Forewarning, this is road rage Saucebox. I am not liable for anything he says.
😉
Imagine if laws were optional.
Imagine if obeying the laws of our society was entirely within your discretion. If at a certain moment in time a law wasn’t exactly convenient for you, you could just not abide by it. Then you could go right back to abiding, but only if you wanted to.
“What do you mean I can’t just walk into this house and live in it?”
“That’s breaking the law.”
“Oh, well you see, that isn’t exactly the most ideal situation for me at this time—you know, the law—so I’m just gonna not obey that one for now, sound good?”
I realize everyone may bend the law or even break it a smidge every once in a while. I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the cocky-ass-blatant-as-shit-in-front-of-cops-f$ck-the-law type of behavior. People that truly believe they are above all the other peasants of society.
There are surprisingly (or not so surprisingly) tons of these higher beings our society. Thousands, maybe even millions. Through my studies, I have figured out a pretty easy and foolproof way to identify them, too. Using my method, you might actually uncover the frightening truth that YOU are one of these beings.
So here’s how you find out: If you’re driving along the road in your car, obeying traffic laws and not putting anyone’s life in danger, and you see a guy on a bicycle riding on the road along with you………….. that’s one of the beings!
These omnipotent ones, or as they like to be called, cyclists, are citizen/emperor hybrids. They do as they please, and if you don’t like it, you can suck the fart out of an asshole. Their words, not mine. (Actually not their words at all, but I imagine this is what they say.)
If you couldn’t already tell, I have been scorned by cyclists many times. Yesterday was the straw that broke the camels back however and brought me to the dark place of writing a humorous blog post about their behavior. For the first time in my life, my road rage has actually followed me off of the road.
I was late somewhere and of course was hitting every single red light. (I stopped at them though, even though it was inconvenient—*looking at you cyclists.) All of a sudden, Lance Armstrong veers off of the sidewalk and and cuts in front of me as the left turn light changes green. He gives me a condescending “halt” motion without even looking at my peasant face, and of course I have to stop and let him in front of me. He then proceeds to leisurely pedal with one hand on the handle bars at about 4.72 mph through the extremely busy intersection in the turn lane. There are about 12 cars stacked behind my car which are now honking at me of course. The cyclist takes about 55 minutes to make the turn and I, along with the other 2 cars that actually made the green light are now stuck behind ol’ Tour de France.
He kicks up his speed to around 5 miles an hour and we are all backed up behind him on the two-lane road. He swerves back and forth between the right side of the road and the wrong side cause, well, it must get boring being so powerful.
I guess the poor guy got a little out of breath or something because he decides to just stop. No, not like off on the side of the road or God forbid the actual sidewalk. Just right in the middle of the road. He then starts flagging us by him. He gives us his almighty permission to steer our vehicles around his supreme existence. He then pulls out his phone and starts checking his GPS. I choose to not go around him because I literally can’t fit and instead just lay on top of my horn. The guy moves a few inches towards the side of the road, enough for us to inch by and lob all kinds of expletives at him. He doesn’t hear us though, because his ears are tuned to a higher frequency of sound than our meager human grunts.
I continue down the road, still in disbelief of what just happened, when suddenly, Lance tears by me. Hauling ass. I look at my speedometer, and I’m going exactly 25 mph. The speed limit for a residential, which I was in.
So now, he’s speeding. I see him narrowly dodge a small kid up the road. I watch in awe as he disappears down the street.
Fast forward and I’m still driving through the residential. To my dismay I find myself back behind Thanos the mad Biker.
He’s going a little faster now, but still slow enough to hold me up. His three speed settings are apparently 4, 7, and 55 mph. We are coming up on a stop sign and what do ya know?! The dude just blows right through it. Doesn’t look, doesn’t yield. Nothing. Just flops his metaphorical penis onto everyone’s forehead and guns it through the intersection.
Two cars had to swerve out of his way.
I get to the end of the road and I’M BACK BEHIND HIM. I’m turning left back onto a bigger, busier street.
The guy does a little condescending motion for “right” and I breathe a sigh of relief. As I start to turn left, he goes right. But, no, wait, he checks his phone and realizes that that’s not the most convenient way for him, so he swerves left, right in front of my car.
So we got texting and biking, speeding, holding up traffic, driving under the speed limit, running stop signs, driving erratically—am I missing anything?
I finally floor it past the guy on the main road, cursing his entire shitty existence and what does he do…
He waves.
I drive down the road in a stupor and look back to see a thick line of cars growing behind him. The cars begin dangerously swerving around him, honking and flipping him the bird.
He doesn’t care though.
Know why?
Cause a cyclist doesn’t concern himself with the opinions of sheep.
Sauce Box 