If You’re Important and You Know it, Honk Your Horn

Are you driving the speed limit you worthless fucking hick?  HONK!  Are you actually stopping at a Stop sign retard?  HONK!  That light has been green for .000002 seconds, why haven’t you laid a patch of rubber and shot off the line like John Force yet you son-of-a-bitching asshole?  HONK HONK HONK!!!  I don’t have time for you pieces of hillbilly Wisconsin country-fried shit.  I AM A FUCKING IMPORTANT PERSON!  Where I am going is so astronomically more important than where you are going, that I should have a goddamned missile launcher attached to the hood of my car to blast useless tits such as yourself off the fucking road.  I am going to a fucking showing, do you know what that is moron?  I. Am. A. Real. Estate. Agent.  That is important.  You are taking your kid to a doctor’s appointment.  Not important.  This condo hasn’t sold in 2 1/2 years and the couple looking at it have a credit score of 400.  Guess what muchacho?  I need to fucking get there 5 minutes ago.  So take your piece of shit Prius and drive it into the fucking Chicago River because I don’t have time or the patience to wait for you make a goddamned right turn.  Why are you waiting for those pedestrians???  Fucking run them over!  HONK HONK!!  In case you haven’t figured it out yet dipshit, I’m driving a fucking Land Rover.  That means my life is worth shittons more than yours.  It says it right across the front: “Land Rover = Get The Fuck Off The Road”.  I need this thing, how else would people know I’m important, besides the honking?  It snows twice yearly, there are no unpaved roads, and the terrain is flatter than a 9 year old girl….so obviously I need a fucking car designed to navigate swamps in the Amazon Basin.  If you had led your local real estate office in condo sales in 2005 you’d fucking understand why I financed this baby 8 years out and have 70K in revolving credit card debt to finance the payments because I’ve sold 6 condos in the 6 years since.  But instead you slowly but steadily increased your income over time and bought queer-assed used cars that can’t even chase down baboons in the Niger Delta.  That is why where I’m going matters, and where you are going is fucking Nowheresville you diseased rhinoceros pizzle.  This is how it works, since your Honda Accord so loudly bespeaks your lack of comprehension skills: Traffic is in my way.  I honk the fucking horn and you see my lobster-red straining neck muscled face stretching towards the window shield and my mouth forming the scream “Fuck you asshole!”  You, and everyone else in front of me, quickly turns to the left or right and makes a tunnel for me to drive through unimpeded.  For your effort I flip you off or give you the both hands up “What the fuck?” as I fly past with house music pumping out of the bitchin’ stereo system I also financed.  This is how it is supposed to work when you honk the horn aggressively.  You obviously wouldn’t know with your pussy-assed both-hands-on-the-wheel technique, but driving an SUV, drinking a Starbucks, talking on my cell phone, honking my horn AND flipping you off all simultaneously isn’t that fucking easy to pull off.  Everyone needs to get it through their thick skulls.  Your automobile, your health, your baby, pedestrians, strollers, bicyclists, mail men, none of these things are as important as where I’m going right now.  Do you think this unnatural orange tan maintains itself mutherfucker?  No, I have a tanning bed appointment in 30 seconds and you are letting an old couple out of a parking lot in front of you.  Jesus Christ, nobody fucking gets it!  This thing gets 12mpg in the city asshole.  I’m keeping the war in Iraq going all by my fucking self.  HONK HONK!!  Wait, why the fuck are you getting out of your car and approaching me?  Oh shit, you want to kick my ass.  Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.  Quit it dude, I have absolutely no ability to defend myself outside of the context of this Land Rover and my horn.  Fuck, I’m out of here.  HONK HONK!!  Get out of my way asshole, I need to get away from this dick who is trying to kick my ass for honking the horn at him because I’m an impatient self-absorbed asshole.  HONNNNKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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