JUST got off the phone to my Dad
He was in Jewsons (the builders' merchant) when some spastic in a massive pickup (a new Mitsubishi Warrior, in immaculate condition parks in the yard.

It's a big old yard, because it has big old trucks reversing in to drop off steel, tonnes of bricks and pallets of concrete. There's one small section with yellow cross-hatching marked "NO PARKING" because thats where the fork lift comes out to unload the big trucks.

There's plenty of space to park your car, but the Warrior driver decides that that yellow cross-hatching is the best place to park so that he can inspect some nearby bricks. He exits the car, wanders over the lot, and the fat bastard that usually drives the fork lift has had enough. I've seen him yell nine shades of shit out of someone's ears before, but this has driven him over the edge. My dad said "he ran like a hormonal orangutan" towards the fork lift, hopped in, and ran it full tilt , prongs raised, across 300m of car park into the Warrior, impaling it sideways through the engine and the front passenger door. He tries a go at lifting it too, seriously fucking it up, before returning the fork lift to it's parked position.

Not on a road, but that's some justifiable anger management right there.
( Grrrmachine the indifference engine, Mon 16 Oct 2006, 14:29, Reply)

Light relief (prefer hand relief though)
2 motors approaching each other down a long straight piece of unlit road, late one evening, apres pub. I am an innocent passenger in one vehicle, a cock-cheese flavoured Land Rover covered in spots, beacons and aeriels etc.

Other car has slight headlight alignment problems, perhaps a little high.
My driver: "Bastard, I'm not having that" flips on his main beam.
Other driver retaliates.
My driver : "Bastard, have a bit of this then" flips on fog lights.
Other driver retaliates
My driver : "Bastard, OK, how about a taste of these beauties then" flips on roof spots.
Other driver must have some too because more lights come on from his side.
By now my retinas are scorched and little creatures are emerging from their burrows, thinking it's morning.
My driver : "Absolute bastard, last chance." flips on revolving orange beacons and strobes on roof. It's like something out of Close Encounters by now.
Other driver retaliates. Only his beacons are blue.
My driver : "Oh dear" (Or words to that effect)
(Rsoles, Tue 17 Oct 2006, 14:10, Reply)

road rage averted
I used to be a courier in London in a truck, once some drunk bloke staggered out in front of me, when I beeped he came round to my window and spat at me. I jumped out to remonstrate with the fellow
As I grabbed him with one hand and swung a punch, a dreadlocked rastafarian cycle courier stopped along right next to us, put up his hands and shouted "In de name of Jah, stop de fightin!"

this made us both realise the error of our ways

rastaman, we salute you
( hugo-a-gogo has no sig, the gayer, Thu 12 Oct 2006, 22:28, Reply)

Bike Rage
Cycling through Reading on one of the thoughtfully supplied bike lanes, I couldn't help but notice a) the large puddle in the gutter left from a recent shower and b) the open-topped sports car heading towards it with the sole purpose of drenching me head to foot.

"Glub" I went.

"Gotchayoucuuuuunt!" screamed the driver as his harpy of a girlfriend laughed like a big ugly stupid.

Unfortunately for them, within 400 yards they were trapped in the traffic queue for Caversham Bridge, and I could see the fearful look on his face as I caught up with him.

I did nothing.

I stopped, still dripping, and stared at the dreadful twosome for a few seconds, before fixing my gaze on the Harpy.

"God, you're ugly."

Already heading into the distance, all I could hear were her shrieks of anger.

"Dave! DAVE! If you was a man you'd do something about 'im! DAVE! Kick his fahkin' teef in! DAVE!"
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Tue 17 Oct 2006, 13:00, Reply)

One Nissan Micra less...
Long story cut short....

Fact: only arseholes/infirm/aged drive Nissan Micras. This has little bearing on anything but I feel better telling you.

A little man decides to pull out of a junction and turn right without noticing I'm travelling on the road he's just turned into. Result: weighed anchor narrowly missing him.

Generally I'm cool with idiots however, he makes that 'cheery wave after looking in his rear view like his just been let out of a junction through me being courteous and just wanting to test my brakes'. Gets to the queue at the light sand I'm at his door giving him my considered opinion.

He decides to lock his door and make rude gestures (brave and stupid - always a fun combo) so I grab his door handle which comes off in my hand. I then throw the broken handle at the window somewhat de-stressed and amused that this pathetic piece of Jap Crap has come apart with minimal effort.

