The Morning Commute

Sign of the Apocalypse #3: The Sabres Fans

2006-05-30T09:50:00.000-05:00

I'm a huge hockey fan. I always have been. I played hockey with my dad before Emilio Estevez and Joshua Jackson made it cool along with the Minnesota North Stars in the Mighty Ducks. (Haha my finger slipped and I typed "Mighty Fucks". Let's do it! Hockey porn. Ooh, I can smell the paycheck already)

But, with 6/6/06 looming, I think that Sabres fans are getting as bad as Bills fans. I'm a Bills fan, don't get me wrong. I'll still go to the games and stuff, but damn! Ricky Williams playing for the Argos is the best thing that's happened football wise this side of the Niagara in years. I'm dead serious, too.

Anyway, I'm scared that the fine denizens of the Queen City are suffering from Sportsitis, a seasonal condition which seemingly justifies erratic and often illegal behavior. Here's my conclusive evidence:

1) Some jerk off ran two consecutive red lights on Elm last night, probably fucking pissed up on $7 Labatts, angrily leaving the game. Was he concerned if innocent, non drunk drivers were in his way? Fuck no! This is Buffalo, and a sports team was losing! Go to hell, you fucking martyrs!

2) I was getting "the glare" at the game every time I said something negative about the Sabes, even though I was wearing a fucking Sabres jersey. I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to say that we're playing like shit if we...um, are? I was about four feet from the ice, I had a pretty good grip as to what was going on.

3) People were tailgating in a parking garage on Washington. Tailgating. With grills and shit. Tailgating. And lawn chairs. Tailgating. Sorry, this one is taking me awhile to get over. But seriously, how fucking lame can one really be? Dude, just go out to eat. You're already downtown. WHO GRILLS IN A FUCKING PARKING RAMP DOWNTOWN??!?!?!?

4) The Puck Bunnies were out in full force. Not familiar with a puck bunny? Basically they are emo guys except with tits, a vagina and face paint. They know absolutely nothing about hockey but they'll dress up like the ultimate fan and show up and then sit there bored because they have no idea why all of the subdued people are watching those foreigners slap around that black thing. But, at least they send out really cool MySpace bulletins about their experience like: "Jason Pominville! Omg! Lol! ROTFL! so hottttttttttttttt! Taylor Pyatt, yummy! "

5) Ok, this one is my personal fave. I have to set it up first. My friend has this awesome apartment in which he has this roof that you can just sit on and heckle people. My two friends and I were a little tipsy and we sat a-hecklin' people at Merlin's for about three hours. I kid you not, we were pretty easily amused. Anyway, the Crazy Broad of Elmwood (who usually haunts the strip between Lancaster down to Bryant) was shuffling along with her house...ahem, white plastic garbage bag....and was carrying on animated conversation with the various trees that line the strip. We just kept yelling stuff to her but she wouldn't respond. Finally, we engaged a drunk dude and his girlfriend in chants of "Let's go Buffalo!" and just the old "Let's go Saaaabres". The crazy lady suddenly snapped to, cleared the insanity clouds in her brain and then yelled "Saaabres!" back at us.

It was a golden moment, I tell you.
So as Dubya would say, maintain vigilance, Buffolonians. I've always said that a Cup win or a Super Bowl (yea right) win would cause the drunken Polacks to level the fucking city. I can see a third round elimination causing the same response. Be on guard.

Sign of the Apocalypse #2: Paris Hilton's Music Video

2006-05-30T09:46:00.000-05:00

Here we go folks, aren't you happy that we made her famous?

PH Makes an Ass of Herself on the Beach and Gets Paid

We have Paris Hilton at her finest, doing exactly what it is that she's famous for: writhing, flipping her hair around and touching her non-existant tits. Except she's not giving a mediocre blowjob in this clip, which is what really catapaulted her to stardom.

Why don't we make me famous? I at least have boobs. And I don't make dumb statements like: "Wal-mart? That's where they like, sell stuff for walls, right?"

Sign of the Apocalypse #1: Playboy Legitimizes MySpace

2006-05-30T09:44:00.000-05:00

Some days I wake up and wonder what nonsensical bullshit Americans will come up with next to keep intelligent people like me from functioning properly. Typically it is CNN or glossy gossip rags that confusing hypocrites like me eat up as the gospel of utter pointlessness.
Today, ladies and gentlemen, it is far different. Behold, as I present to you the end of the world:
tmz

Does something like this create a black hole of self indulgence that will systematically destroy the universe?

