13 Sep This Week in Rage – 9/13/13
This Week in Rage, a blog about the top three things that pissed me off this week:
Union 76 Gasoline Boycott: Union 76 now has a billboard campaign all around Southern California telling drivers “Don’t Be A Honk-Aholic”. They have cute little phrases like “Give A Hoot, Don’t Toot”, “Why The Long Beep?” and “Blast Tunes, Not Toots”. Bullshit. Honking is an incredibly useful tool, especially here in LA. As you know, I’m a big proponent of shaming. Your car’s horn is a mobile shaming device. It let’s the idiot in front of you know to wake the fuck up and get going. I’m even into the “honk-through” where if I’m the third car in line, the douche at the tip of the spear is refusing to turn right on a red, and the guy in the middle in front of me won’t honk, I give him a blast from the horn to attempt getting him to honk at the zombie at the front of the line. I had this happen recently where the guy was sitting at a green arrow. Not just a right on red, he had a green arrow telling him to go, and he was still sitting there. When I honked at the guy in front of me he flailed his hands like “What do you want me to do?” I want you to honk, you asshole. Lets get going. I eventually leaned on the horn so it was blaring non-stop like I was in a car accident and my lifeless corpse was laying on it. What I’m saying is that if someone honks at you your supposed to react in some fashion, that means something is wrong. Just sitting there until the light turns green as if you were deaf is not the plan. And you douche-nozzles at Union 76 want less of this? In L.A. we need twenty times more. People are driving around texting while high on prescription medications. I’m going to get a bunch of people together to literally take our streets back. I’m calling for a boycott of Union 76. We’ll meet at their headquarters and have a vigil. We’ll put candles through white paper plates and chant “All we are saying is give beeps a chance.”
“My Other Car Is A Yoga Mat”: I recently got behind one of the all time great “I could never hang with this guy” guys. Or in this case gals. I was on the 134 Freeway and got behind a middle-aged woman in a sea foam green Prius. First off, I don’t understand that color on a car. That color is only good for guys like Robert Blake to wear as jewelry when they get into their seventies. But even more egregious than the color choice was the license plate frame. It read, “My Other Car is a Yoga Mat”. What is so noble about yoga that we need to know about you and your special relationship with it? Were any wars ever won with yoga? Did yoga save any children’s lives? Why do I need to know what you’re into? As the great Dana Gould said on the podcast, I like masturbating but you don’t see me with a license plate frame that reads, “My Other Car is a Blurry Fist.” We get it, you do yoga and are therefore better than me. Just drive, bitch.
Tennis Grunting: The other night I was watching tennis. It was about 9 or 9:30, the kids were asleep and the wife was upstairs. I think it was the U.S. Open, Serena Williams vs. some Russian broad. Serena would let out this grunt whenever she’d serve or return or when she was warming up, or really, all the time. I swear if a moth flew by and she swatted at it she’d let out a hearty “UUUNNNGGG!” It sounded bizarrely sexual. My neighbors must have been thinking, “Carolla’s killing another hooker in the den”. I literally had to turn it down so Lynette didn’t think I was watching Skin-emax. But then I couldn’t hear the announcers. So I changed the channel and I switched to ESPN 5 and they had the Strongman competition. A giant white dude named something like Magnus Von Magnusson was lifting 400 pound boulders onto five foot pedestals and making no noise. Complete silence. Think about that. Dead-lifting a 400-pound boulder – not a peep. Swatting a 3 ounce ball – the bitch can’t shut her trap. It occurred to me that they needed to put a decibel meter on these chicks. It’s distracting. From now on you can make some noises, but you can’t sound like the Hulk taking a shit.