Fast forward three weeks and there's a phone call from PC Plod. The half wit has taken my reg and called the Rozzers. Cue suitably apologetic conversation with an 'old school' copper who suggests I make amends by posting this numb nuts a cheque for the door handle and then he won't have to pay me a visit and fill in forms. I agree and the filth gives me his address!!!! (Data Protection - whats that?)

I dutifully sent off a cheque to the supplied address, waited 'til it cleared thus verifying the pillocks whereabouts and then in the still of the night paid his Micra a visit with iron filings. For those not of a destructive persuasion - sprinkling iron filings onto paintwork in a pattern (or words of your choice) overnight sees them a) become rusty with the condensation / dew / wet and b) eat into the paint / attach itself to the bodywork so that the only thing that can be done is the panel needs to be sanded flat and repainted. Not something an insurance firm will be doing on a ten year old car.....write off.

So - until the pay out (approx three weeks) and the long last drive to the knackers yard this one handled blue pile of sh*te drove around with 'wanker' in rust on the bonnet and sex pest on the roof.

Do I win a prize?
(Danny Fishcharge Half arsed, smart arsed, on & off a lard arse sinc, Tue 17 Oct 2006, 15:28, Reply)

Red (mist) Driving School
This year, at the grand old age of thirty-two, I decided it was high time I learned to drive. So there I was this summer, pootling around in a gaily emblazoned Red driving school Vauxhall Corsa with one of those big spacky "L" triangles on the top. I used to get a bit confused at crossroads as to who had right of way and had started trundling right when I should have been waiting for a gap in the traffic approaching from the left. Driving instructor calmly applies the dual-control brake, leaving me sitting harmlessly yet stupidly in the middle of the crossroads.

Large estate car passes and blasts its horn unnecessarily. Its windows are down, and there is a twentysomething woman in the back, shaking her head pityingly at me. "Bloody learners," she sneers.

Before I knew what I was doing, my right arm shot out of the driver's window with middle finger proudly extended and I bellowed, "Fuck you - you CUNT". Her face was satisfyingly aghast.

"Please don't do that on your test," my instructor said quietly.

I might as well have done. I still haven't frigging passed it.
( weebear1974 discovering the joy of cat rape since, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 17:02, Reply)

Dear Old lady
An open letter to the old woman who likes to park her blue rover outside the chippy on beverly road in hull.

Dear madam,
if you are offended by the phrase "jesus fucking crist what the the cunting fuck !", please refrain from opening your car door without warning when im cycling along 6 feet behind you forcing me to swerve blindly into 40mph traffic.

if you can rember this, i will refrain from screaming that prase at the top of my lungs. I think that would be a better alternative to giving me a dissaproving look. If you agree, click "i like this" to singnal your intent.

yours sincerly,
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 10:20, Reply)

This one goes out to...
This goes out to the pikey little chav in the red corsa 1.1 who cut me up on the roundabout last month almost causing me to crash my beloved superbike.

I piped my horn at you, you little git, because you were in the wrong and you were dangerous. Piping my horn at you does not mean screech to a halt after the roundabout and stride up to me like you’re effing the king of the world, egged on by your idiot friends still in the car. Neither does piping my horn at you mean “come and take a swing at me, I’m your personal punch bag”.

Pikey chav, if you’re reading this… Your hand hurts because it’s a silly idea to punch a biker wearing full leathers and body armour and if you’re wondering why you woke up in the middle of the road it’s because you had a road accident – with my kevlar armoured bike glove to your spotty chin.

I think the cheers from the occupants of the 2 cars behind me were all the justification I needed for that bit of road rage.
(katanax Nerves of steel, heart of gold, knob of butter, Wed 18 Oct 2006, 15:03, Reply)

You'd have been proud.
I was once happily thrashing my bike through town... A fairly balmy summer's day, nothin out of the ordinary until I got onto a roundabout...

I was riding around it whe a lady in a green car (Nissan Primera) pulled along side me and "closed the door" on me.. Not just "oopsie" but RIGHT into me with the passenger door.. I take great pleasure in being able to predict stupidity in drivers, but this one had slipped under my radar.

*THUMP*

She had come right into my path with no notice, no right and no thought.. and I bounced off and accross a pavement into a wall.

Now... Having spent the entire day practicing for a downhill race and jumping/crashing over/into big things, this wan't really a bad collision for me... and besides, I was wearing Hard Nox body-armour and a full face Helmet... But still I got slightly riled at the fact that this woman had failed to stop. People stopped thier cars and were well on the way to see if I was ok... They must have through I was being a bit ungrateful as I picked the bike up and rode like the wind after the nissan...

I caught up with her at the next set of lights. (God Bless Huddersfield and the shite ring-road)

*pulls up next to open window*
"HEY!!! you DID just notice that you knocked me off my bike.. RIGHT???"
"No I didn't"
"Then how come your car has a scratch on it?"
"No it doesn't"
"Yes it does... right there... and the paint is still stuck in the end of my handlebar..."
"That could be from anything"
"do you knwo that failing to stop at the scene of an accient is a criminal offence?"

*lights changed and she tried to flee... but it's easy to hold on to cars and go with them...*

At this point I'd given up on the "talking to her" thing... all I'd wanted was an acknowledgment that she'd just sent me flying.

"Oh well Madam... It's been nice talking to you"

Sat level with the front left wing-mirror I raised one adrealine filled and tightly clenched fist, and thumoped her wing-mirror as hard as i could. It was left danglign by the wires that ran into it.. Smashed casing and glass.

She stared in shock as I tore it off completely.. and said "I don't know why you're upset... It's not as though you used it... "

Maybe it was a bit mean... But i really enjoyed it.
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Tue 17 Oct 2006, 13:04, Reply)

dad rage!
my dad was the king of the road rage.
I remember getting a lift home with my five years ago, getting a lift home with dad.
a mini cut him up at the traffic lights... dad started fuming and leapt out at the next set of lights to admonish the driver.
like a sitcom, four huuuge rugby player types unfolded themselves from the mini and proceeded to knock dad to the floor.
I could only look on helplessly and scream like a girl (which I am).
eventually the rugger types gave up, and drove off. dad picked himself up and limped back to the car. he turned to me, smiled and said "that taught them".

my dad was splendid
( biscuitbiscuit is in ur garden, watering ur plantz, Thu 12 Oct 2006, 22:48, Reply)

Pissed Off
I don’t have anything against cyclists myself: I am one sometimes. But they can be a bit frustrating at times, like when they ride in packs on windy narrow roads and wont let you through.

A friend of mine used to regularly get trapped behind a cycling group. His knock-off time and route home coincided with their training time and route. It used to annoy the hell out of him, and a lot of other people who used the same road.

One day he decided he had had enough. So he peed in his windscreen washer container, aligned one the jets so it was pointing out to the side, disconnected the other one, and when he finally had the chance to pass his regular enemies he gave them a nice squirt of smelly yellow urine.

It didn't fix the problem, but it did give him an evil sense of satisfaction.
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Sun 15 Oct 2006, 0:59, Reply)

A few years back
a friend of mine was giving me a lift home, sometime after midnight.

Near to my house was a chap and his girlfriend standing by the side of the road, their car immobile. The chap waved at us to stop.

"Can you possibly tow me to a petrol station? I have a rope in the back of my car..."

Now my mate didn't really want to do this, but he is a thoroughly nice chap who wouldn't want to leave somebody else in need, so he agreed.

The journey to the petrol station wasn't all that smooth - my friend was a pretty inexperienced driver at the time and his first towing experience was a bit jerky, but we got to the garage.

"Thanks very much," said the other bloke, "...but when you are towing a car and it starts to jerk like that, you should blah blah..." he then proceeded to give my friend a patronising lecture on how to tow a car properly. This annoyed me greatly.

I replied, "See when that red light in the fuel guage comes on, that means you should fill the car with petrol."
( Mystery_Bob, Mon 16 Oct 2006, 15:32, Reply)

I was on my way to a fancy dress party.
My mate was driving in his rather mundane Rover 400, as the American Psycho - smart shirt, tie, shiny shoes, only spoilt by the red food poisoning he'd liberally splashed around as blood. I was dressed up in my Dad's old Police riot outfit - black bodysuit, utility belt, headstomping toe caps. No Police tags, because I wouldn't want to be breaking the law or anything.