Playboy had to go the extra mile and do the one thing that I always knew was coming: legitimize MySpace by way of acknowledging our unhealthy obsession with the utterly inane. Good one, Hugh.

Yea, that Playboy spread is going to go a long way to easing mothers' fears that their precious daughters are putting up lascivious pics to be ogled by creepy old men in crusty tighty whities. Unless of course they've seen this.

By the way, how the fuck did girl number three make it on there? I mean I know you gotta throw a lil something out for the guys who like some meat to hang on to, but sheesh...there are definitely more attractive bigger women out there...then again, it is just MySpace...

Something New

2006-05-30T09:42:00.000-05:00

I'm doing something a little different here that is not appreciated in its current location.

In honor of the looming 6/6/06 and people's general unnecessary paranoia about it, I am detailing 7 sure-fire signs of the pending apocalypse.

We begin shall begin thusly ^.

I love the smell of commerce in the morning

2006-05-29T09:33:00.000-05:00

...just not on an observed holiday.

Happy Memorial day. If you need a cell phone or Sabres tshirt, I'll be at the mall selling them. Sad...alone....eager to get out and continue the weekend long soiree.

Happy holiday!

"The Highway's Jammed with Broken Heroes"

2006-05-16T09:21:00.000-05:00

Americans are kinda ridiculous.

Don't get me wrong, I am American, I just happen to live in New York so that gives me that extra edge.

I just don't understand why people here are so easily incensed. I mean, I thought Buffalo was the "city of neighbors". Granted, most people think of it as the city of chicken wings, beef on weck, snowstorms and bars open until 4am (fuck you, Golisano! We'll never close at 2!), but in all actuality, Buffalo is the City of Assholes.

And they are usually stupid, rallying for an even dumber cause.

Like this morning. Some idiot threatened to kill me in the Noco parking lot. He threatened to take my life because HE was backing into a spot marked "NO PARKING" and he was blocking me from pulling my car into the parking lot. So that meant that my ass end was hanging out onto Walden Ave at 9:30am.

This jackass had the nerve to look at me and raise his hands in frusteration. I pointed out that it wasn't a spot. So numbnuts opened ALL FOUR OF HIS WINDOWS (because you know the more people to hear him threaten me, the better) and beckoned me to his car with that finger reserved for old ladies who cook and eat children and parents who know their kids have done wrong.

Dude, please. Like I'm going to get out of my car and walk up to your window so you can knife me or something you Camry driving yuppie wannabe. At least not without my bear repellent that I'm still trying to get off of EBay.

So I just shoot him my patented stink eye and cruise over to the pump. But it's not over. This guy continues to circle around the pump bay sputtering profanities behind a closed window. Like dude? GET A FUCKING LIFE. YOU WERE PARKING IN A NO PARKING SPOT, I POINTED IT OUT TO YOU, MOVE ON WITH YOUR GOD DAMN MORNING.

He finally wraps up his Ode to Unnecessary Anger as a copper rolls into the parking lot, telling me that he "has [my] plate number, watch out, [I'm] dead."

If by dead he was referring to that shriveled dark part of my heart that no longer has care for assholes like him, then yes...yes I am.

If I'm ever forty years old threatening death on people twenty years my junior in a gas station parking lot, just fucking kill me.

The SS Are Going to Suppress My Rights Too

2006-05-11T09:59:00.000-05:00

It's really no big secret that our country sucks.

We're mismanaged, wholly corrupt and abusive of our own power. As much as I try to wrestle the phrase "I support our troops" from my throat, it's just not coming.

You know who I support? The jaded or possibly eager 18 year olds who enter military service for no reason in particular and end up coming home in a pine box. I support the kids younger than me willing to offer their life in vain to this corrupt administration. Despite what W says, he is throwing away our best asset in vain: the blood of our youth. His hands are sticky with it and he makes me sick.

You see, however, corruption comes hand in hand with power and there is not one country in the world that doesn't suffer the effects of these twisted twins. Not every country is as hypocritical as our own.

We have an administration that has blatantly refused to adhere to the dying "chruch and state" mandate. We have a leader who looks to HIS god to give us justification for his ill advised bloodshed.

