What does this mean to you? Not much. Hey, just like the local evening news! I think I’m onto something here.
Our top story tonight. Ominous fluffy clouds, pregnant with expectation (and moisture), have birthed innumerable litters of chubby drops that the WeatherTrac9000 computer calls “rain.” These drops are currently on a collision course with the place most of us live. The WeathTrac9000 calls that place the “ground.” We are currently projecting that these drops of mostly water will make the ground “wet.”
We start our exclusive News42 team coverage with Alex on remote location standing by a street. Alex?
…three seconds of awkward silence from Alex as he stares into the camera with a fake grin plastered on his face not realizing yet that he’s already on…
That’s right, Cassandra. Weather is coming to a street near you and it is pissed off. I’ll step aside to see if we can get a shot of this. You can clearly see drops of water hitting this street. And that is creating a dangerous situation that leaves some drivers out in the cold.
Earlier today this was the scene, with street surfaces wet. In one case, we found a car pulled over on the side of the road with its blinkers on. That driver was forced to sit and wait and hope that conditions would improve.
Even worse conditions may already be on the way. For that we go to Marko in the WeatherTrac9000 Weather Center. Marko?
That’s right, Alex. We are currently projecting alternating periods of light and dark at approx. 12 hour intervals until further notice. This means some rain may be less visible at certain times. Viewers are advised to remain on this channel for the latest updates as they become available.
For the intelligence-impaired here’s tonight’s Weather-Pick-Toe-Graph. This patented WeatherTrac9000 system helps those suffering from small brain syndrome to help prepare for the weather. Tonight’s picture: The Gorton’s Fishman in bright yellow slickers including full-frontal hoodie. We’re showing him holding a ship’s steering wheel but you don’t actually have to have one of your own.
For the rest of you I will now show lots of slides and animations and maps and use a lot meteorological words for eight full minutes of our 16-minute broadcast (not counting commercials).
I’ve never been into fast cars. As far as I’m concerned, the male analogy stops right there. While the other guys were talking about engine blocks and rattling off weird nonsensical numbers and making lamps out of blocks of wood in shop class, I was taking “home economics” with 29 girls and learning how to sew my own apron and make chocolate chip cookies.
Yet, when it came to driving itself, suddenly I was interested. I just didn’t care what went on inside that thing. On my birthday and the day it became legal I obtained my learner’s permit. Exactly one year later I aced my driving test.
My dad taught me to drive. We practiced together in his car (an automatic) and my car (stick shift) which I had already bought with my own money. The car cost me $300, money which I had earned working part-time at a variety of local fast food establishments. It was a 1969 Pontiac LeMans hardtop. The driver’s door never opened, you had to slide across the one-piece seat from the passenger side, and the manual transmission was so wonky and loose that I eventually became the only human who could drive that baby. You had to perform little maneuvers while shifting, like lifting, twisting and pushing down to get it to go into gear. But that baby was mine.
I moved to the big city to live with my dad but I wanted to finish my senior year of high school in my little home town. So I became a commuter at the age of 18. My daily commute was a 30-mile drive (one-way) to school.
I enjoy driving. I’ve done a lot of it. It’s the one area of my life where I am the one percent unlike the 99% of other idiots on the road. My instincts and cat-like reflexes have kept me alive when most other idiots would have perished in a fantastic ball of fire.
And I’ve never forgotten one of the most basic principles my dad taught me about being a good driver on day one with my learner’s permit in hand: Drive so that you don’t impact other drivers on the road.
This is a story about a typical idiot who never received and/or heeded such critical training.
Continue reading →
In the beginning I made this blog. It took six beers. On the seventh beer I rested. Ooops. Did I go too far?
It’s time for a mid-post reboot. Eat that, J.J. Abrams.
In the beginning of this blog, I worried a bit that it would be all about the wacky wide world of driving. Somehow, someway, I found the intestinal fortitude to branch into other areas and a guru was born. Yeah!
Even though, sometimes I have to return to my roots. This is one such time.
Tonight on the way home I began to notice that something was amiss. An urban assault vehicle in the lane next to me seemed to be going out of its way to seriously fuck with my Wheaties.
I tried to be calm. I tried to not let it bother me. I tried to assume it wasn’t personal.
A few seconds later I blew up. It probably didn’t help that I was still recovering from a self-induced embolism early in the day at the shit sandwich factory. I probably shouldn’t have been driving in my condition.
I tried to get around and in front of the asshole. No dice. Same result when I slowed down and tried to get behind. This person was clearly messing with me and I had no clue why. I hadn’t done anything wrong. As usual I had been a perfect angel, an innocent babe in the woods, yet somehow the Universe was giving me the what for.
Finally I was about to get around the idiot. As I went by, I turned to look at my opponent and gave the classic stare down of “I’m passing you, motherfucker.” Also known as the glinty eyes of steely death.
It was a woman who looked like she had stepped out of that famous American Gothic painting by Grant Wood. Her hair was pulled back tighter than … well, suffice it to say it was pretty damn tight. The only thing missing was the pitchfork. I assume that was in the back of her gigantor SUV.
S H E W A S R E A D I N G ! ! !
I repeat, “She was motherfucking goat clusters of evil reading.” She had something stretched across her entire steering wheel and she was driving at the same time she was intently studying it.
This was game on time. She picked the wrong time, wrong guru, wrong place to beg for someone to finally straighten out. It’s never too late to teach an old dog new tricks, right?
My lawyer advises me to cut this post short. But he will let me add this: