Another week of trying to keep myself occupied, make myself run, figure out if I can afford a gym, find a new pair of sunglasses since mine broke this morning. This morning at breakfast Mom was trying to be all feminist again. She commented on the paper being too far away. I suggested she ask her paperboy to put the paper on the porch. She then stumbled "paper .. er boy ... or maybe it could be a paperwoman?" She has no idea who delivers her paper and she'd like it on the porch, but of course she isn't going to pick up the phone and ask because that would require her to actually get up out of her chair and go get the phone. And in the end, she never reads it anyway. Plus, that chair is really comfy. All that really matters to her, other than not getting up out of her chair, is that I never say "paperBOY". It should be "paperWOMAN", as if the job of delivering the morning paper is high class and involves wearing a power suit and carrying a briefcase. Seriously, if you knew my mom, that's what she thinks when she says stuff like this.
Also, all of our neighbors are now "Miz". At least, she seems to think so. They are all old ladies who have been married for 100 years and are mostly widowed now, but by God, she is going to assign them feminist labels whether they like it or not. And for the most part they do not. Most of them value their marriages more than she ever did and resent the "strong independent lesbian" label she tries to slap on them. And she wonders why they never call or come over and see her.
Traffic was obnoxious this morning. I got behind a moron going 45 in the passing lane and she would not move for ANYONE. I nearly had a wreck because of her. She was going so much slower than the rest of traffic that it was almost impossible to change lanes into the slow lane to get past her. The slow lane was flying by her. She reminded me of the blonde bitch/girlie-man in the Miata my wife and I encountered on Sunday afternoon at WalMart back home in The Boondocks.
Let me tell you about Miata Moron. This person was one of those white-trash people who get all dressed up to go to WalMart. When we first encountered Fuckwit, they were of course in the passing lane, and we assumed they were on their cell phone. No one who isn't on their cell phone or in a coma drives as badly as this Redneck Fucktard was. And since we were moving so slowly we had plenty of time to theorize about what sort of idiot was weaving dangerously all over the road in front of us. All we could see was some bleached blonde hair and what appeared to be a hairy man's arm on the door. The windows of the Miata were down, as were ours.
"It's some bleached blonde girl on a cell phone," I theorized as I observed a mass of blonde hair in the rearview mirror ahead of us.
"Yeah, but look at their arm," my wife offered as she pointed at the fat fleshy limb hanging out of the door. "It's all thick and hairy like a man. I think it's a guy."
"Maybe it's one of those country music guys who likes jeans and boots and bleaches his own mullet and is gay, but doesn't know he's gay because he's in denial," I suggested. "I mean, a big, thick guy with dyed blonde hair driving a dainty little Miata ... he's definitely gay."
My wife groaned loudly as the Miata turned left in front of us. We were going left, too, and would have liked to have gotten rid of this loser whore-monkey in the process, but no such luck. We drove on toward the shopping center entrance, praying to God that this Hee Haw PenisCheese would defy all odds and skip the WalMart.
No suck luck, because of COURSE the RainbowPonymobile turned left into the WalMart parking lot, the white-trash heaven, which is where we were going, too.
"I hope she turns at the first row. If she does I'm going to the next one and get rid of this bitch," my wife said aloud, windows still down, wrecklessly assigning a sex to the Shitlicker before we knew for sure whose sex was to blame for this waste of human flesh.
The Peroxide in the Miata clearly heard her. Bitch started to turn at the first row, then changed their mind and went on to the second row. My wife, having had enough of the Fat Selfish Piggie, skipped that row and went on to another one. Well, the Bitch in the Miata was having none of that, so PruneCunt floored the gas pedal and flew across the parking lot rows and cut in front of us.
"Well, clearly this shitstick has been fucking with us on purpose," I observed aloud. "That was no accident."
We parked 2 spaces away from the Miata. And then the Shitpile did what passive/aggressive bitches always do when faced with the possibility of actually having to stand up like a man and confront your victim face-to-face. Miata Princess sat in the car and waited for us to go on inside like a big, fat coward.
Meanwhile my wife was busy messing with her purse. I had gotten out and was anxious to see if The Bitch/Gay Country Music Man in the Miata would look me in the eye after all that bullshit. Mostly I just wanted to see if it was a gay country man or a fat ugly woman. I stood there waiting for my wife to get out of the car while watching the Miata to see who or what got out. No one moved.
