The National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) wants you to know that “On average, a pedestrian was killed every two hours and injured every seven minutes in traffic crashes.” (Source: Traffic Safety Facts: Pedestrians, April 2014.)
And they’re doing something about it, too.
While other aspects of driving safety continue to improve, pedestrian fatalities due to traffic crashes are up eight percent since 2009.
Perhaps if pedestrians stopped placing themselves in front of objects with mass traveling at speed? I may not be as smart as the federal government but that seems like a big part of the problem to me.
Physics has got to physics, yo know? Physics has no desire to play nice, do what’s fair, be compassionate, take sides, or even attempt to adhere to the rules of good form. Like Dr. Momma used to say, “physics does what physics does.” It’s apolitical. Asexual, too, but if you disrespect physics it will fuck you over.
The NHTSA’s solution is one with real traction. Make $2 million in grant money available to cities with high rates of pedestrian deaths. Because, money can buy you love. The money is to be used to “influence the safety of pedestrians through public education and enforcement initiatives.”
Yeah, that’ll work.
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It turns out that the human stomach isn’t that discriminating. It’s a go-with-the-flow kind of hipster dufus (probably wearing a fedora) who blindly trusts decisions made by the brain and mouth. Ha ha ha! Like they give a shit about downstream organs!
Tom’s Law #42
As one becomes less involved in the production and preparing of one’s own food, the odds of unwanted contaminants, unknown ingredients, lessened nutrition, deception and malice are exponentially increased.
Chew on that!
For example, the average fast food patron eats an average of 12 public hairs per year. And probably in a public place! Some things are meant to be handled in pubic.
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And now, on a more personal note, I’d like for you to taste my heart.
There are many definitions, perhaps, to be found on the internet for “nerd rage” but this one is mine:
violent, uncontrollable anger, usually in response to electrically-powered modernized technology: in a terrible fit of nerd rage she smashed the DVD player to pieces.
Source: Demotivational Dictionary, Spew Edition, Filth Version, Unabridged, Fully Reviled and Updated
Courtesy notice: This word doesn’t usually appear in our free dictionary, but the definition from our premium Unabridged Dictionary is offered here on a limited basis. Note that some information is displayed differently in the Unabridged. To access the complete Unabridged Dictionary, with an additional 42,000,000 words that aren’t in our free dictionary, start a free trial.
Our DVD player had been giving us fits. It was so sensitive. Checking out TV shows from the library would result in marathon sessions of watching pixelated squares dance across the screen and/or chewing, grinding noises emanating from the DVD unit that delighted and entertained the cat.
Operating on the theory that, perhaps, our 15-year-old player didn’t offer the latest in playback technology, I dragged my ass into the nearest Best Buy to
be boiled alive and have my skin removed go shopping.
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Today’s goal: Communicate what it’s like to drive in Portland, Oregon.
There are many transportation options for getting around in America’s “weirdest” city. You can walk. You can ride a bike. You can use various TriMet options like the MAX light rail, the bus, and street cars.
And, if you are some kind of gigantic douchebag, you can hop in your vehicle and drive.
It’s true. “Low car households” account for 60 percent of growth since 2005.
A low car household is considered one where there are more adults than cars. My wife and I are part of this elite group as we sold my car (named The Spaceship) when we hit town. There are two of us and only one car. We be greenies.
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Fucking grats. A rock has completed another circuit around its star. You know what that means, right? I’ll be up late tonight cuddling my kitties who are freaked out by another round of “let’s shoot our guns straight up in the air” brought to you by the inbred idiots I call my neighbors.
That’s just swell.
According to NBC Today/MSNBC the fun doesn’t stop there, though. On Jan. 1, 2012, 40,000 new laws brought to life by signed bills will go into effect. Luckily for you and me that total does not include a mess of new federal “rules,” too.
For once I thought I’d try to get into the spirit of this stupid fucking made-up holiday that for most Americans is yet another excuse to go out and get shitfaced. To celebrate, I’m going to try to think up some more laws that should also exist.
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This is part of the U.S. Soldier’s Creed, which actually says, in part:
“I will never leave a fallen comrade.”
Unfortunately, not all of us live by this creed. Observe…
Last night I was on my nightly commute home. My commute used to be only two miles one-way. Now it’s three miles. Which is more than enough for the assmonkeys* to turn out in spades.
I had driven a whole two blocks from work and was approaching the first traffic light of the drive. The light was green. That means it was my turn to go, and it also means that pedestrians were supposed to wait.
You see, I have this thing about pedestrians obeying signaling devices. It really burns me when they don’t. Especially when they take a leisurely stroll when it isn’t their turn and make cars with green lights have to wait. I fucking hate that! It burns me every single time.
I’m the kind of guy that waits for the walk signal. Always. That’s just the way I am. Even if the street is deserted as far as the eye can see. If only I had a nickel every time I stood there waiting while other pedestrians gave me a funny look, then blithely pressed on without me. Motherfuckers!
So here it was a mere two blocks into my commute and I was experiencing my first full blown incident of road rage of the evening. Shit, why did it take so long? Couldn’t the universe throw something at me a block earlier? Quit slacking, universe!
From the right came a couple of pedestrians, a man and a woman. I assumed they were a married couple. They were a little older than me and obviously together. They had a “don’t walk” signal because my light was green. The man strolled out into the street without a care in the world. He didn’t look left or right. He acted as if the universe was exclusively his.
Meanwhile, here I come, trying to catch the green light before it turns yellow. In other words, I’m accelerating.
The man strolled out about 10 feet into the intersection then finally seemed to realize where he was. “Wait a fucking moment. I think I’m in a street!” He stopped, froze in his tracks, looked in my direction, and then, quite comically, backtracked like a little scared rabbit.
Ha ha ha, motherfucker! This intersection is mine!
Meanwhile, he had left his wife behind. They were obviously not in agreement on the whole “let’s challenge a car to a duel” thing. While he strode out into the street, she stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, then went back to push the pedestrian button.
By now the man had retreated almost back to the sidewalk. He had stopped about three feet from the curb and remained standing defiantly on the asphalt. He was clearly perturbed that a car had dared to interrupt his jaywalking. It was like he was saying, “The line must be drawn here. This far, no further!”
Luckily I was going straight. If I had been turning right I would have run over his toes. Gladly, I might add.
After I passed, I checked my rear view mirror. That man had taken off again right behind me after I passed. And there was his wife, still dutifully waiting on the sidewalk.
The motherfucker was leaving her behind!
He reached the other side of the street and continued on down the sidewalk. He wasn’t going to wait for nobody, not even his wife.
Finally the light changed and the signal said “walk” and the woman could cross the street. She jogged all the way to catch up with her mate, then they finally continued on their way together.
You have my condolences, lady. Not only is your husband a criminal jaywalker, you’re married to a douchebag assmonkey, too.
* Thanks for the term, Write Snark! 🙂