Cruising down the A3 to Portsmouth, we get tailgated by a cunt in a Merc, who roars past us. My mate and I exchange glances, nod, he floors it and starts beeping and flashing his lights - we saw the driver do the double take in his rear view mirror as I held up my wallet (to suggest I MAY have some kind of identity in it...) He pulls over; we pull in behind, step out and walk up to him.

He's a fat old cunt, balding on top, and visibly perspiring as he has the window wound down. "Yes?" he stammers, trying to bluff bravado.
"Can you explain your driving back there, sir?" I ask, in a deadpan voice, staring at him. He breaks gaze. "Not really, officer." "So you have no justifaction for driving like a cunt then?" I ask him. He's obviously not used to being spoken like that, because he opens his mouth and then closes it, lips going thin.

"So how about you stop playing with the lives of everyone else on the road then, or I'll have your fucking license!" I spat at him, and walked back to my mates car. We pulled out and carried on, at a steady 70. He stuck about 200 yards behind us for the entire way to Portsmouth, like the bitch that I made him.
( Grrrmachine the indifference engine, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 16:11, Reply)

Upon a rainy morning-o,
I gaily did a walking go,
When crossing a road and filled with glee,
A cyclist near' crashed into me,
"Wanker!" was his pithy call
As he swerved almost to fall,
I sweetly giggled at his luck,
And shyly told him to get to fuck.
( MooCow_Byter, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 2:15, Reply)

more sort of house rage...
My mate had a four story house, in a pretty remote bit of Devon, overlooking a junction. It was a straight drop down to the road, and a car would come up every four or five minutes and stop.

One VERY bored evening we were casually dropping handfuls of sodden toilet paper out of the window on to cars waiting to turn off. We had the room lights off, so we were effectively invisible. It was hilarious, to our 14 year old minds, to watch people get out of the car in a HUGE fit of rage, and see absoluetly NOBODY to blame. Some people went really rather bonkers, and just started screaming incoherently at this mysterious god of phantom soggy toilet roll. Yeah, you kids in cities who moan 'you've got nothing to do' really don't have a clue.. ahem..anyway...

One chap though, actually drove off and (unknown to us at that point) parked and walked back, keeping to the shadows like a road-rage ninja to find the source of the mystical bog-roll from the sky.

So we carried on casually bombing people when suddenly the road-rage-ninja appeared, four stories below us, going completely batshit mental at us for daring to, well, make his car a bit damp.

'OI YOU LITTLE BASTARDS GET DOWN HERE I'M GONNA KILL YOU LITTLE CUNTS YOU ARE DEAD GET HERE NOOOOOOWWWWWW!'

yeah, righto.

'Ah, sorry mate, it was, err, our little brother. We've told him to stop now.'

road-rage ninja goes, literally, purple and screams, I mean really rips his throat out screams..'DON'T FUCKING LIE'.

'Chill out mate, it's over now.'

'AAAAAAAARGHHHHH!!!!...AAAAAARRRRGHH....YOU ARE FUCKING LYING!!!!....AAAARGH' While sort of doubling over at the sheer effort of yelling. It was quite an impressive tantrum, or would have been if he'd been two years old.

So, obviously, we threw some soggy toilet paper at him and closed the window. And then didn't dare leave the house until the next morning.

Next morning, every window downstairs was coated in what appeared to be Elmlea dairy cream. No really, that isn't a euphamisim, it really was Elmlea.

We were quite impressed that the screaming nutcase road-rage ninja had driven the 3-4 miles to the nearest shop, carefully selected some psuedo-dairy product, driven back, parked out of sight, and then steality coated all our windows with it.

It really makes you wonder how some people make it through the day at the way they kick off at the slightest thing, including some of the people posting stories here.

NOOOOOOO, MY SHOELACE IS UNDONE...AAAAAAAARRGGGHHH!!AAAAAARGHH!YOU FUCKING PIECE OF CUNTING STRING....AAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHH! I'M GONNA BE LATE NOW COS I HAVE TO DO IT UP!...AAAARRRRGH...
(inflateable, Sun 15 Oct 2006, 22:18, Reply)

road rage ?
ok, I ride a motorcylce. over the years ive had so many close calls, mostly due to other road users being ignorant and or stupid. heres my most recent one:

coming up to a small roundabout (you know the pissy poor excuse for them we have in the UK when they wont spend money on traffic lights?), i have right of way, am already on the island. car speeds onto the island in front of me, I have to brake heavily to stop in time, nearly falling off.

