Warning: The following blog contains many expletives. If you’re a soft whiny twit, you’re probably one of the wretched souls I’m talking about in this blog so you DEFINITELY need to read it!

I live in Texas. There’s a lot of stereotypes surrounding Texas and they’re all true. I’m not inspired to defend Texas in any way so go ahead and stereotype. I don’t particularly care.

One of the hurdles of living in a state that I’m pretty sure is being slowly poisoned through the water system, is that most people have a hard time doing very simple things…like driving.

No, this blog isn’t going to be about the fact that there’s either a genetic variant or actually something in the water that makes most Texans not understand that “signal, brake, turn” makes more sense than “brake, start to turn, then signal.” This blog is not going to be about how I’ve recently noticed that many Texas drivers apparently never got clear on the difference between left and right. It’s not even going to be about the fact that the influx of um…”newcomers…” have somehow managed to acquire driver licenses but not insurance and now we’re all paying an arm and a leg in case we’re hit by someone who isn’t officially listed on any government roll.

No. This blog is about you mutha’ fukkas who are 6ft. 4in. and 300lbs and think you’re okay driving a Mini Cooper. This blog is also about you exiled citizens of Munchkin City who have the nerve to hop behind the wheel of a fucking Denali, Suburban, or anything similar.

So, I’m driving down the street. Come to a red light and I’m behind someone in a Mini Cooper. I kinda’ like to be the first person in line because my birth chart states that if I’m not, I’m behind someone who never should have left the house in the first place (apparently). The light turns green. The person in the Mini Cooper tries to go but he’s having a tough time…adjusting. So, after I think a few shits, damns, and fucks about the situation while I’m waiting for him to change lanes (seems like it took him 5 minutes), he finally gets the fuck out the way and I drive ahead.

As I pass, I turn to my right (because the law states you must turn and scowl at the person who pissed you off on the road) to see a man who could easily be a contender in the WWE. His head was almost through the top of the Mini Cooper and this was NOT a convertible. I look in my rearview mirror and even a big junk truck (my word for the very common trucks in Texas hauling everything from office furniture to coffins) passed him.

Now, this man may be a perfectly fine driver under other circumstances. The problem, in my estimation, is that he has no fucking business driving a Mini Cooper. Contrary to popular belief, cars are not meant to be driven with your knees or your gut. If you find that your gut reaches the steering wheel before your hands, you need a different car. Rule 1 of driving is to drive defensively. How can you drive defensively when you have to sit in both the driver’s seat and the passenger’s seat?

Dígame.

Part two.

You barely buffering jackasses who dare jump behind the wheel of a large SUV and then cause havoc on the road because your legs aren’t long enough to press the gas/brake, see over the steering wheel, and stay in your own gatdamned lane all at the same time….

I do not buy into the myth that women are worse drivers than men. Even insurance rates dispel that notion. But, girl…you are 5’3. Unless Payless came out with some commemorative I’m Gonna’ Git You Sucka’ 6-inch platforms so you can reach the peddles, you behind the wheel of the YUGE SUV ain’t it, chieftess.

It’s not our fault you out-procreated your Toyota Camry, Karen.

But let me broaden the scope of this. Summa’ y’all, regardless of gender, drive like 8 year-olds emulating what they’ve seen on a cop show, and look like children playing behind the wheel of a truck that’s not on. In fact, I think that’s the solution. Don’t even turn your big SUV on but to meet the oversized people in Mini Coopers at a 7-11 and trade titles and keys.

I’m simply asking that you two groups of people realize that you’re not the only ones on the road and decide to either drive a vehicle suitable for your particular um…genetics, or park it.

Until next time, drive safely! I’m out!