Is it late enough in the week for an unashamed pea?
From the Schadenfreude QOTW...

The M69. You'd think from being numerically blessed with the most mutually generous of sexual positions, it would be a motorway that couldn't fail to take you to a happy place. Well, you'd be wrong - in one direction it takes you to Leicester, and in the other it takes you to Coventry.

I can only imagine that when the motorway was first opened, the inhabitants of both cities flocked onto it, desperate to escape for a better life elsewhere, only to end up bitterly disappointed at the other end. It's the road that proves that the grass isn't always greener on the other side.

Anyhow, the one benefit of having a road with no enticing destinations is that it's usually quite traffic-free, allowing for some speedy East-West Midlands migration.

Usually, that is, except for the one day you want to get somewhere. Back when I worked in Birmingham, one day I needed urgently to get to a client in Leicester (why the fuck anyone would urgently need to get to Leicester is unfortunately lost in the haze of time now). I was therefore disappointed to see queues of traffic as I joined the M69. I can only assume the "M" on the sign was obscured, and everyone was blindly following a promise of mutual oral satisfaction.

Evenutally, the traffic changed from a total standstill to gradual movement. This should have improved things, but it actually just played into the hands of the true cunts of the motorway - lane-weavers.

You know the sort - the dicks who believe that their journey has higher priority over those of everyone around them, and so will happily cut you up with inches to spare, in order to get them to their destination two seconds earlier. I'm sure there's a special place in hell reserved for them, just between people who ruin the endings of films you haven't seen yet and whoever was responsible for commissioning Horne & Corden.

After about five of these twunts had swerved across the front of me, getting closer and closer to the bumper of my car, I was starting to get a bit pissed off, so when the traffic started to pick up pace, I was happily thinking it was over. At this point, a sixth fuckstick hove into view, seemingly from nowhere, causing me to hit the brakes and give him a blast on the horn.

Had I realised that said fuckstick was an undercover policeman, I probably wouldn't have been quite as vociferous in my reaction. I didn't realise, however, until he pulled across into the next lane, slowed down until I was level with him, and then showed me his warrant card and beckoned towards the hard shoulder with a look of pure smug satisfaction on his face.

Thankfully, that look was quickly wiped off his face. Whilst concentrating on searching for his warrant card and looking smugly sideways, he failed to notice that the traffic in his lane had come to a stop, and he casually drove slowly into the car in front of him.

Laugh? I almost shat a kidney.
( TheMagicDwarf is back like ballroom dancing, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 8:51, 2 replies)

I think this is a great story
I hate the M69. When I used it they used to have a massive sign reading "Tiredness can kill, take a break" - this being the shortest motorway in the country with a junction at each end, one in the middle and NO SERVICE STATIONS.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 9:28, closed)

'fraid not
The M181 is the shortest at only 2 miles

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M181_motorway
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 29 Apr 2010, 10:10, closed)