I notice driver is on his mobile phone and completely oblivious to me. grrr thinks I. twunt.

Next island, 2 approaching lanes - i am in right lane, another car in left lane right next to me. he moves into my lane. no indicator, no looking. whilst avoiding him, I nearly get pushed into oncoming traffic, so closely in fact , that one of my mirrors gets tapped by an oncoming car...

yes its the same guy and he is still on his mobile phone.

At this point I see red...

I follow him closely to the next traffic lights, pull alongside him. I hit his rear view mirror as hard as I can, breaking it off. he opens his window with an angry "what the feck do you think you are doing?" (still on his phone). I grab his phone off him and throw it into the nearby road where there is lots of passing traffic. crunch. at this point he is just bewildered, so i grab him by the tie, pull him to the window and shout through my helmet " you nearly killed me twice while on your phone you ignorant fuck, the next biker you do that to *will* kill you.. ".

released him, rode off.

Am I the stupid one for putting myself in a vulnerable situation by riding a motorbike in the first instance ? Am I the stupid one for expecting other human beings to have respect for the fragility of other road users ?

If I had reported him to the police, what would have happened ? "sorry its your word against his", etc, etc.

Road rage ? Im all for a bit of traffic vigilantism if it helps to get the message into stupid wankers heads.

Yay for traffic vigilantes !

sorry for the lack of funniness, I promise I will do better next time.
( pregnantfridge, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 14:37, Reply)

My Dad...
…was, in his 20’s and 30’s, a professional racing driver. Mini Coopers, since you ask. He was also a big fella, about six foot five (he had to take the front seat of the Mini out and sit on a specially adapted back seat to drive!). He taught me the basics of driving when I was 13 – gears, steering, picking the racing line, handbrake turns etc. All in all, he was a fucking great driver and a top dad.

But boy, did he have a temper. Me and mum knew he was a pussy cat, but he could be a really scary bloke if riled. And anything could rile him.

So one winter’s day we were out in the car, driving pretty slowly as the road was a bit snowy and icy. Out of the blue there’s a THUD on the side of the car – some local chavs were throwing snowballs at passing cars. THUD again. My Dad starts muttering something under his breath about “bloody kids”. Then we hear THUD...SMASH. They’ve thrown a snowball with a rock in it at the car behind us and it’s smashed the passenger side window. Dad pulls over to the side of the road roaring “Bunch of little shits. They’re not going to get away with that…” I slink down in my seat as I had a feeling I knew what was coming next.

Dad storms over to the bunch of kids and starts bawling them out about causing an accident and damaging people’s property. He’s really worked up, that vein in the side of his head is bulging and he’s gone red in the face. The kids are just ignoring him. Then one of them gets a bit cocky and decides to throw another snowball. At Dad.

Dad reached down and grabbed this kid by the ankles, picked him up, turned him upside down, carried to the end of the grass verge and proceeded to stuff the kid’s hoody with snow. When he’d filled his hoody, he then unceremoniously dumped him head first into someone’s front garden. Looking back I can see it may have been a *slight* overreaction and would probably get him done for child abuse in these enlightened times, but it was worth it just for the round of applause he got from the motorists who had stopped to see what was happening.

Remember, violence solves nothing. It can be quite funny though.

DaddyRakky died when I was 16 (and he was a mere 47). I’m not a great believer in the afterlife, but if there is one, I like to think of him in some celestial pit lane, spending his days arguing with Ayrton Senna and driving as fast as he liked because nothing could hurt him any more.

I won’t do a cock gag, he’d have hated that…
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 13:24, Reply)

Silly thing to do...
M25, 6:30 on a Thursday morning, riding my bike down to Camberley for a course at a well known hardware manufacturer. I'd been doing the journey on and off for a couple of weeks so have gotten comfortable with the route and with the level of traffic/congestion. Traffic is doing aboout 45mph and I'm happily filtering through between middle and right hand lanes at about 50/55mph. Then I spot her. She's in a typical rep-mobile mondeo/vectra/passat/whatever and apparently not actually paying a great deal of attention to the road. I'm being very careful looking for people changing lanes and she looks like she's going to change lanes for about a mile, keeping moving from middle lane towards outside and then back again after touching the cats-eyes. Eventually I decide to go for the overtake (a Porsche of all cars had pulled over as far as he could to the right to allow me through!). When I drew level, however, I noticed the reason for the vagueness of her driving, she appeared to be reading. On closer inspection, it turned out she was doing a crossword!

