Makin' Shit Up . com

When the Federal Government set up the interstate highway system, some very intelligent folks realized that it was too tempting for mortal men to set speed limits artificially low to enhance revenue. They came up with the 85th percentile rule under the sound assumption that people are generally intelligent enough to drive at a speed that is appropriate for the condition of the road. Do a speed survey, they reasoned, and take the 85th percentile, and set that as the speed limit. (They understood that a minority of drivers will and do drive recklessly, they are the top 15% that remain illegal.) Speed surveys would be done periodically, because as roads were improved or fell into disrepair, or as the technology of automobiles changed, the safe speed may change also. It is a system so flawless in its logic and beautifully simple in its execution that no one could possibly disagree.

Later came the NHTSA, with their partner in crime the IIHS. (In case you didn’t realize it, The Insurance Institute for Highway Safety is essentially a lobbyist group for insurance companies. And in case you’re daft, they make their money by charging you increased premiums every time you are in a traffic accident, and more importantly, every time you get a speeding ticket. Their lawyers long ago made a science of screwing you when you actually make a claim, so the only remaining way to increase their bottom lines is to have you get more tickets. The IIHS has no fiscal interest in making the roads safer.) Well, the NHTSA and the IIHS convinced your lawmakers that the 85th percentile rule was wrong; that drivers are inherently unsafe, and that only their all-knowing eye could determine safe speed limits. Law Enforcement agencies who liaise with the NHTSA and IIHS were shown how they could make money while making people think the whole scam was making them “safer.” Hell, most of the LEOs doing the dirty work honestly believe they’re increasing safety. Meanwhile, the NHTSA’s propaganda machine has convinced people that when most of the traffic routinely exceeds the speed limit, that its not an inappropriately low speed limit, which would be absolutely logical and reasonable, instead they convince you that for some reason on this stretch of road, people are driven by some unseen evil to wantonly break the law, and they’re probably drinking or doing drugs, too! If only we had MORE cops with a bigger budget to make our roads SAFE again!!!!

As I’ve said before driving cars is probably one of the most universal experiences we share with each other (as in we all do it TOGETHER, not just we all do it) and the way we treat each other while doing it constantly astounds me. But what goes hand in hand with driving? You guessed it: PARKING.

Apparently no one ever taught your stupid ass how to park.

Lets have a story, shall we? And as with most of my stories, its 100% true! (Remember, Spaz is a liar and should not be trusted.)

So my friends and I (yeah, get over the shock that I have real friends who I interact with in a non-virtual way, dick) meet up once a week at a coffee shop (because we’re not big enough alcoholics to meet at a bar,) but the coffee shop has a small parking lot. Also, its in an area where trendy fitness fanatics like to park their cars so they can go jogging. (Yeah, let that sink in, they drive somewhere to go for a jog. It makes me wish I had a Hummer H1 so I could just mow them down indiscriminately.) So, parking as very much at a premium. Which leads me to the day in question.

I pulled into the lot, and not surprisingly, there were no spaces. Well… there was sort of one spot. There was a sedan half way into it, backed in so that the driver’s side of the car was encroaching onto the spot next to it. After a brief moment of considering the consequences, and the fact that I drive a tiny car, I did what any man with my morals and world view (read: nobody else because most of you are pussies) would do: I backed in next to that car. Although I was just about perfectly centered in the parking spot, my passenger side door was about 3 inches from their driver’s side door. There was no concern that they could dent my car trying to squeeze in, no human could walk between the two cars. I stepped out of my car and took two steps towards the coffee shop when a moment I could only dream about happened.

There was the driver of the other car.

A middle aged white woman was charging towards me.

“How am I supposed to get into my car?!” she demanded. “I don’t know, and I don’t really care!” I replied, speaking nothing but truth. “I didn’t even realize I was parked over the line!” she cried. “I fail to see how that’s my fault or concern.” I replied. “No one else parked me in like that!” I was truly baffled that I should care, but the words were out of my mouth on their own: “Well, I guess not everyone has the guts to stand up to rude people.” She was speechless, so I offered a counter-proposal: “I’ll tell you what: I’ll get into my car, and I’ll pull forward so you can get into your car, move it so it’s only in one spot, and then I’ll back into my spot again.” At this point, her husband, who had made NO move to back her up because he knew that I was 100% in the right to do and say everything I did, took her keys and moved the car, this time turning it around so that the driver’s door was facing away from me. (I like to think my intimidating demeanor comes in handy in situations like these.) He got out, at which point she demanded “No, we are NOT staying here after that!” Good job being indignant after you were called out on being a selfish parker and then being defeated in word-play. I was, that day, a king of men. I think the highlight was when her husband (HER HUSBAND!) refused to stand up for her because she was so god-damned wrong.

