Moooove Bitch! get out the way Get out the way, Bitch get out the way  

LadiesChoice15 36M
3 posts
2/12/2006 9:58 am

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

Moooove Bitch! get out the way Get out the way, Bitch get out the way

Oh, Ludacris, you are truly our generation's greatest lyricist (I'm pretty sure that centuries from now the names Ludacris and Willie Shakespeare will be compared to one another with Luda coming on out on top. I mean, Shakespeare never helped me get my freak on with some lovely young thang). I was reminded of this truly poignant verse as I tried to use a shortcut to get from point A to point B in my sweet ride (no need to pimp my ride. My Camry came pre-pimped). Now, if the gods had smiled upon me this shortcut would have allowed me to reach my destination in a scant 4 minutes. The problem was I was trapped behind someone who was creepin' along at a truly glacial pace (and I know because I watched as three glaciers actually beat me there. I called the little one Frosty). No surprise that it was a person of the elderly persuasion who was impeding my progress. I could identify the age of my antagonist when I was about 200 feet behind them because of the car they were driving. You know, a Buick or a Lincoln, the kind of car that says "I only drive this thing to Bingo Night and the Early Bird Special at the Cracker Barrel."
Normally this type of minor annoyance would not warrant a blog entry (that's not entirely true. If my whineyness levels are high, minor annoyances may make it onto the blog). But we all know this isn't an isolated incident. The elderly have forgotten the first unwritten rule of the road: The speed limit is the LOWER limit. That's right, the actual speed limit we all adhere to is 10 mph above the posted limit. Here's what I really don't understand. One would think that with the Grim Reaper nipping at their heels old people would be especially eager to get where they're going that much faster. I know it's probably very difficult to steer the iron land beast you call a car with those huge sunglasses on but, for the sake of the young uns, please pick up the pace just a little (who thought that sunglasses and cataracts were a good combo, anyway?).
I know I may have a somewhat jaundiced view of the Social Security set. See, my grandparents spoke no English and I stopped speaking Portuguese when I was but a wee lad (don't ask me how a portuguese/brazilian kid from the streets of suburban Jersey sounds like an 19th century Irish beat cop) because it muddled my English and landed me in speech class (good times... good times). Thus, I had very little interaction with them except for saying hello and my diminutive maternal grandmother putting her hands on my face and saying "Que' bonitu'? Que' bonitu'?" (which I think is Portuguese for "Who is this giant man towering above me?").
So I don't have any particularly positive memories of interacting with the curmudgeony portion of the population. Even so, I'm not advocating some kind of Logan's Run/Soylent Green type solution here (plus, I'm thinking old people are probably stringy as well as filled with enough prescription drugs to knock Jerry Garcia on his ass). I think I have a solution that will please everyone. A seniors-only lane on every major road and highway in the country. Think of it. A lane where the gutters are strewn with Geritol bottles. Where nobody assumes that just because your turn signal is on you're actually going to turn or change lanes. A lane where time and distance become meaningless concepts (kind of like a black hole but with more osteoporosis). Please, give it some consideration. Soon, the baby boomers will all be entering their golden years, drastically shifting the age demographic in this country towards the Matlock end of the spectrum. So unless those good-for-nothing scientists get off their fat asses (or, in my case, a perfectly sculpted posterior) and invent us some hover cars we are going to be facing never ending gridlock and the oppression of whippersnappers everywhere.


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