Red Mist set in, I decided that I should draw her attention to the fact that someone on a motorbike had drawn alongside and had seen what the hell she was doing. Instead of revving loudly or perhaps beeping the horn, I decided that it would be more effective to tap loudly on her window. She looked up in utter panic and wrenched the steering wheel, blindly swerving the car across her lane.

Fortunately for me, she swerved to the left, rather than to the right. After gaining some composure she then sat with a look of abject horror that someone had seen what she was doing. I, on the other hand, waved two fingers at her in an angry manner before speeding off to find the first exit from motorway where I allowed my heart rate to drop below 250.

It never occurred to me for one second that she would have reacted so violently, and that it was a 50/50 chance of her swerving straight into me and taking me off the bike and under the wheels of several nearby cars and lorries.

Still ride the bike, still filter through traffic, still look out for idiots, no longer attempt to scare them to teach them a lesson.
(lardyboy Next stop, Fissplap Central, Mon 16 Oct 2006, 15:52, Reply)

About a year ago my car got written off by some drunk bastard,
anyway I was using a bus for the first time in ages and was with my good friend Tony. Now Tony is a muslim, and this being recently after July 7th he was getting a lot of funny looks. So when he gets off the bus I decided it would be funny, just after the doors have closed to shout "Mate you've forgotten your backpack!"

Next thing everyone moves to the back trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Then the driver slams on the brakes, so, red-faced, I explain it was a joke. A torrent of naughty, naughty, very, very naughty words followed so I pressed the emergency door open button and dived out.

Can you believe that I'm a father?
( Paedosmile service with a grin., Sat 14 Oct 2006, 18:19, Reply)

Did they really think no-one would have thought of that?
I was home from uni for the summer, and had my parents house to myself. I was in the back garden having a smoke about 1am one night, when I noticed a bright blue flash and shortly afterwards the squeal of tires. The speed camera on the road out the front has claimed another victim. Cue slamming car doors and shouting, then revving and a speedy departure up the road. I sneaked a peek through the gate as they high-tailed it and seeing the lovely chav-tastic hatchback, I chuckled.

Having finished my cigarette, I was just heading back inside when I hear further revving and an almighty crash, followed by more slamming doors and copious swearing. I made my way to a window, where I beheld the same car with a deep dent in the front. Nestling in the dent at roughly three degrees off the vertical was the still-intact speed camera. Tracksuit clad passengers were engaged in a vigorous physical debate as to whose stupid fucking idea ramming the camera was.

I went and got a beer, then sat back and enjoyed the show until the police showed up.
(wellgroomedwookiee is a filthy-minded hobgoblin, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 14:57, Reply)

I'm a cyclist
So basically you all hate me now.

I ride at a good fast pace, look behind me, give good clear hand signals and obey the rules of the road (including stopping at red lights and not pavement cycling).

I know that there are lots of bad cyclists out there but there are also bad drivers, inconsiderate pedestrians - basically a fair proportion of users of any mode of transport thinks that:

A) They are a great driver, cyclist, motorcyclist, pedestrian etc.

B) Everyone else is a bad driver, cyclist, motorcyclist, pedestrian etc.

C) If it wasn't for all those people getting in their way, breathing their air, shagging the pretty women/men etc, then their life would actually be like the car and lifestyle adverts.

Deep down we are all selfish fucks and we are all afraid on the road; afraid for ourselves and afraid of other people. Sadly this fear is usually expressed through anger. Anger at others, and ultimately towards ourselves.

Cyclists and pedestrians are at the lower end of the food chain and tend to be viewed as having no rights.

Bad behavour by cyclists is viewed as the behaviour of the group as a whole. Like many semi-serious cyclists that I know, I like to chase down the Red Light Jumpers and pass them as effortlessly as possible. My favourite tactic is to freewheel past them at about 25mph. Then listen as their little hearts burst as they try to keep up.

This doesn't stop people shouting at me/and or trying to kill me (had a guy jump out at lights with a baseball bat once because I 'complained' when he spat at me). I have been driven directly at, been shunted from behind, been 'doored' by moving vehicles, I think basically because of what the frustration of being stuck in traffic does to drivers. It does something to people on a primal level. Mainly because they think that they can be aggressive as possible and get away with it because they feel insulated in their little metal box.

