Hello Darkness! The Official Blog of Helen Keller

Fanaholics,

It's been a long week of being very busy being very busy. Not only was I busy, I'm also the bastard love child of Marco Polo and Freud. I have single-handedly discovered a new class of dick-head fuckwad driver hell-bent on leaving himself as a ruinous pizza-splash right in front of my car. I am goddamn sick and tired of having to go to the carwash once-twice a week to clean off retard blood and hair from my bumper. I'm not even sure how these people managed to survive on this cruel earth long enough to make life difficult enough that I have to spray gasoline into the garbage-pail so I can get the $2 discount on my newly frequent carwashes.

You've seen these people, you fear these people, hell, maybe you've even struck these people and dragged them a couple of blocks and you didn't notice because don't we all drag a couple of 189 pound trashbags every so often?

I'm talking about the militant, gonzo, crazed-as-fuck crossing guard. Who the fuck gave these people a goddamn stop-sign? I know my route to work. I can drive it forwards and backwards, often with my eyes closed or when I'm cock deep in three different cheerleaders. It's amazing how much one has to contort to fit the ladies into a fire-ball decaled Plymouth Acclaim with a gold-trimmed blower, but it can be done. Also, I play the Raiders of the Lost Ark theme really loud so people know I'm not a pretender.

Fear.

What I'm getting at is these people, usually fucking old people who are stubborn enough not to let me stuff them down storm-sewers where they belong, are given stop-signs which let them introduce changes to my perfected route. It's patently unfair. Firstly, children need a fully-rounded education. Part of that education includes learning not to kiss the front bumper of a car going 90 mph through their school zone. How better to do that than to have me, Annie Sullivan: Miracle Worker, test them daily? Just as I'm cruising along, doing both a civic duty and minor showy feat, one of these crossing-guards believes they have both the chops and the right to get me to stop. This leads into my second point: the fact that I'm practically airborne bearing down on their intersection seems to pose no barrier to them trying to halt me so one little idiotic drip-nosed kid with a Tigger back-pack can schlump his way through another day. I can try and half-assedly hit the brakes, but with no road to provide the necessary friction, I'm just a good looking missile. Needlessly, they've got to try and hold back fate by fucking waving a sign at it.

Doesn't work and not only is my perfect route ruined, I've got to drag yet another senior citizen (somewhere, I'm single-handedly draining a bingo-hall of all its patrons) to the train-tracks behind the Zellers and make due with another carwash. You'd think that the ultra-high turnover rate and stained-red intersection would deter these people but no, another old person is sent dutifully like a lamb to slaughter.

If the city wants children to cross the road, come and ask me what route I take to work. If the two coincide, do the right thing and dig a tunnel for the children to crawl underneath the road. P.S., do it an night, I've smucked my fair share of road-crews too. Also, this happens to piss me off too since I don't believe children should have special privileges the rest of us are denied. If so, I would demand to have my own copy of a stop-sign and with it, I'd probably at least double the attention I pay to traffic.

So, a warning to the local crossing-guards: The world has had enough of your bogus shit making believe your sign can actually repel a ton-and-a-half of steel commanded by somebody who is most likely reading Don Quixote or Juggs. I've called that bluff and so far, I've been right far more often than you.

Except for that one ginormous heffer they had this past Tuesday. She deflected my car a couple yards, but then waddled off to the side of the road, mooing. She lay down, a couple of passing kids petted her but I couldn't see what happened after that in my rear-view.

Anyway, this is where I botch the ending.