L.A. Can't Drive

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Idiocy Meter

Asshole Meter

These photos were taken sometime last week in the aftermath of morning rush hour.  If you take this route every day at the same time and still drive like an impatient, weaving, aggressive fuc*nut, then something clearly isn’t registering in your poor excuse for a brain.  When traffic is this heavy, driving like a selfish troll forces everyone else to brake more, impedes traffic flow, and results in even heavier traffic for everyone on the road, including the offending driver.  The bald tool in glasses in this silver Corvette (5AN****) clearly doesn’t get this and felt that the rules of the road and common courtesy and respect don’t apply to him.  Exhibit A was taken in my sideview mirror while I was stopped on the interchange from the 101 N to the 405 S.  He, like a few other egocentric Angelenos, refused to merge earlier and wait in line like the majority of other commuters; rather, he cut over in the last possible moment, after the 2 freeways have diverged, holding up traffic in one of the through lanes on the 101 in the process until he could jam his convertible in between 2 other cars.

Exhibit B was taken on the 405 just after the interchange.  Again, this sorry soul with a mid-life crisis was too impatient to wait behind other cars to merge properly onto the 405.  Instead, he chose to ride on the shoulder median to the right of the merging lane, gunned it past as many cars as possible, and then cut over 2 lanes (2 1/2, if you count the median) to his left without signaling–only to get stuck in another lane of traffic.  As it turns out, the lane he would’ve been in if he had just waited a few more seconds was moving much faster than the #1 lane on the 405, and this remained the case the entire ride south until I exited on Wilshire.

One can only surmise that getting to one’s destination sooner isn’t the primary objective of people who drive this way, since they rarely ever meet this goal.  Any sane driver knows that driving like a bat out of a hell does essentially nothing to shave any considerable time off from one’s commute.  Perhaps the posturing, and the superficial ego boost that goes with it, is the biochemical high these drivers crave on a regular basis.  No matter how much you try to overcompensate, small dicks and saggy tits will always prevail in the end, my insane friends.

Filed under: aggressive, car lights, clueless