We (ahem, the red states) elected this man into power AGAIN. Someone other than the blue collar workers at the gas pump needs to be held responsible for this travesty.

And the worst part is, our country has grown complacent. I've grown complacent. We are but a million scattered, distant voices all screaming the same thing, not unified enough to be heard.

This America experiment has failed. Think about it--we're just shy of our three hundred year birthday. Three hundred years old our country is. People are so quick to razz on the EU for everything from culture to foreign policy....yea, when our country has been in existence in one form or another for almost a thousand years, then we can razz. We are a young nation on the brink of failure. Rome, anybody?

The worst part is, that fucking Alfred E. Newman looklike is at the helm of our dying country and doing nothing to stop it.

Fuck it. I'm moving to Canada.

Daily Irritations: Custodial Arts

2006-05-04T13:19:00.001-05:00

I have no problem with janitors. There are several professions in our society that make me turn up my nose and being a custodian is not one of them. Being a fluffer, maybe. But custodian? Not too bad.

That was until I started working at the mall. Their custodial staff who I collectively refer to as "Unit Five" is appalling. The first member of U5 is a schlumpy character who I shall call "Bob". Oh Christ, that's his real name but I'm quite certain he doesn't have enough brain cells left to spell "computer" let alone use one.

Bob is big, has huge puffy mutton chops like the ones those bankers always used to have in spaghetti westerns and carries with him a distinctly foul odor. He always stares at me for some unknown reason; I assume he's wracking his brain trying to string together enough words to come in and ask how much a cell phone costs.

What originally soured me to "Bob" was this: I caught him dumpster diving with a slice of someone's old pizza in his mouth. Why not just slurp up whatever's left in the grease dumpster for dessert? For fuck's sake dude, a slice costs $1.75. If you're that hard up, I'll buy you a slice. Trust me, I've been there; stealing bottles from my work to return for money for food. But that was a little different: I was twenty, in college and just kicked out my roommate because we were immature and shouldn't have lived together anyhow. But just don't eat someone's old lunch out of a dumpster. Not even a little nibble out of a garbage can a'la George Costanza....a dumpster. You know what else goes in dumpsters? The contents of the dirty white box in the women's bathroom.

Next up is the new guy, who I shall call "Ear Plugs" for he has about a 0 guage in both ears. This guy looks like the type you'd want hanging around a mall with all the little kiddies. He's as craggy as Edward James Olmos, has nasty tats on his arms and generally just looks skeezy. I was going to give him a chance until my co-worker saw him--wait for it--digging out his old styrofoam food container in the concourse garbage can. Getting employed is the first step to curbing hunger. What the hell is going wrong here?

Lastly, there's the one we'll just call "guido." Call me prejudiced, I'll kill ya for I am in fact a guinea as well. This one mills about the food court with his Quat sanitizer and his shirt unbottoned at the bottom so all of the diners can see his hairy fat stomach. Is that necessary? I think not.

2006-05-04T13:19:00.000-05:00

Retail Rage

2006-05-02T12:15:00.000-05:00

I'm going to kill that old lady that works at Express. OK, so she's not even really old, she's probably pushing fifty but that's not the reason why I want blood.

She's just absolutely, ridiculously, fucking annoying.

When I am shopping, I do not want to get stalked around by someone's mom who has bleached ass blond hair, wears red lipstick that I can only picture smeared like on Willem Dafoe's face in Boondock Saints and walks with this weird lurch because she's wearing heels about thirty years too young for her. The worst part is, she'll follow me muttering about how much her feet hurt and stuff. Bitch, I stand up all day too. I wear appropriate shoes to do so, and I've noticed that your co-workers do as well. SHUT UP!

And today, when I went into Express I noticed that it was just her, another ole lady and the young girl with really weird natural barrel curled hair. Why are all these crotchety old ladies taking over? Express my ass.

So anyhoo, she accosted me almost immediately after I picked up a pair of the Editor, the best dress pants ever. For me, finding a pair of white pants every summer is a task at which I must work very hard. There is usually dieting involved and heavy exercise so my thighs look all defined and stuff. When I usually go to my first May 1st try on, it is a religious experience in which I stand in the mirror, critiquing my body in a way that would frighten even the harshest of critics. It is a learning experience in which I map out trouble zones and prepare myself mentally for the challenge ahead.

