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Entries in ranting (1)


Drive Me Crazy

Warning: Contains foul language and sweeping generalizations.

Ever wondered how your zodiacal sign relates to the way you drive? If so, you’re in luck (and you’re weird).

Driving Style, By Astrological Sign:

Aries – You still haven’t figured out the whole left versus right thing. If a sign tells you to merge left, you invariably head right. Right lane ends? No problem — Aries drivers will quickly change lanes to make sure they’re in whichever lane disappears in ten feet. All of which begs the question, “How hard it is, you stupid piece of shit?”

Hmm … decisions, decisions. It’s all so confusing when you're an idiot.

Visual aids are no help, as you suffer from acute hyperdumbassism, a cognitive defect that reverses all images before they reach your miniscule brain. This also explains why you brake at green lights. And why everyone hates you.


Taurus – You refuse to leave the fast lane, even though you’ve been pacing an 18-wheeler for the past ten miles and have fifty pissed-off drivers behind you. You’re a stubborn asshole who treats the road like it’s the best seat at Golden Corral. You don’t leave an all-you-can-eat buffet — or your lane — for anyone. If the person behind you gets too close, you just drive slower. Fun fact: more Taureans die in drive-by shootings than all other signs combined.


Gemini – You’re a menace on the road, thanks to your Multiple Personality Disorder and your inability to shut the fuck up. When you’re not gabbing on your cell and sending texts, you’re arguing with talk radio or possibly the voices inside your head. You switch lanes as often as you change sexual partners — fast lane, slow lane, male, female — you’ll try anything and anyone, so long as you can blame your parents when it all goes to hell. All Geminis are liars and sluts, so they rarely get tickets. It’s just one more reason to despise them.


Cancer – Moody and misunderstood, Cancer drivers are easy to spot by their “I ♥ My Chihuahua” and “Gun Control Means Hitting Your Target” bumper stickers. They say Cancers are homebodies, probably because they all live in their parents’ basements mumbling about sneaky little Hobbitses. It’s best to steer clear of Cancer drivers on the road. They’re never more than a body or two away from completing their magnificent human flesh-suit.


Leo – Your car cost more than a house, making you the most awesomest human of ever and also the undisputed winner of life.

Everyone had better get the hell out of your way before you have to go all German engineering on their asses. You’re late for your tee-time, dammit, and there’s a country club with your name on it (or Granddaddy’s name, anyway). Don’t these people know who you are? You own this road, baby. Which is good, since you’ll eventually wreck your Mercedes and end up permanently embedded in the asphalt.


Virgo – Road construction and detours freak you the fuck out, as do spontaneity and joy. Before leaving the house, you research your destination, plot turn-by-turn directions, calculate your fuel usage, and update your amortized vehicle depreciation spreadsheet. Good thing you’re just running down to the corner 7-Eleven, Rain Man. Your OCD pretty much guarantees that anyone taking a road trip with you will eventually gnaw your air freshener into a makeshift shiv and try to murder you with it. But that’s okay — you’ve already mapped the location of every hospital along your route.


Libra - Either you’re too stupid to use your phone’s GPS, or else you think you’re being quirky and ironic when you tell everyone you have a “dumb” phone. If it’s the latter, it’s most likely because a) you don’t know what ironic means, and b) you’re an asshole. You never know where the fuck you’re going, so you brake at Every Damned Sign in case you’re supposed to turn there. Get a map, moron. Being indecisive is not ironic, it’s not hip, and it’s not cute. No one likes you.


Scorpio – You’re a selfish, conniving bastard who can’t follow rules. You know your lane is going to end, but you stay in it anyway, zipping over at the last possible moment so you can cut off the hundred or so suckers who’ve been waiting to inch forward. Depending on your mood, which is impossible to predict, you may respond to the irritated driver behind you by a) laughing maniacally, b) intentionally mistaking their hand gestures for a friendly wave and returning it maniacally, or c) spontaneously combusting … in a maniacally Scorpio manner.


Sagittarius – That 49cc four-stroke between your legs barely qualifies as a real vehicle, but that’s okay because you’re probably not a real boy. You think your scooter is a time-saver, and you’re right — now everyone will know you’re a loser without having to waste their time talking to you. If only you were that considerate on the road. News flash: street legal doesn’t mean street worthy. There’s a reason people don’t ride their lawnmowers to work, Genius. That reason is dignity. Unless you’re a chick, of course. Mopeds are fine for chicks. But if you’re a dude, you must trade in the Vespa for a real motorcycle the instant your testicles finally drop.


Capricorn – You’re too cheap to buy a new car, much less roadside assistance, so you create a traffic jam each time your aging Yugo coughs and splutters and begs for a mercy killing. You spend half your time in a loaner car, which you drive like a fucking asshole since this is all temporary and any day now someone will recognize your greatness and reward your talents and you WILL CONTROL EVERYTHING, BWAHAHA. Settle down, Beavis. You gotta pay off the Yugo first.


That’s a sweet ride, bro. You got AM radio in that thing? Sick!


Aquarius – You’re a judgmental prick, so of course you drive a stupid Prius. You love asking everyone how many miles per gallon their cars get, just so you can gasp at gas prices and make dumbfuck comments like, “Gee, I can’t even remember the last time I had to fill up, hahaha.” On the road, you’re so busy making snide assessments of other vehicles that you miss your exit and have to drive twice as far, subsequently reducing your own mpg. Asshole.


Pisces – You keep a prism dangling from your rear-view mirror because you truly believe rainbows make the world a better place. Just like the real Pollyanna, all Pisces will eventually die from syphilis.

I will hug him and squeeze him and call him Siffy.

Never let a Pisces drive when leaving a concert or sporting event — while they unselfishly allow Every Other Car in the parking lot to exit first, you will die of starvation and dehydration, your cries for help drowned out by the Donny Osmond CD blasting from their car stereo.

Check it out — George Michael and Danny Zuko (Grease) had a baby! And he wears mom-jeans.