Arrrrghhh!
The thing that really annoys the balls off me is Truck drivers on the motorway. Just yesterday I was making my way from My hometown of Reading, for that is where I live, to pick up Mrs. Tehmonster from work in Bracknell (one Junction down the M4).
I was in the middle lane, minding my own business at about 75 ish, paying full attention to my surroundings. This is something I always do as it really really REALLY fucks me off if other people do not. Anyways, I'm coming up to a lorry in the slow lane and the lorry is only doing about 55, bearing in mind that i'm going at least 20 miles an hour faster than him, he puts his indicator on for a split second and pulls into my lane, I have to slam the anchors on, tyres lock up and i nearly spin, cue me driving overtaking said twunt, cursing and swearing only to have the swearing fall on deaf ears. Fucking latvian drivers!

I guess the point I'm trying to make is that these vehicular obscenities should be banned from using anything but the slow lane on the motorways and dual carriageways. It takes them about 5 minutes to overtake a truck, because guess what... they're all limited to the same speed of 57.5 miles per hour. Therefore what is the point of overtaking and making it impossible for those that can do thenational speed limit, to do so!!!

ARRRRRRGH Rant Over!

*Pop* There goes cherry

7" of pure hard.... Text!
(tehmattmonster Board Sig, Board Sig? I'll give you a Board Sig!, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 14:16, Reply)

Cycle Rage
Sitting in a traffic jam in Walthamstow, hand brake on, out of gear, I am shaken from my reverie by a thump on the side of my car and turn to see a large young man and his bike cartwheeling over my bonnet. Gosh, I thought, I hope that the young man is not badly injured, and went to get out of the car to assist him. Unfortunately it appeared to this chap that my stationary vehicle was at fault for him hitting it and he wanted to exact retribution by 'kicking my fucking face in', however unfair that may have sounded to me at the time.

So I decided to stay in my car.

As he came around towards my door I heard a noise from behind and saw a man get out of his white van, shouting at the young man and gesticulating in a threatening manner. He seemed to agree with my summation of events and that indeed this 'fucking twat cyclist' was actually to blame for the incident rather than me.

So they started fighting.

The traffic now cleared and as I pulled away all I could see in the rear view mirror was the two men locked together on the ground in the middle of the road. I decided to let them sort it out between each other.

So if you are confronted by a road rage madman, just stay in the car and wait for the white van man to arrive - superhero to the wrongly abused motorist.
(tell me about the rabbits, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 14:01, Reply)

don't rage...tootle
Just in case you haven't seen this already in one of it's many guises. Translated Japanese rental car driving instructions:

"When a passenger of the foot heave in sight, tootle the horn. Trumpet at him melodiously at first, but if he still obstacles your passage, then tootle him with vigor."


+ twattish cock joke.
(Darth Vegas Poke It With A Stick, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 13:41, Reply)

Bus MSM? I laugh!
Firstly a reply:
Laxly: Give way to buses? No fuckin' chance, follow the rules of the road you fuckin' fat bastards !

Unfortunately there is a provision in the highway code that dictates you must give way to a bus pulling out. Sorry, it's a good play.

Secondly story time:
On my way to work is a rather dodgy single carriage way with nothing but solid white lines, piss poor visibility and ditch on both sides of the road. This of course doesn't stop people from trying to do 90 and overtaking like a crazy person. Oh and I forgot to mention, it's frequently used by HGVs.

Some rather heart stopping moments include:
Chav overtaking me in a Saxo, failing to notice the oncoming lorry and pulling in inches from my front bumper which proved that my car not only has ABS but they work quite well indeed.

BMW driver (a GOLD BMW at that) trying to overtake before deciding it was a bad move, except he's now hanging off my rear wing not attempting to pull back in behind me, looking at me in the wing mirror as if I can do anything to fix his oversized and rapidly closing in problem. Alas, the car in front isn't interested in speeding up and I'm then stuck hoping he'll have the brains to use his brakes and get back in behind me. But of course that's silly talk, so I prepare for the most horrific crash imaginable.

Thankfully, he had a passenger who started to have a bit of a freak out at him and he pulled back in (while she was tearing new orifaces).