Basically, it's not the time for some fifty year old lady to be standing outside of the door talking to me about how much trouble she has finding white jeans. Yeah. I'd hope you have a problem finding white jeans. They are just one step above acid wash jeans, you crazy old cunt.

Ok, back to my angry retailling now.

My Pathetic Life: Volume 1: Penises

2006-04-26T13:36:00.000-05:00

We are going to try something new here in my Corner, and it is going to be called "My Pathetic Life" in which I will illustrate to you mediocrity in it's truest form using various mediums from my day to day life. Volume One turns our attention to our Friends with Penises.

1) Latin Lothario--I met this sorry excuse for a human being one night in Rochester. We shot the shit for a long time, but mainly I was just talking to him to have someone buy me shots of Grey Goose. What can I say, I'm a cheapass with expensive taste. We exchanged digits because he actually seemed decent to hang with. Until I got "the call" the next day, sitting atop the Castle Tower with Ashley in Sculpture Park. I ignored it and then forgot about him. So last week, I get a text message from him and it just says: "So...when are we going to Fuck?" After nearly pissing myself laughing because he chose to capitalize the "F" in "fuck" and coming up with so many scathing witticisms I thought I would blow my sarcasm fuse, I deleted his number. But I can't resist sharing this: did he capitalize the "F" because he thought that me having sex with him would be some sort of event worthy of capitalization? God lord...

2) Final Fantasy dude-- that sounds every bit as sorry as it is. I met this guy in Rochester as well. He kept giving me "the look" and to be perfectly frank, I can't figure out why. I was ragging, I looked like ass and had on clothes that are about three sizes too big for me. I wasn't even looking at him when he was talking to me, yet this throwback to 1991 kept making his move. He looked like a groupie for Chili Peppers circa 1992. Plus, he's my dad's pool partner. Please don't try to flirt with me while I'm with my father and I am his only daughter. So he bought me a beer, I drank it, we left and I never called him. He probably very quickly busted out his copy of the Japanese Final Fantasy II, named a character "Cuntsay" and repeatedly demoralized her by casting Flare and Meteor until she fell into a Swoon. And then I bet he didn't even Pheonix Down her ass. Aaaand, I'm a dork.

3) Can't Take a Hint Guy-- he talks. I keep busy. He just keeps talking. I just keep busy.

4) The Neighb-- For some reason, the most unlikely people are falling head over heels for me. This one happens to be a hustler from Birmingham, AL who is probably most likely my polar opposite. But, he's in love and watches me leave my house every morning and tries to push his various "wares" on me.

5) The Ex(x2)-- Still around, still asks me for relationship advice and still tells me with about 2.2 drinks in him that he finds me attractive and can't be alone with me.

Interestingly enough, out of all of these poor hearts I've captured (or just enticed) , the coolest by far is the kid whose virginity I stole in a night fueled by vodka and bad decsion making.

The Seductive Nature of the ROO

2006-04-25T09:14:00.000-05:00

Everyone has one item that makes you look upon it with a wistful face full of palpable nostalgia. Perhaps the item that induces this emotional response is inanimate, animate or just downright ridiculous. In the ridiculous vein, my favorite anecdote involves my cousin. She had a moldy glass of orange juice in a goblet sitting on her dresser for about six months. She refused to dispose of said glass because at one point, the glass was brimming full of bright orange liquid, placed there specifically to relieve thirst after copulation with her then-boyfriend. The weirdest part was, it smelled like chocolate. And if you ask how I know that, I'll just give you the standard response: "I was the youngest member of my family. They did all sorts of unholy things to me."

For me, however, it is not a ridiculous item that causes that response. It is a practical staple of my everyday life for the past four years: my beloved pair of KangaROOs.

I first donned a pair of ROOs in the summer of 1984. Granted my feet were a little smaller back then and I probably looked much cuter in them than I do now. Either way, I outgrew them a year later as toddlers are wont to do, and I locked up the memory of them in the annals of repressed 80s memories.

The next time ROOs touched my life were during that period of time in which I can only describe as "I was cheating on my boyfriend and VH1 ran "I love the 80s Strikes Back" every day, all day." As the Cheatee and I were on the couch gettin' busy, I looked over to my left and saw a throwback to my youth all bright and happy on the screen. I stopped all action and declared that I needed a pair. So, we somehow felt that sex was less important than manic purchasing, and we went on eBay to find me a pair.

