How To Drive Like A Virginian
An entire fucking year ago I shat a post about the joys of living in Virginia. Another blogger asked about the state slogan, ‘Virginia is for lovers.’ I say: bullfuckingshit. Lovers might be here, but they’re obviously busy and off the road, which is to their advantage.
I also added that only people from Los Assholes (LA)(large-ish city in Californicated) would ever arrive in the Capital region and be pleased with the traffic. This is due to the fact that it continues to move no matter how congested it gets. It also indicates the level of stupidity of local drivers, who will sail along at 70mph five inches from the bumper of the dickwad in front of them.
Now that I’ve had two solid years to hate the traffic here, I’ll give you a short list of how to drive like a local, unless you learned to drive in Rome or Kabul. In that case, you’re already qualified.
Parking Lots. If you can’t cockblock the handicap slot, then cruise up to a space and then proceed to execute a 54-point turn at an idle only. This will clog up the lane in both directions while you perfectly center your precious garbage scow. When you get out of the car, use the one next to you as a doorstop, since that’s what other people’s cars are for.
Situational Awareness. Not required anywhere. After all why the fuck should you care what anyone else on the road is doing? Cell phone use helps you do this quite well. Just mash the pedal and generally aim the car. It’s everyone else’s job to stay outta your way.
Turn Signals. Optional, unless you’re using them in self-defense against the taint-pimple who’s cruising your blind spot and matching your speed like a NASCAR pro. Alternately, hit the signal and drive for hours about to turn.
Following distance. On the beltway, give the other guy about a quarter-car length on Sunday when you can actually hit the 65mph limit. Otherwise, two feet is good. In town, a five-micron tailgate is an excellent way to let that shitbrick in front of you know that you have the right of way in your lane of traffic.
Insurance. Also optional, unless you drive a Beemer or Benz. Then, file claims no matter how small the damage, such as paint that only requires a buff-out. A douchebag like you deserves to replace the entire bumper. Because you know what they use Beemers and Benzes for in Germany? Taxis, you arrogant cockbreath.
Blind Spots. The only approved place in any given stream of traffic to drive. Also the only instance of driving where you have to actually pay the fuck attention. It’s a true skill to locate someone’s blind spot and then regulate your speed to stay there. Never let anyone change lanes to the right, or exit the freeway for that matter. Because fuck them, right?
Cell phones. Use them, and constantly. Post photos, comment on this blog, talk, text and selfie the fuck outta your ugly ass. This will enable you to pull off all these other tricks more successfully, because you’re fucking immune to the danger. That, and lanes are for pussies.
Stoplight Courtesy. The first person at the stoplight must immediately start a game of Pokemon Go or Candy Crush, then use Facebook, and then check texts. Whatever you do, don’t mind the light. If you’re anywhere behind the first guy, look up from your phone and the instant the red light starts to fade, lay on the horn like a fucking boss, because you’re important. Everyone should then take about a mile to work up to 15mph before opening it up and hitting the posted speed limit.
Motorcycle tips. Don’t wear any protective gear except the law-enforced helmet. Leathers are for pussies, anyway, right? Harleys are for pussies too, so make sure you trade that in for some rice-burning crotchrocket that will turn 200mph in mid-gear. Mufflers are optional. Zip and weave through traffic, even in housing areas. Text people while you do this.
Police. Don’t worry. You won’t see a donut-licker until Sunday, when they park to regulate traffic in and out of churches after folks get their Jesus on and shit.
Crosswalks. The presence of a human in a crosswalk indicates that you should ram the accelerator down and honk the horn violently.
All of this is loosely based on direct observational experience by yours truly. I’ve come the conclusion that because so many people commute by public bus or train during the week, they suck galactic demon ass at driving their own cars off-hours due to an abject lack of practice.