you've been selected to be the source of their attention. You won't be able to change lanes because they're stuck to you like an annoying dingleberry. Only vehicular manslaughter, the brandishing of a weapon, or a sudden increase in traffic will sever your partnership.
"The Runner-Up" desperately needs to get from point A to point B as dangerously as possible. They'll ride your ass until the opportune moment to go around you, even if you're in the fast lane and oodles of slower traffic are to your right. Once they've managed to switch lanes, they'll quickly change their mind and immediately jerk back to the left. Due to the obscene amount of ignorance on their behalf, their disorganized driving maneuvers end up simply hindering everyone.
The Mystery Man
"The Mystery Man" will never once use the turn signal from the first moment they purchase their vehicle to the final wave goodbye after selling it. During their travels on streets and highways, their journey is clear to them, but a complete mystery to you. When following them, you'll play a mind numbing game of chess, completely oblivious to their next move. When they're a part of oncoming traffic, they'll turn without notice. If they're pulled over or stalled on the road, engaging their hazard lights will be the farthest thing from their ignorant mind.
During the evening hours, the "The Blinder" can sometimes be among you. They feel it completely necessary to leave their brights on at all times, even in areas that are well lit by street lamps, bathing everyone in their immediate presence in massive high-beam wonderment. Although it is commonly a misdemeanor to drive in the city with these lights activated, they ignore any respect for nearby drivers who now only see intense glare. They believe they are all-knowing, all-powerful, and must complete their self-absorbed trifecta by being all-seeing.
"The Banker" will tie up a drive-up lane at the bank or a toll booth for up to twenty minutes while they fumble through statements, receipts, calculations, and other financial materials in a failed organizing endeavor. Their inability to fill out transaction slips, endorse checks, or ready a handful of change prior to driving up to the pneumatic tube dispenser or attendant will frustrate you to the point of making a serious consideration that flooring the gas and ramming the inconsiderate cunt out of the way is vital to your survival.