Two weeks later, my Lotus style dark blue suede ROOs were on my happy little feet, starting a torrid love affair. Things started to fall apart in the personal life, and I blame the ROOs. After a series of bad decisions, my cheating was exposed, several relationship problems ensued and eventually things returned to normal. And I still wore my ROOs.

As the ROOs are a very seductive shoe, a year and a half beyond that I discovered that my beloved sneakers were busy enticing my manager at the time. My ROOs made arrangements to start hanging out with said manager, and before you knew it, it came down to crunch time again. Except this time, there could be no cheating. So, one relationship ended and my ROOs began an incredibly unhealthy, manic relationship based purely on a shitload of bad fighting yet really amazing sex. Things went on like that for about six months, with a three month padding period following in which we still hooked up. My ROOs and I were finally single again mid-2005. Yet the Manager kept coming back for more, and then we just entered a period of never talking/really amazing sex. Seriously, I've never felt the need for a ball gag more than I did during that period of time. We really DID NOT TALK, ever. It was awesome.

Then, the seductive power of the shoe went dormant as I entered the longest period of my life I've ever gone without sex: two months. Please feel free to start throwing rotting things at me. Then, following a summer long bender of crippling anti-anxiety medication mixed with Crown Royal, my zippered shoes and I milled over to RichieRich's condo for some heaping tablespoons of loving, they actually seduced a virgin at one point, and even recaptured the Cheatee from several years before. Oh yeah, I think the Manager came back once to cheat on his Adidas Sambas with them, if you catch my drift. My sneakers are such whores.

Now, the shoes are literally falling apart, and after all that work in the bedroom, I'm quite surprised they even made it to 2006. I need a new pair, but a pair that will not scream "You Fucking Whores!" every time I look at them. Besides, I'm a lot more blatant now with my shoe selection. For the most part, I don't even need the beguiling sneakers as I have a lot of sandals that simply purr "leave us on while you're doing herrrr."

So, hopefully my traffic tickets don't cost too much because summer is a-coming, and this bitch needs some new kicks...

Look what the fats have done to us now

2006-04-24T14:21:00.000-05:00

This will not make sense or matter if you are not from the New York/Pennsylvania area, but to me it both makes perfect sense and matters. I am to about unmask who I really am, and that is a pretentious food snob.

Tops Supermarket....BLOWS the balls I do not possess. But sadly, Tops is like a virus that has spread to all corners of Western New York and grossly outnumbers the amount of Wegman's that I prefer to shop at. For every Wegman's you seek, you will surely pass at least two Tops' on the way.

It's part of their grand design, I tell you. You crave the soothing, non surgical white setting that Wegman's offers with their organic veggies and wide array of almost always in stock food product. But, it's Saturday, you have a dinner planned at five and you're just leaving work at three. Wegman's is out of the way in both directions but lo and behold! Its inferior counterpart Tops is on the way to your house. So you go to Tops expecting to wrangle your dinner needs together.

Thus begins my long winded rant. Why the fuck am I being punished for the fact that the rest of America is fat? When I show up expecting to by a CUP of plain yogurt, how come my only option is a ONE POUND CONTAINER?? Are you kidding me? I am but one woman with healthy designs on life. So then, I scrap the yogurt and move on to sour cream. And yet again, fat free sour cream does not come in small containers, but you can get A POUND of it! So I forced to settle for (the horror) a small container of regular sour cream.

And as I was pretty much repeating the above rant verbatim on the phone to my friend Ashley while ogling my dairy choices, two fat ladies (no, not the Mike Myers parodied fat-asses of British cooking show fame) came by and both grabbed the pound container of sour cream. Regular, by the way. Those ladies weren't passing up one ounce of succulent, pastuerized fat. I. Rest. My. Fucking. Case.

Tops offers lower grade food, shit produce, not a whole lot of healthy selections, inferior deli meat, and poor service as a whole. I do not feel that a stock boy should sigh at me in anger when I verbally express my displeasure at being forced to wait at the end of an aisle while his slow ass unloads the generic iced tea mix. Fucker.

I hope you bastards at Martin's are reading this. Come on already with the corporate takeover! What are you waiting for? All of Rochester is with me on this, I know it! Ever been to the Weggie's in Pittsford? Ha!

Racism, Collection Agencies and Childish Insults

2006-04-24T14:14:00.000-05:00

Listen here, kiddies.
DO NOT EVER FUCKING LIVE WITH YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHER. It can only lead to frusteration and bad credit four years later.