So I don't have time for this road rage malarky, I tend to be more in the "how the hell am I going to get out of this" mind set.
( MadSquirrels, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 13:32, Reply)

good advice
if pursued by a road rage nonce, simply get onto and stay on a roundabout and call the police. neither they nor any other traffic can impede you until the police turn up.

worked a treat for me ;)
(chives, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 13:30, Reply)

Car Wash Rage in Hampshire
I live near to Fleet, in Hampshire. On Reading Road South there is a garage - I think it's an Esso - with a car wash. A few weeks ago, I filled up the car, paid, and bought a car wash at the same time. As I walked back to the car, I saw a Vauxhall possibly Vectra, black, pull into the entrance to the car wash (where you type your number in before moving forward, then back, the forward....), a short fat middle aged menopausal fucktard get out, and walk to the garage till, where she proceeded to get a car wash, stroll back, and go for it - all the while I'm waiting behind her, cursing her soul and heaping fervent prayers for cancer upon her. In the time it took the fat dwarf to waddle there & back I could be washed and gone. Bastard.

BUT - it was a local taxi - in fact, it was Hart Council's licensed car number eight (8) (VIII) (for the avoidance of misunderstanding), so if anyone should happen to get off the train at Fleet (next stop Basingstoke if you're coming from London) and you need a cab & #8 - regardless of what the fuck model or colour it is, prob change cars yearly, check the plate on the back - is next in line, tell them to get cunted for being a fat smug queue-hogging retard bastard dwarf in a car wash when I was in a hurry.
( Fathter Puddytat Kill Kill dat widdle boid is mine on, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 13:27, Reply)

CockingcockingtwattwatfuckarsebumholeDICKHEAD!
You : A newish black BMW 5 series.
Me : A Smart fortwo.

Sir, or may I just call you cuntface?

I realise that as a small car that was already *on* the roundabout, and signalling my intention to turn into the supermarket; I should have known that you would select that as the perfect moment to floor it and yank your big dickhead mobile out directly into my path.

I apologise for hoofing on the anchors to avoid slamming into your door.

I must further apologise for pointing at your car, and remarking to ms.bowdie that "I fucking knew that twat was going to do that"

I really enjoyed your stopping in the other lane and flipping two birds at me, your little wormlike face contorted in anger.

You cunt.
( bowdie, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 13:26, 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)

Don't mess with a Tree Surgeon
A friend of mine, John, is a tree surgeon. One day he pulls out from his driveway, going a bit slowly as its a big van. Some guy bombing along swerves to avoid him, then stops suddenly, obviously to have a go at him.

John sees the guy then bend down to pick something off the floor of his car (baseball bat perchance?). So John reaches round and picks up a fairly large axe, to wave out of the window.

The half-open drivers door of the car ahead suddenly slams shut, and off the guy goes...
(BourbonBiscuits, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 13:23, Reply)

Everywhere's fucking full of 'em
I'm such an angry person; I knew I'd have lots to say this time. This is my domain.
Road rage (the QOTW-relevant bit): I get it all the time. I live near Basingstoke with its wonderful assortment of roundabouts and these in combination with many, many inexplicably-license-owning fuckwits leads to much fun and games. I had no idea so many cars were manufactured these days with no indicators. In fact too many experiences as a driver and pedestrian of being cut up, almost driven off the road/run over has led to my now imminent installation of large warning signs (not totally humourless ones either) on the roundabout near our place. Locals, watch out for them!
My Dad is ancient (and actually a total prick in the Alf Garnett mould), but is just as angry as me. When I was a kid we faced off against a fella in a van from opposite ends of a long, single lane road. We were half way down and the other guy had only just appeared, but accelerated towards us with no intention of reversing to let us pass. Both drivers exit vehicles. Shouting, squaring up etc. Van guy aims a truly shocking, inaccurate punch and misses. My Dad kicks him squarely in the balls, lays him delicately on the verge, gets into the guy's van and reverses it back to the other end of the road. We continue our journey. Another time he went to call another motorist "a cunt" and in this action lost his upper set of dentures, thus diffusing the situation in hysterical laughter from both sides. Last week I was crossing a road at a set of pedestrian lights in Southampton, when some pikey minger rounded the corner, jumped the red and missed me by millimetres. For the rest of the day I lamented not remembering her registration and tracking her down, as opposed to just stating the obvious in calling her a “fucking retard”. This is what I am like.

Parking rage: I have been in the habit, for years, of making little "shit parking award" certificates and leaving them under the wipers. It works because it a) releases tension for me b) hopefully makes the odd one of them think twice c) doesn’t constitute vandalism. Don’t think I am so anal that these are professional-looking things; they just get written on post-its. And they only get brought out for special occasions, like when someone parks diagonally across three spaces when it’s busy, not just when I judge them to be ever so slightly off-centre or something. Where we live, there are a lot of houses in close proximity and far fewer parking spaces. The council say we are allocated one per house, yet everyone else seems to take about three, then invite their mates over each night to take up another 8 or so. Someone’s even sprayed a “no parking – reserved for number x” on TWO of them. Must do something about that.