Road rage is a stupid term. It's almost an excuse or apology for irrationally violent behaviour. Call it what it is. It's violence, plain and simple and we all indulge in it and are victims of it from time to time.

I ride in central london and my journey to work by bike is about 15 minutes faster than the public transport alternative, and 25 minutes faster than the journey by car would be (if I could afford the parking), so I cycle. If I lived somewhere whre the 'value of time' benefits favoured another transport mode, then I would probably use that.

Apologies for lack of humour but I have lost two relatives and far too many friends to death on the roads. It isn't funny.

Unless it's royalty.

EDIT: Actually, I regret using the term "I'm a cyclist". I'm a person who chooses to use the cycle for some but not all of his journeys. I would also love to own a big old dirty V8 some day...
(Wascally Weasel now with 100% fewer jokes., Thu 12 Oct 2006, 23:28, Reply)

High Beams v. Rally Car.
i volunteer at the local round of the WRC in the service park, and a few years ago this was held somewhat out of town. one night i'd finished my shift, though the vehicles were still servicing and heading back out to drive around the Super Special stage before parking in Park Ferme overnight.

i was behind one competitor on the main roads on my way home when a car coming the opposite direction failed to dim his high beams.

the competitor flicked his once to let the oncomer know. nothing.
twice. three times.

then flicked on all eight of the brightest motherfucking spotlights you've ever seen, the road lit up like it was daytime, causing Mr. Inconsiderate to lock up his wheels and drive into the drainage ditch alongside the highway.

i wish i knew which car it was that did this as i could've shaken his hand the next day.
(mikewicked, Tue 17 Oct 2006, 5:00, Reply)

M3 BMW
One Saturday afternoon whilst travelling back from High Wycombe to Southampton where I live I had the following pleasure.

Saturday afternoon on the Mr southbound from the Basingstoke junction and the road was clear in front of me for miles. Beautiful not a car in sight, so putting the foot down hoping to get home a little faster I started to push up to around 90 mph, not slow, but not as fast as that magic loose your licence number of 100.
In the distance I see a lone black BMW sitting in the overtaking lane. Now I'm driving in the nearside lane, or the slow lane and I'm moving slightly faster than this car travelling in the outside or overtaking lane.
So the little puzzle again presents itself, do I either undertake this BMW which is of course illegal, or move up behind him and get him to move out of the BMW lane to the centre, or perhaps the nearside lane, where the twunt should really be.

Still no other cars in sight I indicated out and manovered behind him, hoping he would pull over and allow me to pass without undertaking him ( against the law in the UK unless the car is turning right)

So, the twunt sees me and starts to accelerate. Hmmm, ok, what to do, him in his BMW and me in my little astra estate. So I thinks why not and accelerate to, and it goes on, and on ( just like this post)

Eventually were speeding down the M3 at a little over 120 mph each.

Then it occurs.

The southbound part of the M3 where the Newbury bypass joins, there is a bridge, and sitting on that bridge presumably bored out their tiny skulls is a traffic police car.

( Q, have you ever asked a Traffic Policeman if he was to scared to be a real policeman and catch real criminals, its fun )

I saw it in the distance, the BMW didn’t, so I decelerate to just under 75, while he appears to sprint like hell away from me.

Beautiful. It took another 5 minutes for me to pass him, pulled over on the hard shoulder, the driver was outside the car gesticulating wildly at two coppers who had stopped him,

120 mph, I hope the git lost it,

Wicked is my middle name :-)
( ratman, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 14:53, Reply)

old tosser.
I'll apologise now. I'm a taxi driver. There thats that out of the way.

A few weeks ago I was travelling up a road with a 40 limit, when this ancient twunt in one of those Wagon R things pulled out in front of me, forcing a swift brake-slamming, fit of horn-blaring and general wank-sign making.

the arsebiscuit then crawled at 20mph for the next mile, swerving all over the place to stop me overtaking.

When we got to a set of lights on red, Captain Geriatric decided to get out an stride (hobble) up to my minibus, knock on my window with his walking stick and ask if he had anyting I wanted, what with me driving so close.

