The Almighty Cyclist

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.

 

 

Road Ragin’

The road is quite an interesting place, as we all know. It is truly a wonder that most of the people driving were actually granted a license. Actually, it’s pretty terrifying.

I like to think I am a pretty reasonable driver. I’ve had my moments, but I am mostly aware and at least somewhat respectful of human life on the road, which is more than I can say for most drivers. I’ve had a lot of run-ins with ass clowns though, so here’s a quick story about one of them.

I was driving along, minding my own business, and obeying the speed limit. Suddenly, a car speeds up behind me and gets right on my ass. I double check that I’m going the speed limit and I am. The car is still on my ass but I keep the road rage in check and just merge over into the next lane. The car speeds up but stops once it is even with me. I look over and what is staring back at me is the most angry old lady I have ever seen. Like, heart attack angry. Like, demon-straight-out-of-Satan’-s-butthole angry.

This lady is staring into my soul and chopping it into tiny little pieces with her eye daggers. I’m confused as can be now and am looking around to check if I could’ve ran someone over or if I unknowingly have a bumper sticker on my car that says “QVC sucks”.

She shakes her fist at me and I give her the “You might as well be an 8-legged unicorn with a cowboy hat on cause I’m confused as shit” face. She motions for me to roll my window down and I oblige. She waits for the window to fully lower and for me to stick my head out in inquiry before she proceeds to enthusiastically flip me off.

Completely owned.

Who’s grandma was this?

I’m starting to feel my anger boil now. I attempt to ignore it and just stare ahead at the road. I glance into my rear-view mirror and can now see grandma is hot on my tail once again. She is still flipping me off and I can see her screaming now. I’ve had enough at this point and I begin to break check her. Before anyone tries to call me a dickhead for break checking a grandma, 1) She is the one who is a dickhead. And 2) You’re also a dickhead.

As I continue to lightly break check her, (yes, I wasn’t trying to kill her – time will be taking care of that soon) she snaps into an animalistic rage. I see her punching the ceiling of her car excitedly like some kind of strung out 80’s movie bully chasing down their nerd prey. For some reason this is when I notice her mullet. She looks like Kiefer Sutherland in The Lost Boys. She pulls out a cell phone and begins taking pictures of my license plate. Yes, this grandma was now texting and driving. After a few moments she looks at her phone with a satisfied smile and gives me a sarcastic thumbs up as if she finally acquired the incriminating evidence she needed. She then merges into the next lane and stares me down one last time before making a gun with her hand and pretending to cap me. (She’s obviously seen Gran Torino) She then kicks her Nissan Altima into high gear and shoots off into the sunset like Han Solo reaching light speed.

I quickly catch a sticker on the back of Grandma Satan’s car before she vanishes, and oh what a sticker it was.

“Coexist”.

See You in Hell

When I am driving along the road, minding my own business, and a car pulls out into traffic in front of me from a perpendicular street (or a parking lot, whatever the case may be) and proceeds to drive twenty miles an hour slower than every other car on the road, my faith in humanity gets just a little weaker than it already is.

 

What on earth can possibly be going through someone’s mind to pull into moving traffic, and go half as slow as the traffic? What kind of logic told you this was the move to make? I’m going to assume that if you’re driving, you have eyes, so not seeing the fast approaching cars is not an excuse. What is the malfunction?

 

A car is quickly nearing your position at 40 plus mph, and your decision is to pull out in front of that car and mosey along at your own snail-like pace. Never mind the fact that this car now has to either slam on their brakes if they have time to do so, or make the quick decision to swerve around you, possibly colliding with other cars and creating a large traffic accident. None of that matters, as long as you didn’t have to wait an extra few seconds for traffic to clear up, right? Or you didn’t have to be bothered to press down another few inches with your foot to accelerate to the speed of traffic. As long as you aren’t inconvenienced, it’s all good, right?

 

Fair enough, but I have a few questions for people who do this.

 

Can you go to the bathroom by yourself? Do you stick your head in the microwave in your free time? When something gets caught in the disposal, do you turn it off before you stick your hand into it? You probably think you can serve chicken medium rare, don’t you?

 

If you pull out in front of swiftly moving traffic and drive along at 15 mph, I hope a burning pile of dog crap is waiting for you on your doorstep every night when you get home. I hope you stub your toe on the corner of your bed every day when you wake up. I hope when you make toast, it burns. When birds fly over you, I want them to sense your ineptitude and dump right on your head. I hope the next time you’re at the movies, someone kicks the back of your seat the entire duration of the film.

 

People who commit this act just flat out suck, and I’m fully convinced there is a VIP suite in Hell reserved just for them. God have mercy on their souls.

 

That is all.