Monday, September 9, 2013

Cars Don't Kill People. People Kill Themselves. By Taunting Cars.

I decree that all roadwalkers should have a background check and be licensed before they are allowed to walk on the roads of Backroads.

Yesterday morning I headed to town for the weekly shopping. As I rounded a right-angle turn to the left, I had to slam on my brakes to keep from flattening three fisherboys. They were around 7th grade age, still lanky and not stocky, with fishing poles slung over their shoulders like so many hobo sticks bereft of red bandanas. I could not go around them, because in the oncoming lane was a dude on a 4-wheeler, stopped to talk to them.

4WDude motioned with his head for them to get over on his side. Out of my lane. They glanced past their bare-hooked hobo sticks at me. And laughed. While not moving out of the road. Yes, it is the end of civilization as we know it. Here was 4WDude, breaking the law by riding his off-road vehicle on the road, blocking said road, in fact, trying to school these fisherboys in proper pedestrian/vehicle etiquette. And they were having none of it.

Wake up, fisherboys! You are not Gordie, Vern, Chris, and Teddy, on a coming-of-age journey to Back Harlow Road to find the corpse of Ray Brower. There will be no miraculous camera tricks to save you like child stars on a train trestle with a smoking steam engine bearing down on you high above the Royal River. Do not scoff at Val and her trusty T-Hoe, but rejoice at the fact that anti-lock brakes come standard on such a vehicle.

4WDude gunned his four wheels and eased on down the road. The fisherboys moved into his lane, where at least they were facing traffic. Once they were done giving me scathing looks, of course. How dare I drive my vehicle on the road! While licensed!

I plan to operate the Official Roadwalkers Licensing Office out of my proposed handbasket factory. Take a number. I'll bet you can't wait to see your official license picture.


  1. Here in BigCityLand, we don't have roads, we have streets.

    So you mean I could get a license as a streetwalker? I shudder to think how many hours I would have to work at that job to afford a big soda at QT...and my work uniform? That's ANOTHER reason to shudder.

  2. I have poste on this myself. These nitwits dare you to hit them, never thinking that if your are drunk, in a hurry, or on your cell phone they will be in for a collision and they will lose versus 3000 lbs. of steel every time!!

    I love that "GO ahead and hit me...I'll sue!" stare....Idiots!!

  3. You could always just give them a nudge. Just small enough to give them something to think about. Or break their knees.

  4. I say whip out your camera and pretend to take a photo. They'll either pose or run.

  5. I have a bumper sticker on my car that keeps everyone at a safe distance from me. It reads: I brake for no apparent reason.

  6. Sioux,
    Well, ain't you all hoity-toity, Miss Madam! I don't mean to cast aspersions upon your street-walking skill, but perhaps you should not go counting your unhatched chickens of the license variety.

    What is this "big soda" of which you speak? Is it like some kind of "big salad" that one person pays for, and a different person hands to you, thus taking credit?

    Surely you realize that "big soda" does not convey proper meaning. For instance, this is not the South, where one can ask one's waiter for a "Coke" when one really desires a Fanta Orange, requiring one's waiter to ask, "What KIND of 'Coke' would you like?" And then one gets around to the business of saying, "A Fanta Orange." That, and those drawls, are the reasons why lines are so long at Southern restaurants.

    I presume. Because Missouri ain't the South.

    Yeah. But they'll teach YOU a lesson, by cracky! By letting your vehicle pulverize their bones.

    Oh my goodness! How many people have wanted to do just that? I'm sure Hick could whip up a homemade cow-catcher out of scrap metal for the front end of T-Hoe. He's not cashing it in right now, you know. He's waiting until that shooting incident settles down at the scrap yard.

    Or they'll overpower me and take my camera. With any luck, they'll try to get money for it at the scrap yard.

    I have one that says, "I am a raging bitc..." No I don't! That's just what the people trapped behind me IMAGINE my bumper sticker would say.