I’ve even had “canal rage”, just like ChaRleyTroniC. Also involving stone-throwing scallies in Solihull and a bunch of middle-ages hoorays outside Warwick, yelling at us to “keep to the right!” before crashing themselves. You just can’t get way from it.

Whoever said this place was better than therapy was bang on.
(ElectricClare, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 13:11, Reply)

BMW Drivers
Not just BMW drivers (who are, to a person, ignorant morons who don't know what mirrors, indicators, red lights or lane markings are for) but also Volvo, Merc and Lexus drivers. All of them should be shot on sight without exception.

Anyhoo...there I am, with a pal, tooling up past Inverness going to visit some friends. The traffic is heavy and so we begin to filter on our motorcycles (note to the brain-dead: not lane split, but filter).

All going swimmingly until some complete cock-cheese in a blue Volvo penis-recplacement decides that because HE is stuck in a jam EVERYONE should be stuck and he deliberately swerves over to block the gap, nearly sending me flying into the car to my right.

Car to the right (Ford Mondeo, driven by a blonde lady IIRC) sees twat-boy and, bless her, drives as close to the barrier as she can to try and give us room. But shit-for-brains just moves over further.

Just as I am seriously cosnider punching his car (kevlar reinforced knuckle shields + car = expensive bill) the anal smear in the Volvo gets distracted by his penis pump (or whatever device they have in Volvos) and gives a gap which we manage to squeeze through.

This kind of thing is a common enough occurance and it is always raging arse bandits in BMWs, Volvos, Mercs and Lexi. You are cnuts and I hate you all.

rachelswipe: Buy a bike and profit! (Well, save). TGH though, people should be fitting at least 4 bikes into one car bay.
(SpangleDangle >->)))'>, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 13:09, Reply)

Car Wash Rage
To me, it's not a difficult thought process; your car's dirty, you go to a car wash, you park up, buy the necessary ticket, drive your car into the carwash, and away you go. One summer's morn I did exactly this, but was dismayed to find some pillock in a Jag had parked his car just far enough into the entry to prevent me getting round and going first. Understandably unimpressed, I was about to go back into the shop to find out who it was. Luckily, this middle-aged, obviously well-to-do chap scuttled out, waved apologetically and got into his car...only to get his WALLET, and go back into the bloody shop. I was so amazed I actually just sat there in a trance, unable to bring myself to say anything. He didn't even apologise when he returned. Arseface.
(titusyouclown, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 13:09, Reply)

olembe:
QUOTE:
Spaces for disabled drivers? Of course. Spaces for people with children? Bah! Why should people get better parking spaces just because they've selfishly chosen to reproduce? It's not like their having kids makes anyone else's life any better.


I'm not sure how their being handicapped makes anyone's life better either...
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 13:07, Reply)

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagghhhh!!!!!!
...big BOLLOCKING FUCK HOLE bollocks ballbag BOLLOCKS, get outta my BASTARD BOLLOCKS WAY you FUCKING BOLLOCK ache shit SCRATCH!!

Jemima Puddleduck
March 1907
(Fonkadelix is fucking bored, pass the crack pipe Mavis., Fri 13 Oct 2006, 12:57, Reply)

MSM !
No not the Micosoft chat thing, but the old saying of "Mirrors, Signal, Manoeuvre (sp?)".

Many people seem to think it's just signal and manoeuvre, how many times do buses think that just by sticking there fucking indicators on it allows them to suddenly pull out????

Give way to buses? No fuckin' chance, follow the rules of the road you fuckin' fat bastards !
(Laxly, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 12:51, Reply)

Scared I was
approaching motorway exit on M40 - some absolute wanker in fast lane cuts across all lanes, goes across the white line zone to force his way onto slip road. Cue everyone having to slow/swerve/poo themselves to enable him to reach his destination. Rage? I was arsing shaking.

Another one was Barcelona (home of mental drivers) stuck in rush hour watching two drivers in front of me, kick seven shades out of each other and each others cars. Actually it was quite entertaining in a 'don't come too near me' kind of way.

