Nightmare on I-294
Nightmare on I-294
It's a beautiful morning. The sun is shining and there's not a cloud in the sky. As I back the truck out of the garage, I roll the windows down and the warm, slightly humid air encompasses me in a most pleaurable manner. I reach for the Alpine's volume knob, turn up Santana's Oye Como Va, spark up a Camel Light and roll out onto the road that leads to I-294. As I merge into light Sunday morning traffic, I'm not concerned with the fact that I'm slightly late for an appointment, seeing all the open road ahead of me. As I roll through the I-Pass lane at 80 mph, my finger is unconsciously tapping out the Latin rythm and I think to myself, "Summer's here and life is good". Then it happened.
I can see the diamond shaped orange sign on it's rusty metal stand held down by sandbags. TWO RIGHT LANES CLOSED ONE MILE. Beyond the sign I can make out an endless line of construction barricades strangling the flow of the traffic ahead of me. I make a snap decision to pull the Chi-Town Gank Move, swerve for the right lane and start passing dozens of cars in an attempt to get myself as close to the front of the line as possible. I normally dont do this, but could not miss the appointment and had no choice.
I make it to the first lane merge, securing a pretty nice position. A couple trucks try the swerve move on me but they're too slow and there's a nice fat emergency lane. "This might not be so bad after all", I think to myself. I pull up behind this faded, rusty green Monte Carlo with Indiana plates. No offense to the Hoosiers out there, but the part of Indiana that borders the Greater Chicago area is arguably host to the largest concentration of trailer trash in the entire country. We're crawling along slowly and the Monte is puffing so much blue smoke that I have to roll up the windows and turn on the air conditioning. I've got to get around this car. I look through the rear window of the Monte in an attempt to determine who I'm dealing with. The person in the passenger seat is an old woman, she's hunched over and all I can see is her ratty dyed bouffant sticking up above the headrest. But who's driving? I'm usually pretty good at this but something's wrong here. The grossly oversized blue and yellow cap with the golf ball sized yellow tassle on top, the ratty bright green flourescent hair sticking out all ways from under the hat, the oversized, white gloved hand, all make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. A glimpse of the face in the side view mirror confirms my suspicions. CLOWN!
I've always been creeped out by clowns. I dont know if it's got something to do with the fact that as a kid, we lived no less than 30 miles from the home of John Wayne Gacy, the mass murdering, pedophile, homosexual clown, or if it's just some innate mistrust of them. I have to get around this clown at any cost. The construction barricades are pinching off the lane we're in. The clown reaches her head out the door and signals to the car next to me that she wants to merge. The people in the car next to me are pointing and laughing and decide to let the clown merge. With a wave of the big glove, and a punch to the accelerator, the clown merges left in a cloud of exhaust smoke. This is my chance!
I punch it and move up next to them. The decrepid old woman and the fat female clown both shoot me dirty looks. I dont give in. I'm riding next to them but the constuction barricades are quickly forcing me left. I manage to get a small lead on them, but she's riding the bumper of the car in front of her. I look over and put my hand out the window in a friendly gesture, signalling that I'd like her to let me in. She looks over at me, pulls the makeup stained Virginia Slims 120 out of her mouth, points a big white finger at me and hollers in a cigarrete damaged voice, "SCREW YOU, BUDDY!" This evokes a mad cackling and wringing of hands from the old lady in the passenger seat.
The blue BMW M3 in front of her gets a bit of open road from a semi-truck merging and punches it. Now is my chance. She snaps her gaze from me to the road in front of her and opens up the Monte Carlo's accelerator and with a roar of rusted out muffler attemts to shut me down. I slam the sccelerator down on the truck and it's a race for this one construction barricade. A split second decision and I whack the barricade with the front bumper, sending it flying. Luckily, it was one of those new-fangled plastic ones. Now I've got room. The truck lurches into low and the RPMs skyrocket as I pass the evil clown and her imp. As I move in front of her, I reach my hand out the window and give her six or seven pumps of the whackoff sign (much more effective and satisfying than the middle finger, especially on women).
It's only a quarter mile to my exit and the clown and her imp are making faces through the cigarrette smoke and offering me the middle finger at regular intervals. I see my exit coming up. Just before I exit, I reach my head out the window and belt out the loudest Bozo the Clown laugh I can muster and I'm gone.
