Kazoos Make Good Weapons. Fact.


The guy driving looks like that nerdy kid with no friends until he got his license and is now the only DD to parties he’s not allowed into.

I don’t think you understand exactly how annoyed I am with most drivers these days. It’s largely in part that summer is here, which, like winter, brings about the most joyful of characters that I’m presuming are celebrating their newly acquired licenses by practicing the art of pissing me off. Let me try to understand something.

You have in fact graduated from a non-driver, to a driver under supervision, to a solo driver that is void of all laws, be it in the eyes of the police and OPP, or the eyes of your fellow driving public. That’s three tiers! THREE!

Where in there were you taught how to drive like a maniac? Where in that span of learning were you taught that you’re complete and utter lack of recognition of those around you is acceptable? Where exactly did you form the basis of assuming that other drivers will indeed make up for your stupid, idiotic and most importantly, dangerous maneuvers?

Cause I wanna play too.

I would very much like it if your driving school exists and is taking applications. I assume they would teach the following:

– How to do a donut; not necessarily in snow,

– How to smoke whatever substance while texting,

– How to make my muffler sound like a dirtbike,

– How to blare crazy annoying and shitty music at a decibel that makes my future children that aren’t even planned born with ringing in their ears

– How to soup (sp?) up my car to the extent that I would be cool enough to hang out in a Burger King parking lot every Friday night. (douchebag alert)



– How to get that fancy dohicky that puts vehicles into hyper speed, as I enjoy my car to make me nauseous when going as fast as my brain does after I’ve intravenously had three coffees.

I think you get the point. That driving course is sounding tres cool and now I want to be a Monster Truck driver. (Insert awesome band song here)

(I just had a lovely mishap with a fire alarm and thinking it was Monday…)

Back to my story.

Since it’s spring, and the lovely things that make me sneeze are growing, and the clothes I chose to wear in the morning don’t fit the afternoon rays, I’ve noticed that there’s a trend arising.

(This is somehow directed at the younger crowd, which is also a trend for most of my blogs… Very telling…)

As I travel both in the city and on highways to different cities during non-peak hours, I have successfully avoided 6 or 7 accidents in the last month that, if they were to happen, I would be a millionaire from the amount of suing I would do. Maybe that wouldn’t be achievable in Canada, as it’s far easier to sue anyone and anything in the States, but regardless, I would try, and for the sake of this monstrosity of an entry, I would win.


The Game of Life has that option right?

Those “almost accidents” could be completely avoidable if stupid drivers everywhere were taught some basic unwritten rules of the road.

Perhaps, next time, at 1 in the afternoon, after getting day drunk you should maybe pay special attention to those lines separating the fast lane and the HOV lane. (This is a lane specifically designated for cars with more than one passenger)


Frogger didn’t play by the rules either, and his mortality rate was not high. Quite the opposite. One would say it is low.

There’s a goddamn line for a goddamn reason, and the HOV divider is quite big compared to those other solid lines you shouldn’t be passing… unlike the lane for onramps and off ramps. They’re safe. Surprisingly, the dashed and solid lines were designed and implemented for safety of EVERYONE you selfish, selfish human. The HOV lane is not a passing lane. In fact, if you ARE using the HOV lane as a passing lane, then you obviously are not aware that the lane t to the right of the HOV lane is already the passing lane. Or used to be. Now it’s used as the 120km/h + lane. But whatever. Stop. Being. Stupid. Let those that are saving gas by carpooling be in the same stop and go traffic but a smidgeon faster. Which brings me to the next point. The High Occupancy Vehicle lane is, in the title itself, discriminating against motorcycles with no person on the back. Don’t scoff. I’ve seen it.

The next tip I’d like to share is the simplest of things I’m honestly surprised I have to say it.

The thingy that is found to the left of the steering wheel, which can be moved up and down is called a “blinker”. This “blinker” is used to inform other drivers that you are planning on changing lanes, or turning corners, or entering a parking lot or driveway. It’s a pretty useful tool for those behind you, and a nice gesture to avoid the sudden braking and confusion and fender benders. Fender benders SUCK because regardless of the fact that you have stopped incredibly short with NO warning to anyone, the blame lies on the driver behind. I call bullshit. And this has happened to me once, and cost me $600 when I’m sure the damage was only $50, but insurance companies are robbers so I avoid going through them at all costs. Pun intended.

“Accident you say? You’re deductible JUST went up to however much this would have cost us! Thank you for choosing the only thing that is supposed to protect you in times like these!”

When I owned a wood panelled station wagon, there were a few times that I got hit like.. 6 times and not going through insurance on any of them made me a pretty penny, so, I guess it evens out…

Speaking of my amazingly dented automobile and my fantastic driving:

Why on God’s green earth am I in such a hurry to be a car in front of you? Why? It literally makes no sense at all, and I am guilty of this on more than one occasion. It drives me absolutely bananas when people are going 40km/h in a 50. Or 90km/h in 100. So there I go, tactfully making my way around this turtle of a car only to find myself at a red light with them mocking me in my rearview mirror.  I feel no sense of accomplishment, and the worst part is, when people do it to me, I laugh. “Whatcha in such a big hurry for man?”  This is a habit I find unusually common, so you’d think I’d be deterred from making the same mistake, but no. I’m waiting for that rare time in which I make it through that yellow light with that slowbie behind me at the now red. SUCKER! Then I hit a red and they catch up. No win. Ever.

I now have a Public Service Message:

Seriously. I’m concerned.

What on earth is wrong with you people? Publicizing whether you’re in a committed relationship or not,  with or without children or pets on the your back windsheild. Don’t you find something wrong with that? No? Well FYI – NO ONE CARES. And how does it feel to go through a painful divorce and having to rearrange the sticky stick figures? How do you place a sticky kid that you only get on weekends? How many times can they be reapplied? These are questions you are going to need the answer to with the divorce rate being what it is.

Besides that. we’re in  the age of privacy being breached left, right and centre. Add to that the fact that crazy people look normal and could very well be sitting next to me in this Starbucks, I’m shocked that people have those sticky stick figures on the back of their vehicles. They look like this:


Name that stranger!

Wow.. just… wow… With names? Seriously. It’s bad enough that this is a thing, but you put the names of your children on the back of your car, so some scumbag can follow you to a mall or department store and kidnap your child and you made it so much easier for them. Idiots.
This is what happens:


This is also a thing… for why though?

Let me guess, you’ve been much too busy raising children that haven’t learned boundaries with strangers yet, to watch any HBO series ever. (I have a love on for HBO) Well, let me tell you what happens when John Lithgow graced us with his presence on Dexter. You know the one; the one where he follows the family van with the names of the family members on the back of the window, and proceeds to approach the young boy, knowing his name FROM THE VERY CAR HE FOLLOWED, kidnapped and killed him. You do realize that this is an incredibly plausible situation. You’re a terrible parent and you don’t even know it. Terrible. More to the point though, John Lithgow makes a very convincing scary man.





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