Classic one on Wednesday this week when the genius who set up the temporary traffic lights near two major dual carriageways near where I live, set them both on red - permanently. Chaos? Like a scene from Hades.
(Siouxfan I'm not staring at you, I am just short sighted, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 12:50, Reply)

All this talk of car parks
Spaces for disabled drivers? Of course. Spaces for people with children? Bah! Why should people get better parking spaces just because they've selfishly chosen to reproduce? It's not like their having kids makes anyone else's life any better. And anyway, walking across the car park to and from the supermarket is probably the only exercise these waddlesome kids get, since their parents drive them everywhere. Parents should be made to park at the far side of the car parks as an anti-child-obesity move.

Grumble grumble grumble.
( Olembe Refuses to write in this space, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 12:48, Reply)

I had a Renault 5 at the time.
I was driving home from work and was itching to put my foot down. You know, like you do sometimes. I just wanted to go fast.

I was behind a guy doing 55mph in a 60 zone so I thought; great I'll overtake and get it out of my system.

It was a fairly wide road and it had a very slight and long curve round to the right. "O.K., Go!” I accelerated. Now, I was in a Renault 5 remember, Campus 1000cc to be exact (super dude, woo!), I gained slowly, but surely and pulled out to go past.

In the distance I see a car coming the other way and I'm struggling to get passed this guy. I'm too far to abort, but not quite fast enough to get back in lane in time. I'm now level with the guy I'm overtaking, and put my foot to the actual floor! My heart is pounding my chest like a child trapped in a toy box.

The car coming towards me starts flashing his lights, we're getting closer and closer at a combined speed of at least 120mph, then, as soon as my back end was inches in front of the guy I was overtaking, I darted in, and the opposing car whizzes by flashing and beeping the fuck out of his horn.

The 55mph guy, now behind me is also flashing me. Clearly pissed off that I just endangered his and the opposing driver's lives. But I don't care. I'm alive and THAT was an adrenaline rush!

I look up, "Shit. Road works". The light is green, "Please stay green, please stay green, please stay green". They change to red.

Now I have to sit and look at that guy behind me in my rear view mirror.

Trying to avoid looking in my mirror, I adjust my radio. "Knock, Knock".

"Fuck".

I wound down my window. He said "Nice driving back there."

I just smiled sheepishly.

"What's even better is that I'm an off-duty police officer, and I'm going to issue you a summons. Your number plate, F432 MBW isn't it? Right, cheers mate, have a nice day."

At this point I started shaking. I was actually in shock, and shitting my pants. I kept getting flashes of me standing in the dock being shouted at wigged barristers and the shame I would bring on my family.

The lights changed green and I drove away at about 40 miles an hour for the rest of the way home.

I dreaded the post every morning after that for about 6 weeks. Then I thought to myself, "Hang on, that guy didn't provide any I.D., he didn't give me any documentation, and he didn't record the incident, he's off duty, if he is a copper at all, and he was driving a shitty Peugeot 106. He just said that to scare the shit out of me..."

What a fucking lengthy canting bustard.
( Fork Has lost his bash virginity!, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 12:46, Reply)

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaghh!!!!!
...get out of my CUNTING WAY you CUNTS cuntcuntcunt CUNTY BOLLOCKS, slutCUNT!!

Reverend Ike
April 1979

Edit: CUNT
(Fonkadelix is fucking bored, pass the crack pipe Mavis., Fri 13 Oct 2006, 12:45, Reply)

really hope this doesn't sound racist
but black people, wearing black from head to foot, diving into the middle of the road where it's not well-lit... it's very hard to see you. please think about the fact that you don't glow in the dark like pasty faced people such as me!
( rachelswipe with a fork, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 12:42, Reply)

thumbs up.
As previously mentioned road sarcasm all the way for me..

I just give 'em the thumbs up, sometimes with a wink, and on rare occasions a thumb / forefinger gun like salute with a wink and a very satisfying clicking noise, followed quickly by a thumbs up.
(japper, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 12:33, Reply)

The old mans dead
I have almost never even got irratated by bad drivers, there are so many of them, and i know they're s*** drivers, no need

But imagine the scene, sat in my little mk1 Astra (yup, it was 9-10yrs ago, only been driving a year then) just filled up on petrol at the left side of the pump. to the right side is an old boy at least 75+

there is a main road (2 lanes) on his side to his right, he goes to pull out, not straight ahead but in a 180 degrees U turn back the other way. very dooable, but you end up across both lanes and then off. I decide to pull out from the left side of the pump and turn right to do 180 back that way to, but sit 3-4 odd metres from the curb waiting for him to inch round and go off.