And then, at the exact same time, my wife and The Bitch both got out. I quickly began walking towards WalMart, towards The Bitch. I looked right at her as she pretended to fumble with her purse and act casual. She flipped her hair with her fat, saggy, freckled arm and half-smiled at me as if to say "oh hi sweetie, I didn't see you there." She was an old lady who had clearly spent every last dime on herself, having her hair professionally dyed from gray to golden blonde, having her nails manicured, trading her ex-husband's Chevrolet Impala for her new Mazda Miata which she could apparently only just barely drive. Of course she was dressed head to toe in the brightest and most pretentious clothes available at Lane Bryant, a haven for old fatties. She paused and made sure we walked on past her. Now that we could look her in the eye she suddenly didn't want to get in front of us and go slow anymore. Now she just wanted to pretend to be a decent human being. Imagine that. Funny how that always works.
One thing I have to say about passive/aggressive black women in comparison to the passive/aggressive old white bitches, once you both get out of your cars and are no longer hiding behind the wheel, the black women will go ahead and look you in the eye and try to stand up to you. Usually they mouth off from a safe distance. They will risk a physical confrontation about half the time. Only when they see that I am not going to back down do they usually run away. But the white bitches, they are cowards right from the start. They only have any guts at all when they have a car wrapped around them and their doors are locked.
White men with bleached blonde mullet hair, dainty cowboy boots, and a big-assed NASCAR belt buckle aren't much better, only maintaining their courage once outside the vehicle about half the time, and that generally requires the assistance of whiskey or beer. You can pretty well guess which one he is based on what kind of vehicle he's driving, too. A redneck in an old Camaro just got out of jail. He's going to want to keep fucking with you and hopefully push it into an all-out fight so that he can go back to jail where he belongs if possible. Or if he's in an old pickup truck, he won't back off easily because he's probably got a friend with him to help him gang up on you. But if he's in some lowered, chromed, 24 inch wheels, thumpin' stereo, bullshit toy truck, or some champaigne colored dainty little Miata, he's a closet transvestite, a girlie-boy. He won't fight you for anything. He's got no more courage than his passive/aggressive mother. If you shout "Boo" at him he's liable to pee himself and his designer jeans.
Being back in my home city now, known to its' natives as the Passive/Aggressive capital of Alabama, has shown me that not much has changed. The bitchy old feminists don't get out in their cars as much as they used to, so there isn't as much organized blocking of the passing lanes by middle-aged fat women with beehive hairdos as there once was, but they are still around. They're older and more frightened than they used to be since the traffic shootings back a few years ago. Apparently they loved hurting young men in traffic until someone pulled out a gun and shot some old bitch in the face. Adding to their fear is the new generation of grrlz who drive more aggressively and are more prone to confrontation than any teenaged high-school boy from previous generations ever was. The idea of getting kicked in the cunt by their granddaughter apparently doesn't appeal much. So now they've taken to harassing men who walk or jog alongside the roads. And apparently they're not the only ones. Every shithead with a bad attitude seems to have joined in.
I know this because I'm one of those men jogging alongside the road. Every single night when I jog at least one fucker driving towards me hits their brights and keeps them on just to blind me. This is illegal, but so is blocking traffic by driving slow in the passing lane, racing cars that are trying to pass you, and generally obstructing traffic just to be a cunt or asshole. That never stopped anyone around here. Anyway, the new game is to blind people jogging or walking at night. That means me, of course.
At first it was just one car, a Buick Lesabre with the lights removed over the license plate so that you can't get their tag number. They harassed me almost every night for several weeks, even swerving as if to run me over the first time. Then a Nissan joined in, blinding me for nothing more than the entertainment value. Then a Ford Taurus did it. I finally realized that it isn't just some teenaged asshole in his mom's car. It's the official new passive/aggressive game here. It's my mom's old gang of haters. And it's teenaged morons. And it's random shitheads having a bad night and wanting to share their joy with unlucky joggers. I was a runner here back in high school. I ran these same streets back when the feminists were younger and more actively trying to murder males on the roads. They'd block me in and lock up their brakes in front of me every chance they got, but they never blinded me while I was jogging. Nowadays I rarely see the old hater ladies locking up their brakes in front of male drivers. Apparently they can no longer move fast enough from the gas to the brake to pull it off before their intended victim has already passed them.
These days it's all about the high beams.
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