I’m assuming everyone has those type of commuting days where it seems as the forces of nature have conspired to crash your car, throwing every idiotic person in front of you to cut you off or make your commute unsafe using a myriad of methods to make this happen.  Slammed-on brakes, honked horns, loud cursing and potential hand gestures are necessary accoutrements on days like this when everyone but you (of course) is a nimrod.  Here’s a perfect example.  The entrance ramp that I use to get on the highway actually spits you out (unsafely) into the fast left lane.  Not only do you have to ramp up to the speed limit just to not get run over while merging, you really need to be doing 15 mph over said speed limit in order to not ruin the flow of traffic and hope to God you merge safely. 

Last Sunday on my way to work the Gladiators game I couldn’t have felt more unsafe as I got stuck behind some assclown who decided that merging into this lane going 30 mph wasn’t going to have serious fender-bending repercussions.  As it was my turn to merge into the lane, I can see small dots of cars in my rearview mirror getting uncomfortably larger with every passing millisecond and I’m thinking to myself “This fucker is going to get me rear-ended.”  Thankfully the speed demons in that lane saw the situation and quickly merged into the next lane but this was about as close to a crash scenario that I can recall where I had no control over whether I could escape a crash.

On a lighter note, I did see a bumper sticker that for whatever reason tickled my funnybone.  A guy in a minivan actually had a red sticker in white lettering that said “I Love To Fart” (with the Love actually being a heart-shaped icon).  Hey, what guy doesn’t love to fart, talk about fart, laugh about other farts and be tickled pink by anything fart-related, but I can’t imagine this guy is actually married.  If he is, then his wife is as disgusting as he is.  It’s one thing to enjoy a good fart, whether it be produced by you or heard by you, but it’s entirely another thing to proclaim to a metropolitan area of 5 million people that you, indeed, are a farter and proud of it.

As a kid, I always tried to suppress my farts in school, at least soundwise, for one reason.  Once you were labeled a Farter in school, that was a tag that was never removed from your name.  To this day, Chris Rennison and Brian Riddell are permanently etched in my mind as the 2 guys in grade/high school who were “vocal” farters and proud of it.  I never wanted to be known as that.

But for that steaming pile of poo behind the steering wheel who almost got me into a wreck on I-285, I sure wish I could have farted in their car, locked the windows and made them veer into the concrete median.  And don’t worry, that guy wouldn’t have been hurt since was barely doing 30.  It might not even have deployed his air bag.