I replied "certainly not your driving ability, you old fcuker", prompting him to smash my door mirror off with his stick, and go all "John Cleese" on the van...

...right in front of the nice policeman from the car behind me, who nicked the old coot for driving without due care and attention, breach of the peace and criminal damage.

hopefully thats got another one off the road.
(coobeastie Used to Be in Evil Gazebo, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 4:49, Reply)

Road/hormone rage
Last week while trying to make a U-turn in our very narrow street, Mrs Difficultchild found her car stuck because of another car parked in a no-standing zone, at an odd angle and about a metre out from the gutter.
As she struggled back and forth (with no end of useful advice from myself in the passenger seat) a woman emerged from the apartment block nearby and started walking over toward us.
"Is this your car?" Mrs DC asked... and all hell broke loose.
I'll leave out the capital letters, but just assume everything from this point on is shouted hysterically.
"Oh my God yes it's my car I'm moving it I'm moving it for God's sake I just had a baby it's still in the hospital I only stopped here to pick something up and then I'm going back to the hospital my baby is still there I just got out look for God's sake I'll move it I just had a caesarian do you want to the the scar here look at the scar just leave me alone!!!!!!"
By this stage she was in tears, raking her hands over her face, jumping about, had dropped whatever it was she had been carrying and had, to my delight, lifted up her dress to show us the caesarian scar from the aforementioned baby.
Then she jumped into her car and started hitting her head on the wheel, with the horn going off as she continued to scream.
We quietly reversed up the street and drove off.
( difficultchild, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 2:57, Reply)

A Special Message For Cyclists
Traffic lights apply to traffic.

You are traffic.

Therefore, when they are red, you sodding well STOP, just like everybody else. Get it?

Remember, they might say 'What a tragedy, he was such a bright boy, just about to graduate, he had his whole life in front of him' but what they actually mean is 'He was a selfish tit who was too far up himself to understand that the Cultural Revolution doesn't apply outside the campus gates'.

If I had a quid for every time I've seen a cyclist ignore a red light I could employ Bill Gates full-time to wipe my bottom, whether it needed wiping or not.
(><(((">, Thu 12 Oct 2006, 23:07, Reply)

Bike Rage
So there I was, riding pretty fast (as usual) through Clapton, Hackney on my beautiful '04 Norco One25 (highest spec'd 125 in london i'll 'ave you know) when this car pulls, no, shoots out of a petrol station with zero warning, straight into where i'm riding
I swung the bike round the car but clipped its front and went soaring through the air.

So i'm prrretty damn pissed already at being knocked off my bike by an idiot driver. But hey, it's london, it happens.

As I get up off the floor, the car door opens and this short, loud woman gets out and starts screaming at me -

'A YE BUMBAKLAAT RAASKLAAT EEJIT BWOI WH'FI' SKRAT UP ME CAR WH'Y'NA LOOK A'YA PUSSYKLAAT'

That was it.
I camly dust myself off, pick up my colossal Abus D-lock, slowly walk up to her car and smash it riiight through the front windscreen.
And she just stopped, and then just as she was about to scream at me again
I put it through the passenger window.
Then the back windows.
Followed by the drivers window.

And she just stood there, with her jaw open, speechless.

Then I picked up my bike and rode off. (bike was fine :D)
(disruptor, Wed 18 Oct 2006, 14:04, Reply)

Funniest thing my dad ever said....
We were driving somewhere or other years ago and I noticed my dad kept looking at the rear view mirror, slowly getting more and more aggitated at the dude following us too closely for comfort. Eventually my dad blurts out "Whats this dick doing up my arse!?!?" At least my laughter and his realisation defused his rage...
( jon_tanner, Sun 15 Oct 2006, 21:43, Reply)

My mum
Who is normally the epicentre of calm, was driving down the road the other day, when some woman who evidently couldn't drive nearly swerved into us, then proceeded to pull up, get out, and come shout at my mum, who then calmly rolled down the window, and punched her straight in the face.

Needless to say, I was stunned and impressed in equal measure, especially at the sight of the newly-punched biatch running back to her car and getting the hell away.

Quite funny it was too.
(fantomex, Sun 15 Oct 2006, 20:40, Reply)

One of my greatest regrets,
Is that I never manage to reply to QOTW's on time.
(David Fishwick Minibus Sales - notmad.co.uk, Sat 14 Oct 2006, 17:08, Reply)