I can see the diamond shaped orange sign on it's rusty metal stand held down by sandbags. TWO RIGHT LANES CLOSED ONE MILE. Beyond the sign I can make out an endless line of construction barricades strangling the flow of the traffic ahead of me. I make a snap decision to pull the Chi-Town Gank Move, swerve for the right lane and start passing dozens of cars in an attempt to get myself as close to the front of the line as possible. I normally dont do this, but could not miss the appointment and had no choice.
I make it to the first lane merge, securing a pretty nice position. A couple trucks try the swerve move on me but they're too slow and there's a nice fat emergency lane. "This might not be so bad after all", I think to myself. I pull up behind this faded, rusty green Monte Carlo with Indiana plates. No offense to the Hoosiers out there, but the part of Indiana that borders the Greater Chicago area is arguably host to the largest concentration of trailer trash in the entire country. We're crawling along slowly and the Monte is puffing so much blue smoke that I have to roll up the windows and turn on the air conditioning. I've got to get around this car. I look through the rear window of the Monte in an attempt to determine who I'm dealing with. The person in the passenger seat is an old woman, she's hunched over and all I can see is her ratty dyed bouffant sticking up above the headrest. But who's driving? I'm usually pretty good at this but something's wrong here. The grossly oversized blue and yellow cap with the golf ball sized yellow tassle on top, the ratty bright green flourescent hair sticking out all ways from under the hat, the oversized, white gloved hand, all make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. A glimpse of the face in the side view mirror confirms my suspicions. CLOWN!
I've always been creeped out by clowns. I dont know if it's got something to do with the fact that as a kid, we lived no less than 30 miles from the home of John Wayne Gacy, the mass murdering, pedophile, homosexual clown, or if it's just some innate mistrust of them. I have to get around this clown at any cost. The construction barricades are pinching off the lane we're in. The clown reaches her head out the door and signals to the car next to me that she wants to merge. The people in the car next to me are pointing and laughing and decide to let the clown merge. With a wave of the big glove, and a punch to the accelerator, the clown merges left in a cloud of exhaust smoke. This is my chance!
I punch it and move up next to them. The decrepid old woman and the fat female clown both shoot me dirty looks. I dont give in. I'm riding next to them but the constuction barricades are quickly forcing me left. I manage to get a small lead on them, but she's riding the bumper of the car in front of her. I look over and put my hand out the window in a friendly gesture, signalling that I'd like her to let me in. She looks over at me, pulls the makeup stained Virginia Slims 120 out of her mouth, points a big white finger at me and hollers in a cigarrete damaged voice, "SCREW YOU, BUDDY!" This evokes a mad cackling and wringing of hands from the old lady in the passenger seat.
The blue BMW M3 in front of her gets a bit of open road from a semi-truck merging and punches it. Now is my chance. She snaps her gaze from me to the road in front of her and opens up the Monte Carlo's accelerator and with a roar of rusted out muffler attemts to shut me down. I slam the sccelerator down on the truck and it's a race for this one construction barricade. A split second decision and I whack the barricade with the front bumper, sending it flying. Luckily, it was one of those new-fangled plastic ones. Now I've got room. The truck lurches into low and the RPMs skyrocket as I pass the evil clown and her imp. As I move in front of her, I reach my hand out the window and give her six or seven pumps of the whackoff sign (much more effective and satisfying than the middle finger, especially on women).
It's only a quarter mile to my exit and the clown and her imp are making faces through the cigarrette smoke and offering me the middle finger at regular intervals. I see my exit coming up. Just before I exit, I reach my head out the window and belt out the loudest Bozo the Clown laugh I can muster and I'm gone.
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That was friggin hilarious! Sounds like a comedy skit, a clown! ROFL! Good for you, it reminds me of drivers out my way (Boston). I get in the car and 5 minutes later I want to kill someone for their sheer stupidity. I have a great idea: When you get your driver's license, you are alo issued a Sucker-dart gun. When someone does something illegal; or just plain mind-bogglingly, pull your hair out, stupid; you shoot their car with a dart. When they amass X number of darts, they are issued an "@$$hole" ticket and fine by mail. Now, the darts can't be free to fire, otherwise some idiot wold be firing willy-nilly, so a small fee would be attached, say $5 a dart for the shooter. The darts would have to be RFID tagged or something so when they hit the perp's car a signal is sent that lets the cops know who the idiot is, and removal of the dart would be ineffective.
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Regardless of the ethical appropriateness of the events described, if it really happened it's in the past, and no amount of trolling is going to change what's done - or change punisher's attitude for what you would consider 'the better' - it'll only make you look more like whiny lamers preaching morality on an internet message board.