After being declined for my second credit card in two weeks, I began to smell something fishy in my life...that fishiness? A lingering unpaid bill that is the source of today's discontent. Two hundo dolla to Adelphia, pretty much negating my almost purchase today of an Olympus Stylus 600. Admittedly, its a total impulse buy, I wanted the 410 but we were out of stock so why not go for the newer, not as good model?

My early morning frusteration continued in the form of a call from Tonawanda. Calls from Tonawanda are never good for a multitude of reaons. Typically it's one of the Big Three:

1) You've impregnated a chick you don't remember and she's looking for you to pay up,
2) Creditors are looking fo' yo' broke ass,
3) Mukhtar al-Bakri gave the wrong directions to his minions

Fortunately, terrorism had nothing to do with this particular call but the nature of it was still unpleasant: creditors were in fact trying to find my deadbeat ass to pay up on something I thought was handled in 2003. Yeeesh....looks like I'm going to have to wait a long time before GECAF allows me a card.

So when Gabriel called, I found myself unable to hold back as his confrontational nature incensed me. I would've paid up too, had he not been all:
"You don't sound very serious ma'am. Does being called a deadbeat bother you?" With Cuban accent.

So instead, I just continued to chirp along in a really sunny voice and when Gabriel called me out on my blase attitude, I sacked up and insulted the one thing men hate: his manhood. So I asked him if he left his tampon in. In his native language. And he laughed! I think I made a new friend today amidst all my frusteration.

So the point is....I'm still going to buy the camera, don't cohabitate with your significant others, sometimes making insulting comments in native languages will earn you friends and respect for your stugots, and will someone please kill Wilmer Valderrramamrmrrrramamama (tm Heather and Jessica That doesn't work outside of TWoP, but I have to give credit where credit is due) for starting that dumbass Yo' Mama shite? Stick that culo in a room with my gringo ass for half an hour. He devirginized Mandy Moore for Christ's sake! Mandy Moore, people! She deserved to get plucked by someone much more deserving of her "candy"....

2006-04-24T09:45:00.001-05:00

I know it's hard

I understand people. I really, really do. I can psychoanalyze with the best of them, discover peoples motivation before they can and I can even string together enough pretentious, condescending words to always sound like I know what I'm talking about.

However, when vehicles are put into the mix, I throw my hands up in a frusterated gesticulation and calmly twiddle my thumbs, waiting for whatever display of pure, unbridled stupidity that has unfolded before me to end.

How the hell do some of these people have licsences? HOW? The Erie County DMV has so many roadblocks set up for stupid people: scathing employees, absurd costs and ridiculously long, unproductive lines. So how is it that Mr. Fucking Magoo in front of me on the 490 still gets his damn liscence renewed when I can see the fucking sun glinting off of his three inch thick glasses lenses? HOW?

I cannot stress this enough. I actually have dreams about this. Learn to fucking drive people. So here, I'm giving you a list of pointers to use if you are crusing through the greater Erie, Niagara, Genessee, Wyoming, Cattaraugus, Chatauqua and Monroe counties. Notice how these are all of the counties in which I happen to frequent.

1. The LEFT lane is for passing. It is NOT for crusing two miles over the speed limit and remaining directly next to the car going the same speed as you in the right lane so no one else behind you can pass either of you. If you're not speeding or passing, KEEP IT TO THE RIGHT. There are signs that tell you this already, I don't know why you people keep asking for my wrath.

2. If you can't operate a cell phone or TV remote, you can't drive. Sorry, I work in retail. If you can't even see your precious remote with "big buttons", what fucking business do you have at the helm of a 4K lb death machine?

3. A sign that reads "ROAD WORK-- 1000FT" does not mean immediately start to slam on your brakes even though there is no one in front of you and you can't even see the aforementioned road work. It just simply means: "Road Work-- 1000ft".

4. Don't ride my ass. People say I drive like a grandma and typically the body attached to the mouth that threw that phrase at me as been in on average about three more accidents than I and has received several more tickets. I'm a cautious driver because you people are not. If I choose to drive two miles an hour over the limit, chances are I'm doing it in the right lane. Don't poke the bear.

5. If you have a W'04 sticker on your car still, just kill yourself now so I don't have to try to when I'm on the road.