He misjudges the 'lock' on his steering (i.e. not enough) and ends up facing the house opposite, sticks it in reverse and shoots back across the other lane backwards straight into the front right side of my car, seems baffled by the obstruction to his reversing so has another go thudding back more, and then edges off down town.

during this im obviously effin and jeffin, but very stunned, look at the bangladeshy fella back at the counter who looks equally stunned.

But have to drive off after the old boy as he's gone. during this i can see and feel wobble in the wheel e.t.c. Catchup with him, pull out in front and stopped, caused a scene with my horn, which makes people stop e.t.c.

anyway, he had absolutely no idea what i was on about until he saw the damage to both cars and went 'oh!', i calmed down, took his details and so on, and then over time, my insurance company dropped the cost on his lap, i think he had some issue with insurance, 3rd party FT or something so was landed with the repair bill of £1800 odd

A week later someone showed me an obiturary with the same name as the old fella. Mmm...

Another time, same car, my fault this time (which killed the car) had an argument with the boss in a company i deeply loathed (them and the company) raced off and ended up in Basingstoke of all places. was speeding down from the M3 towards Brighton Hill.

Anyone from around there will know the Kempshot roundabout at the bottom of the hill from Sainsburys, the one with the really sharp left turn off towards Brighton Hill Roundabout (which has been recently surfaced with that red stuff for more grip)

Anyway, i took this turn at about 30-40 with near bald rear tyres. ended up sliding sideways into oncoming traffic in slow motion (it seemed) and then bolted into the direcion the car was facing suddenly (facing a small incline and tress)

shot up a 5-6 foot incline and was launched airbourne in to said trees, knocking 3 of them down
(1_not_so_careful_owner, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 12:32, Reply)

Not strictly road rage...
but I got my provisional license today! Yay! One day I will have stories as good as the b3ta veterans to tell.. Okay, stories about cars.. A few spring to mind.. Driving along on a cold, windy xmas day, to Grandmabox, with Mumbox & Dadbox in the car & I shit ye not, kind reader, a SYRUP, A TOUPEE, A WIG, blows right across the windscreen before settling on the kerb. You wouldn't think this would be the highlight of xmas day, but you'd be wrong.

I have also been subjected to the London to Brighton Mini run several times in the course of my youth, & this gives me road rage - sorry, I mean shame. Theres something about the fact that there are quite so many middle aged men ready to enter fully into the spirit of acting like Mason's members, with secret light flashes & toots etc al that makes me cringe.. that & the fact I'm related to one.

Also been known to flip the finger at drivers who make bad manoeuvres when I'm in the car with dad. He's too nice & I figure 1)I'm a puny little girl I can get away with it
2) Everyone's gotta get their kicks somewhere.. its especially enjoyable as my dad is one of those wankers with a pick up truck.
He lives in Devon.. its all rugged & cliffy there. It is. IT IS. WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW, YOU NEVER LEAVE THE PC???!
(godbox 3rd best prostitute in London, after mum & sis, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 12:30, Reply)

Are you talking to me?
So, I was taking my car to the local hand car wash. As I came round the bend, there was a car stopped on the left, not moving, not indicating - nothing. So I assumed it was parked, which was reasonable in the circumstances, nipped round him, and drove down the ramp into the car wash.

At which point, the guy in the car jumps out and starts effing and blinding at me, and waving his arms around - "I was waiting to go in there, you c*nt, I ought to give you a good kicking, etc".

So, I get out of my car, and start walking towards him. Now, I'm just under six foot, with a shaved head, and was wearing, I think, a Motorhead T-shirt. He gives me one look, jumps back in his car and locks the door, with this strange "oh, shit" look on his face.

I walk over, and he winds his window up. I knock very gently on the window, and calmly ask him if he'd like me to move. Now he won't even look at me.

I haven't hit anyone since I was 15, and I'm not about to start now. I guess looking like a potential psycho does have its advantages at times.

So be careful who you pick on when you have road rage - it might be a pacifist!
(Steve The Monkey, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 12:28, Reply)

Man in Repmobile
Chased me half way down the m6, on to the m6 toll road and up to Warwick services on the m42.

Some tit in a Vectra tried to undertake me when i was overtaking a car in the middle lane, and he didnt make it. He was quite angry about that. I dont think he ever got more than a few feet away from my bumper no matter whether i sped up or slowed down.

I managed to get rid of him by going down the middle lane and turning across the inside lane into Warwick services at the last minute.