Kudos to punisher if for nothing else, then for how funnily it's written
Kudos to punisher if for nothing else, then for how funnily it's written
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Ok wolf, lets all tell people do do more road rage, woo, wait a sec, why not just applaud people for shooting idiots on the highway that cut them off?
While werer at it, why not just punch the cashier for messing your orfer up?
The level os stupidity on this board is getting bigger and bigger by the day.
While werer at it, why not just punch the cashier for messing your orfer up?
The level os stupidity on this board is getting bigger and bigger by the day.
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In case you haven't figured it out, nobody cares. You've made your point, shut up about it. Not smart enough to take a hint are we? Or to realize that the thing that's being applauded here is his storytelling skills?CDN_Merlin wrote:Arch and I are the only ones with some brains.
Consider every further post you make in this thread deleted.
Wow, that shows incredible restraint and appropriate use of administrator power. How diverse of you. Opposite opinions are squashed. Fantastic, I applaud your power.Tetrad wrote:Consider every further post you make in this thread deleted.
I typically enjoy reading the DBB because usually the amount of intelligence is usually quite a bit higher than other message boards. Its crap like this that makes me not want to bother reading anymore.
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It has nothing to do with opinions, and everything to do with the attitude with which they're being expressed.
Those of you who read what I wrote in NHB in kur's recent "sexual harassment" thread may remember that I referenced my policy from a religious board I used to frequent: "We here at [this board dot com] welcome differing opinions. We also oppress trolls."
Merlin has made 4 posts and managed to call people stupid in every single one -- and not just pun, but everyone who laughed at the story ("You're all a bunch of idiots.") That's not "expressing a differing opinion", that's trolling and flaming.
So, as per my own policy: we welcome differing opinions. We also oppress trolls. Make sure you're in the first category.
Those of you who read what I wrote in NHB in kur's recent "sexual harassment" thread may remember that I referenced my policy from a religious board I used to frequent: "We here at [this board dot com] welcome differing opinions. We also oppress trolls."
Merlin has made 4 posts and managed to call people stupid in every single one -- and not just pun, but everyone who laughed at the story ("You're all a bunch of idiots.") That's not "expressing a differing opinion", that's trolling and flaming.
So, as per my own policy: we welcome differing opinions. We also oppress trolls. Make sure you're in the first category.
Although it's funny that the clown got the shaft. It's episodes like these that do cause accidents. Although you came out of it fine this time and maybe the next or perhaps the next time after that, eventually you're just tempting fate to deal you and others around you a fatal blow.
Trust me, as much as that appointment might have been 'important', they're never important enough to risk your life or the lives of others over.
oh, and Bozo wouldn't have been caught dead in costume in freeway log jams These people obviously had some issues
Trust me, as much as that appointment might have been 'important', they're never important enough to risk your life or the lives of others over.
oh, and Bozo wouldn't have been caught dead in costume in freeway log jams These people obviously had some issues
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I'd consider that a sheltered life. I say you go out, drive along the roads and interstates of America until you do find a clown driving a car. The experience is worth it's weight in bud.Testiculese wrote:I would have done the same thing to avoid miles of dry-heaving due to some moron's POS car. They shouldn't even be on the road.
I've never seen a clown driving a car. Am I lucky in this respect?
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LOL... in Seattle, they're all overly considerate clowns. "Even though there's a huge gap in traffic 3 cars behind me, I'm going to slow down and let you in, and force the cars behind me to miss the next light, while giving you a whole 2 second headstart which will evaporate when you get stuck at the same light. I'm so kind to let you in..."Dedman wrote:Come to Atlanta. There are about a million clowns behind the wheel at any given moment.Testiculese wrote:I've never seen a clown driving a car. Am I lucky in this respect?
pun, will I-194 be cleaned up by Chifest? I'll be staying with my brother out in Glendale Heights (near Wheaton) and taking 194 in to the LAN for the days I'm there (obviously, avoiding rush hour as much as possible.)
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Matter of fact, in the state of Tennessee its illegal for vehicles in that poor shape to be on the road to begin with. Pity that law isn't enforced. I'll be alot happier when these oil burning trash-heaps are off the road, forcing the owners to actually pay to have the things fixed instead of living on food stamps just so they can bum a few smokes.Testiculese wrote:I would have done the same thing to avoid miles of dry-heaving due to some moron's POS car. They shouldn't even be on the road.