I talk a lot of trash, but most people know better than to think I’m really as hateful as I can sound sometimes. Despite my often racial sense of humor I don’t harbor an ill feeling towards any one or any group. Except road blockers. They can suck a fat cock.
You might be asking yourself “just who are road blockers anyway?” Well I’ll tell you, with extreme prejudice. Road blockers are the ignorant bastards who will stay in the passing lane and drive exactly the same speed as the car beside them for miles on end. Then there is the “Type 2 Road Blocker,” whom I ran into today on my trip home from work. These are individuals who will drive under the speed limit until you try to pass them. These road blockers are not only annoying, they’re downright dangerous.
On my hour commute to-and-from work everyday I’ve encountered both types on many occassions. From inspecting these mobile ass-clowns when I eventually make it around them, I’ve noted that they come in all shapes and sizes. I’d say the majority of road blockers are elderly, but a not large majority. Every generation has their fair share of idiots.
It makes it hard to understand what is going through these people’s heads though. Are they just not checking their mirrors for miles at a time? Do they feel like they have the right to drive however they want despite the fact that they force everyone behind them to drive the same slow speed? If you don’t want to drive faster then the person to the right of you, why get in the passing lane? Perhaps its just my lack of understanding, but I really do loathe these people and wish the worst upon them.
I don’t mind driving the speed limit. I don’t even mind if others want to drive under it. But don’t force me to against my will. Aside from pulling out in front of me and then driving slowly, being a road blocker is the most annoying driving habit you could have.
But above all, the Type 2 Road Blocker is the worst. It’s almost always a fourty-something male in a mini-van. I don’t have to guess at what’s going through his mind. Driving his kids around to soccer and piano lessons and getting his tighty-whities in a bind about the price of gas for a few years has taught him to drive with a more safe, economical, and “relaxed” style. But when I pass him the last remaining shreds of his youthful pride feel a slight tug. Listen: don’t try to run me into the oncoming Mac truck because you’re approaching middle age and fear the days approaching when your cock no longer works. Killing me won’t help; and if it does, well… you’re one sick son of a bitch. Seek help immediately.
