Life Lessons

Road hog

If I’ve almost killed one student, I’ve almost killed a thousand of the ignorant fuckers. Living near a university campus means a day barely passes when I don’t find myself bearing down on some undergrad or other before pulling over onto the side of the road to sick up into my own lap with terror. This, though, has sod all to do with the state of my driving. It’s all about the inability of said Pot Noodle enthusiasts to tear themselves away from their mobile phones before leaping from the kerb.

Tell you what, for what should be the most intelligent group of people in the country it isn’t half heavily populated with idiots. Or the suicidal. I haven’t yet decided which. Either way, they step, lemming like, into the road with such frequency that I’m wondering whether the local byways should  be populated with emergency telephones like the Golden Gate Bridge.

What the fuck is wrong with these individuals? Exactly how hard can it be to check the road before stepping onto it? And what in the fuck is happening on their phones that’s so much more important than protecting themselves from the bus that’s hurtling towards them? They must be in receipt of some stunning information, if it’s enough to blind them to a steaming river of vans and lorries.

I dunno, perhaps they’re furiously texting state secrets or receiving incoming messages about the development of their terminal cancer. Surely, these emergency missives wouldn’t contain anything as unimportant as pictures of kittens wearing moustaches or offers at Bargain Booze.

Seriously, driving a car around here is like a test of endurance. And being aware of the idiocy of the local undergrads I’ve developed a road awareness of Olympic proportions. Yet, astoundingly, it’s still not enough. Exactly how many times have I reversed in a car park, after several checks of my mirrors and blindspots, only to suddenly find my rearview window filled with the whites of a student’s eyes? Too fucking many. That’s because it doesn’t matter how careful you are. A lecture-bunker could leap out at any given moment, like demented flashers, from the bushes.

It’s hard to believe that these festering gimps will one day run the country, lead our government or develop our cities. If their foresight is anything to go by we’re fucked. Armies of fascists could be scrambling their way over Dover cliffs and they wouldn’t notice.

Of course, all this is based on the premise that these people are still alive 20 years from now. At this rate, that’s laughingly unlikely. So rather than braking, perhaps I should be revving. Something tells me I’d be doing the nation one fuck of a favour.

Calling All Car Goblins

Not quite close enough...

Just a short letter to the guy who parked next to me in Tesco's car park yesterday...


Dear Sir
It was lovely to meet with you yesterday. You have no idea how overjoyed I was when I found that you'd parked so close to my car that I was unable to get into it via the driver's door. In fact I was hardly able to reach the handle of said door so congratulations to you for splitting the atom with your battered shit heap of an Astra.
I have no doubt that your lack of thought for fellow car park users was entirely down to you being so deep in thought about the East African food crisis. Was that why you were in Tesco perchance? To stock up on cheese strings for the starving? In that case, forgive me! Indeed from now on feel free to scrape your way into any pifling space you can find, ideally removing the paint from cars on either side before evacuating your vehicle via the sunroof. It's the least we can do for someone so noble and thoughtful.
If I fail to see you again before Christmas, please do have a wonderful time shoving baubles into thimbles and stuffing your turkey with a goose. After all, your goodwill knows no bounds!
Yours 
The Kraken
P.S. You'll find this funny but for one moment I actually mistook you for a selfish, fat-handed twat who is so far up his arse that he's formed his own black hole. Oh, how I'll laughed over this at the bodywork garage when I'm getting my paintwork fixed. Merry Christmas!

Off With Their Wheels 2

Mayday! Mayday!

Oh, for fuck's sake. Remember my post on Nov 4 about mobility scooters twatting about on our local roads? And how one road hogging geriatric had adorned his scooter with wing mirrors? Well get this. Tonight I was driving along in the dark and came upon him and his scooter which has now been decorated with...headlights. Headlights! On a mobility fucking scooter! And he was clinging to the white line in the middle of the road as if he was landing a jumbo fucking jet at Heathrow (except that the nearest he gets to breaking the sound barrier is when irate drivers holler at him). 
Worse, I've just checked the DVLA website (I know, I know, I'm a sad bastard) and found that this guy isn't only legal but he doesn't need to have a driving license and can even use it where the limit is over 50mph. Oh Christ, oh Christ, oh Christ. I think I'm going to be consumed by burning rage before collapsing and forming a black hole so deep and terrifying that witnesses suffer exploding bladders and torn bowels. No change there then.

Park Life

Gimp.

People who park their cars like wankers. They’re the sort who can fuck my day up to the point that I’m unable to function as a rational human being. 

