I wish I could be a police officer for one working day

I was sitting in traffic this morning, which is nothing out of the ordinary.  Unfortunately, it was worse than it usually was due to the fact that for no apparent reason, six straight traffic signals were out, and the vast populous of Atlanta is completely oblivious to the rules of the 4-way stop in such conditions.

On more than one (fifty) occasion(s), I watched as people sped off into a turn lane, dividing lane, oncoming traffic, or some other form of asphalt not designated for regular automotive traffic, and then cut in front of some schlub too slow-reacting to prevent impatient and inconsiderate assholes from cutting in front of not just them, but every single law-abiding citizen who opt to grind it out with the rest of the pack.

It’s times like these that I wish that for one day, I could be a police officer.  Not to do anything dramatic and go off on high-excitement, high-speed car chases, bust drug dealers, stop crime and be a hero.  No, I’d love to be a police officer for a single day, just so I could troll the ever-living shit out of law breakers, and by “troll,” I mean enforce the fucking law.

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5% of a gallon

Whenever I go to a gas station, I sometimes glance around at the pumps around me to see what the previous customer paid for their fuel.  Most of the time, it’s so I can see how many people paid out in nice perfectly round even numbers like $20, sometimes $10, and even the occasional $5.  Once I saw one pump actually sitting at like $165, which meant that someone with a Hummer or a Land Rover must have filled up all 40+ gallons of their tank with high-octane at the same cost of what a Sega Genesis, an extra controller and Ecco the Dolphin cost me when I was in the sixth grade.

Twenty bucks I can understand, and to some degree I get ten dollars, if they’re like a teenager or someone who probably still either doesn’t have enough disposable money on hand, or just can’t afford more.  Anything less than $10, and I’m often curious to how pointless it kind of is to even roll into the gas station in the first place, because even if they had pretty fuel economic vehicles, they’re guaranteed to be back in a day or two, tops.  Way, way less if they had like a Ford Explorer or any kind of six-plus cylinder vehicle.  Obviously, I don’t know these peoples’ financial situations, and such implications mean they can’t be too well off, but I’ve seen my share of people in some pretty luxurious cars also doing the whole “pay for less than $10 worth of gas” thing before as well.

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You know what’s easy? Driving

When I was growing up, one of the negative remarks I got from my teachers was that I wasn’t good at paying attention. I have this sense of déjà vu that I’ve written this story, and perhaps this entire post in some iteration before, but fuck it, it’s on my mind, and I feel like writing it. Anyway, it was the bane of my mother’s patience whenever I’d get a report card or a teacher observation note stating that I was bad at paying attention and listening to and following directions. I’m pretty sure if I were a kid in today’s world, I would have been diagnosed with ADHD or some fake modern ailment to justify the fact that I was well, a kid.

In the third grade, my mom reached her boiling point and gave me an ultimatum that the next time I brought home such bad news, that it was my ass. I guess I tried too hard, or well, I was just being a kid, but the following week, I got an interim that of course, stated that I wasn’t listening to and following directions still. My mom beat the shit out of me that night.

By the time the fifth grade rolled around, I began pulling in near straight A’s, and I was apparently a pretty good student. Maybe it was result of getting my ass kicked by mom, or perhaps I was just growing up or just becoming a better student. Either way, it all kind of worked itself out; I was better at paying attention and listening to and following directions.

The point of this trademark excessive introduction is my belief that there’s a whole world of people out there that probably didn’t get their ass kicked by a parent at some point in their developmental stages of life, because if their driving habits are any indication, they simply don’t pay any attention, nor do they listen to or follow the directions posted everywhere and all over the place. And I find it aggravating that LITRALLY. Not a single day can go by where I am not confronted by at least one retard driver doing something completely idiotic, ignorant, or dangerously stupid, as a result of their inability to pay any attention.

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Vanity plate futility lols

Personally, I think that if you cannot get the vanity plate that you want, you should just give up.  But unfortunately not everyone would agree with my opinion, and when the going gets tough, the tough start seeking out substitutes.  Most often times it involves replacing letters with numbers, and at that point, you may as well be trying to get the screen name you really want on AOL or any MMO game.  After all, without the linguistically tenacious, the world would have been denied such clever tags such as “L3GOLAS” and “5KELETOR.”

This morning I saw a car that whipped out in front of me haphazardly that had a vanity plate that read “BL355D.”  It took me a long longer than it probably should have to decipher it, because initially I saw the “BL” and I figured it was just another poorly veiled black-power vanity plate that passes through the ironic double-standard of what’s allowed in the state of Georgia.  But then it finally dawned on me that it was a variant of the word “BLESSED.”

Oh, another “I’M RELIGIOUS PRAISE THE LORD” plate, I get it now.  Religious themed plates are probably the second-most frequently seen vanity plates I see on the roads which are often ironic (or is it?) consider the people driving these cars are often times the most despicable drivers I ever witness.

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It’s not called “Challenger” without reason

I’m sitting at a stop light, and a Dodge Challenger pulls up in the lane to the right of me.  As the driver evidently lives his life a quarter mile at a time, when the light turns green, he takes off, leaving me behind.  But not before I noticed the fuel cap on the vehicle.

Clearly, the only way I knew it was the fuel cap was because it was clearly marked FUEL, and not because it was located on the rear quadrant of the vehicle LIKE 98% OF CONSUMER VEHICLES.

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The Nubian Queen drives a Honda Accord

I would make a small wager that the woman driving this car, her ancestors don’t even come close to having been from Nubia.  Somewhere throughout time, being “Nubian” had less to do about actually having ancestors who lived along this tiny region in the Sudan, than the fact that the Sudan happened to be in Africa, so it happened to apply to all of those who were of African descent, and then it turned into being a term to replace the word “black.”

The funny thing?  It’s easy to accuse me of simply going to Wikipedia to find this information, but the thing is that I did a report of the Sudan back in grade school, and I actually did remember the region of Nubia.  The capital of the country is also Khartoum, but that’s besides the point.

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Man, What A Stupid Commercial #011

Chevy is clearly trying to cash into the popularity that Mad Men has cultivated with the whole retro-theme with this commercial for the 2014 Impala. Nevermind the fact that the Impala now looks more like a Honda Accord or a Chevy Malibu than the boat-like muscle pussy wagon back in the 60s, it doesn’t stop Chevy from producing a spot that tries to throwback to older times, even if ultimately the car the “protagonist” drives around looks like it’s an econobox.

The funny thing is that if you were to watch this commercial without Frank Sinatra’s Fly Me To The Moon being audible, this commercial could be portrayed in just about any other era, depending on which music was used.

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