On the plus side it did cut half an hour off my journey.
(Merry, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 12:23, Reply)

Conkered
I couldn't work out why there are always conkers in the driver's door of the car I share with my dad. So I asked him. His answer was "I throw them at the cars of people who annoy me". His reasoning is that it doesn't do any harm to the body/paintwork and it wakes them up a bit.

So next time you are driving in London and aren't quick enough off the lights/block a junction/drive too slowly and hear a "doink" sound - look in your rearview mirror. If you see a large gleeful man in a tiny white Fiat, you've been conkered.
(Superene, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 12:23, Reply)

oh, AND speaking of disabled parking...
why the hell is it that when you live in hammersmith, where the money grabbing council outsell the spaces by about 4 to 1 and then let everyone else hire skips and block the spaces even though you pay through the nose for a permit that you can't use, and where 1 car in every 7 is just driving around looking for a parking space... why the hell is it that there are so many disabled bays that are always empty? and why is it free for f*cking motorbikes to park so that they then insist on taking up an entire bay to themselves? argh.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 12:06, Reply)

mother and baby /disabled spaces
i agree that you shouldn't use either if they don't apply.

however, in my case, it was 9pm at night, the supermarket was deserted and i had just spent 90 mins doing my hair and makeup for an evening round at the bedshitter's (back when i still really liked him and it was all shiny and new).

i drove into tesco at hammersmith to buy some wine, and it was really pissing it down. so i parked in the furthest mother and baby spot as it meant i could walk all the way in under a roof. it was miles away from the door. there were ordinary spaces ironically situated much nearer the door but in the wet. and it was 9pm on a sat night. the place was pretty much deserted.

so i come out awash with wine and condoms, and there's a big 4 x 4 blocking me in. i assume he's waiting for someone, so i wait for a bit. no movement. then i put my car in reverse to give him a gentle hint. nothing. so i beep. NOTHING.

at this point i realise. oh joy oh rapture, it's a rare twat. so i get out, pulling my jumper over my head to stop the sleek shiny hair from becoming wet wiry pubes. i knocked on the window and the loser, whose car was seething with horrid children, opened it. i said politely, "please could you move your car?"

and he said, "nope. not until that small child i assume you're waiting for comes out of the supermarket." i looked at the myriad of empty spaces, and something snapped. why the f*ck did this guy not have anything better to do?!

"first of all," i said, "there are hundreds of more convenient spaces for you. it is not as if i used a spot in the rush hour and stopped you from doing anything. second of all, if you don't move right now, i will re-educate your children with some very choice words. and finally, i will get security to move you in any event."

he shrugged. so i said loudly, "children. your daddy is a sad, sad little man who will always embarrass you in front of everyone." then i looked at him and said, "why don't people like YOU realise that bringing an entire f*cking carful of your horrible loud shrieking children to the supermarket does not exactly enhance the shopping experience of everyone else in it?"

then i got security to move him. which of course they did. he was being utterly obnoxious for no reason. and the security guard there loves me and asks me out every time i go in, so i knew damn well he'd be on my side.

ugh what an absolute and total weapon.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 12:03, Reply)

Canal rage
Ok, not strictly a road until the last line of the story.

About ten years ago we were on a narrowboat holiday on the Shropshire Union Canal. This goes north-south through the middle of Chester. Now Chester always sounds lovely and picture postcard-y, until you realise that the northern suburbs are basically Toxteth overspill, and that's where the canal goes.

So as a fairly gangly and not particularly well-built 22-year old, I was standing on the back of the boat, steering. Local kids appear on the bank and start throwing rocks of increasing size at me. I can't really do much about this, as there's about 15ft of water between me and them, and I don't have any ammunition to hand.

Instead I just start shouting abuse, which isn't very helpful but feels therapeutic. Eventually (remember we're travelling at 3mph here) some of the rest of the crew hear me shouting and poke their head out to investigate.

Scally kids think, wahey, some more targets to hit. Until I steer the boat towards the bank, at which point:

a) One quite large 22-year old jumps out from the narrowboat side-hatch with one of the detachable metal table legs
b) Another, not large, but very athletic 22-year old jumps off the bows with the other detachable metal table leg
c) A final 22-year old jumps out from the stern with long hair, pallid skin, a long leather jacket, and a lovingly-sharpened billhook.

I've never seen anyone run so fast.

About a minute later I heard a "PAAAAAAAAARP" from the main road which we'd just passed under. What was that?, I asked crew member B as he returned from the chase. Oh, he says, that was the sound of five sh?t-scared scally kids almost being run over by an articulated lorry.
(ChaRleyTroniC is invincible with his chips and cheese, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 12:01, Reply)