At my favourite coffee shop this morning  – which has a car park teeny enough to swallow – I found a car had been less parked than abandoned across several spaces. Thing is, I knew exactly the type who’d do this and I wasn’t disappointed with my guesswork when the shaven-headed bloke with the gawp, tats and latest copy of Autotrader necked his brew and clambered straight into said car. I almost hollered Bingo! You can spot the fuckers a mile off can’t you? 

Car Goblins

Woman! Where's my Arctic Roll!

Arsing along the M4 today we were passed by one of those Toyota Hilux flatbed truck things. Problem was that it had a bumper sticker that made me gasp loud enough for Conjugal Kraken to swerve violently. It read: My other toy has tits. So, as I was unable to impart this at 70mph, here's a message for the one male and one female passenger who displayed such shite on their rear end:


Dear Bloke: I say bloke, because that's probably what you think you are. Look, stop scratching your knackersack for a moment and listen, will you? You. Are. A. Twat. Yes, a twat. Where in fuck's name did you get a sticker like that anyway? Did you use a flux capacitor to steal it from a 1970s Burt Reynolds film? And...don't tell me...you think women are frigid for not wanting wanting to shag you and black people have no sense of humour over the words coon or nigger. Yeah? Right so far? I suspect so. OK, OK, so you could be a paragon of modern man. I could have gotten you all wrong. But something tells me it's you who has gotten it all wrong. Trucks n tits. You're one pinched arse away from being Alf Garnett. Oh shit. That makes you proud doesn't it?


Dear Female Passenger: Step the fuck out of the car. No? Then you're as bad as he is. Really, why would any grown, sentient woman get into a car with that splattered all over the bumper? I'd rather walk over broken, shit-splattered glass in my bare feet. Do you enjoy being driven in a vehicle that describes you as a tit-adorned toy? Oh, please tell me that you've at least had words with him over it. Or that you have a car with a retaliatory sticker that reads: My other toy has a teeny tiny cock but he compensates for this by driving a truck. Otherwise, what happened? Do you also reside in a world where people eat Arctic Roll for pudding and have three telly channels to choose from? Look, hand me that flux capacitor will you? I'm going to smash it the fuck up.


Course, I could be way off my Kraken beam here. Perhaps I really do need to have the humour shagged into me or perhaps said passengers were mortified that this gem has been stuck on their brand new car. Either way, I'm writing this on my laptop. And my other toy has a hair trigger.

Off With Their Wheels

And to you

Like Saga-sponsored roadblocks, mobility fucking scooters seem to have taken over my local byways. As if driving isn't enough of a shriek-inducing pisser, this takes my level of road rage to Raoul Moat levels.
Aye, those puttering armchairs that ferry the fat or the elderly at -6 miles per hour are actually on the roads. Yes, the roads. Not the pavements, the actual roads. Do you know how often I've sailed around a corner in the car to find a mobility fucking scooter (try saying the phrase without the f-word in it. It's physically impossible) bang in the middle of my lane? 
There's even one ole geezer who has kitted out his mobility fucking scooter (see?) with wing mirrors. Wing mirrors! And you know what else he does? When approaching a large local roundabout he trundles bang into the middle of 'his' lane creating the sort of tailbacks you'd see in LA moments before a tidal wave. Entire local traffic systems have ground to a halt as the infirm and incontinent chutter through traffic lights.
I dunno. Perhaps these flying monkeys died in the war for the right to terrify grown men and small children with their road-hogging histrionics. Or perhaps it's just the teetering indignance that comes with old age. Either way, they need to get the fuck off the roads. Or, or, I'll, er, nick their batteries. Bastards.

You looking at me?

The Kraken's a'coming!

Well, of all the bell-ends...Driving to Ava's creche the other day I had to negotiate a road which is reduced to one lane thanks to the cars parked on one side of it. The cars coming at me had priority so, grudgingly, I tucked into a rare space to let 'em pass. And what the fuck do you think happened? The guy behind me overtook me straight into the path of an oncoming van in an effort get home one car-length earlier than usual. Of course, I, The Kraken, made judicious and lengthy use of my horn in order to point out the error of his ways. 
Guess what he did? Stopped his car bang in the middle of the road, got out and ran at my car shrieking. Natch, I did the safest thing I could think of and leapt out of my car hollering like a Kraken with a detached nad. It saw him off mind. And he looked even more fat-handed when he realised that he was stuck in the path of traffic and had to act like some mobile roundabout for the oncomers. 
So if it was you who was driving (although I use that term extremely loosely) a white estate car down Holly Street in Rhydfelin at 3.30 on Thursday 15 September, do us all a favour and shove your gear stick up your arse, will you?