Like all my stories, the moral is: don’t be a selfish, ignorant douchebag in your interactions with other people. But no one is going to listen to me anyway. And so the lexicon of the angry internet blog is retained.

Who would win in a fight between Chuck Norris with a cop mustache and Chuck Norris with a beard?

vs.

How would the beret play into your decision, if at all?

Plus

Equals: cheap steampunk.

No one else is putting any actual effort into their Steampunk Costumes, with the exception that proves the rule being the Apparition Abolishers, why should you? Just get some old clothes at a thrift store, get some goggles, and apply copper spraypaint liberally. Congrats, you’re steampunk. Woo.

Steampunk is what happens when Goths discover brown.

Ok, listen, lady, I don’t know what spilled in your shopping cart. I certainly didn’t spill it there. You know what? Only one person has had control of your shopping cart since you got here, so if theres “some kind of lotion” spilled on the clothes you were gonna buy, I’ll give you three fucking guesses who put it there, and if you guess ME, I’m going to light you on fucking fire. (I’ve done it before.)

So if you hadn’t guessed, I got to spend a couple days “filling in” on a cash register. While its not my normal job, it’s one of those tasks everyone is expected to know how to do, and suck it up and do on occasion. After tomorrow I will never have to do it again (booya lateral promotion) but for now lets talk about what I’ve learned. And I’ve mostly learned that you’re all retarded. So lets go over some “check-lane etiquette:”

Use the goddamned dividers.

If you’re too fucking lazy to use that thing, don’t dare get bitchy with me when the belt shoves your stuff right up to me and I start scanning it in with the previous person’s order. Fuck you, and fuck them too. While we’re on belt etiquette, is you pile all your stuff on the belt in a heap, that’s exactly how it’s going in the bags. The end.

Get off your fucking cellphone.

Just like when driving, there is shit going on here that demands your attention. Mostly its just that I need you to fucking pay so the sorry schlep behind you in line can get their chance to annoy me. And here’s a fun tidbit for you: did you know that most cashiers are rated (and rewarded or punished) by their speed rating? Did you know that it doesn’t stop timing them after they hit the “total” button? So while you’re finishing your call, or fumbling around for change in the bottom of your huge fuck-all purse, or writing out that check you could have filled out all of except for the total while you were waiting, they sorry sucker that’s trying to help you is being punished for your dallying. Not to mention everyone else behind you in the queue. And while the cashier is supposed to engage a customer in some type of small talk, if someone is on a cellphone I usually won’t make eye-contact with them. Because fuck you, that’s why.

Handling Money:

Here’s a favorite: When I give you the total and you throw your money at me, or drop it on the counter as I’m reaching over to take it from your hand. I mean, seriously there, Howie Mandell, the money I’m giving back to you is where the germs are, not on my hands. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fought back the urge to ball up your change and drop it on the floor in front of you and say “sorry” as sarcastically as possible. Oh, and another thing, if you want to scrutinize your receipt because you’re a nasty curmudgeon who thinks everyone is out to screw you, at least take two steps forward so I can start screwing, er, assisting the next person in line. You do realize what you’re doing is tantamount to calling me a liar to my face, right?

In closing, if you ever shop for things, I probably hate you.

Ok, so I work at a place where there is a sink visible to the public. And at various times for various reasons it is sometimes left running. And every once in a while, this will make someone ANGRY. Angry enough to be rude to me about the running sink. Invariably they’ll say something like “You shouldn’t waste water like that.” And my brain dies a little each time.

Ok, before you get uppity with me, I understand that it takes time and money and a complex infrastructure to supply water to an urban population, but lets get one thing straight.

I CANNOT WASTE WATER.

Water is the world’s most abundant RENEWABLE resource. In case anyone has forgotten, 3/4s of the Earth’s surface is covered in the stuff. It’s literally the most abundant compound on the planet. There is more water here than there is ANYTHING ELSE.

Furthermore, its not just that we have a ton of it that we can never run out of it, at least not by leaving the sink running. I could run that fucker at full blast for eternity, and every fucking drop is going to end up back in the water supply one way or another. The only way I could WASTE water would be by loading it onto a rocket and launching it into the fucking Sun. That is the only way I could ever take any amount of water out of circulation on this planet.

Anyway, back to the water thing. When you boil it down, what I’m wasting is the effort to sanitize and deliver that water. What I am wasting is MONEY. And I’m not wasting your money. SO SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU STUPID HIPPIE BITCH. Go hop in your Prius and pretend you’re saving the world somewhere else.

Unless you’re one of those sexually liberated woodstock hippie chicks. Then I’ll be happy to shut off that water.

Pretty fucking sweet, eh?

New logo courtesy of Master Vinny Bove.

Also, this logo and other MSUDC art is available in T-shirt form at Procyon Designs.

http://procyondesigns.spreadshirt.com/

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