that’s a turn signal, bonehead


It isn’t magic. And you aren’t Moses; traffic won’t part at your command.

What’s going on with people? Something dark and malevolent comes over them when they start those towering hulks they drive. Have you noticed? They undergo a complete transformation, from mild mannered types to menaces, flooded with delusions of power and domination. The wild jockeying for pole position begins — practically in the driveway. God help anyone who gets in the way. I’d like to bop them one. Bam, right in the forehead.

Manners are abandoned, civility and caution get left behind, and the knuckle-dragger in all of us is unleashed. Men and women alike. The unsettling part is I’ve caught it. Sure, my car is a four-door sedan and I’m a geezer, but I refuse to be pushed around. Not by some weenie in a bloated, oversized truck. I will rise to the challenge. I’ll wind up beaten like a drum, but I’ll give ‘em a run for their money. Don’t think I won’t.

A return to my senses is called for here. I’m too old for this kind of nonsense, does that stop me? Not so far. I’m making an effort, though; I’ve recognized the problem. That’s the first step, right? Now if I can just control myself and not take the bait, I’ll have it licked. I am trying. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. Once I wrestle this to the ground, my new project will be to quit flipping everyone off. That little stunt is going to get me killed one day.

So I’m appealing to the motoring public: If you’ll ignore me, I’ll ignore you and we’ll travel blissfully along life’s highway together. Deal?


copyright © 2015 little ittys

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