Why Traffic Sucks and How 7-11 Became Mecca (609 hits)
Category: HumorRating: 0 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Ex Lux Astrum (View user info) at 2004-09-20 03:46:58 EDT
Traffic is at a standstill. I'm in the passing lane, the fast lane. Unfortunately this lane-- that has much in common with the other three lanes -- is not fast; and traffic is not moving. Traffic is not moving. The fucking cars are not moving. At all.
My teeth are clamped tight, I taste enamel, molar on molar grating. Tooth enamel is made up of calcium hydroxy-apatite. My jaw is clenched in a rictor of desperation ; it is clenched so tight it is squeezing these common minerals into some new, scary compound...Despairite. I could split atoms with my teeth right now.
My upper lip is trembling and beaded, my forehead feels clammy. Hell, my entire body is clammy, clammy and covered in goose pimples. I scan the horizon frantically, panicking; I am looking for an opening to get off this highway, this hell-way, of bumper to bumper torture.
Wait...pain! O sweet Jesus, the pain! The sword of Damocles has fallen...no not fallen. It was taken. It was gripped by the well-muscled arm of ironic Fate, and thrust inexorably forward to pierce my unsuspecting center. Flex...Hold...Clench...Clamp...Squeeze...Hold, goddammit! My jaw clenches tighter....apatite transmuted into Despairite. My entire universe is reduced to the cockpit of my car. It has become my mobile prison, and agony my mistress. I feebly search for some infinitesmal gap or opening between the hundreds of cars, these infernal machines, to make my exodus to an exit ramp. I want to make the journey to some convenient store, undoubtedly with some Arab behind the counter. Yes, Abdullah, I will convert. Yes yes allah akbar...blah blah blah. Your store will become my Mecca. Please let me find my Mecca.
I have prayed to many religions and their assorted deity's in the last twenty minutes.
Traffic moves forward another six feet....I cautiously press down on the gas pedal. I inch forward and...Pain!! Clench...Clamp...Squeeze...I cross my legs, thigh muscles strain... brake lights turn red again...I need to stop! Like some dim-witted, spastic insane asylum inmate, bound in an invisible straight jacket, I awkwardly press the brake pedal with my legs crossed tightly - locked in a self-induced rigor mortis. Some woman in a tall SUV looks down into my car, my personal purgatory. She recoils in horror. She just witnessed some maniac, his tortured face locked in a tormented grimace, like he just had a stroke or was a tetanus victim. Beads of sweat pouring down his face, eyeballs maniacally bulging from their sockets, his legs pretzel-locked, and his body askew at some impossible angle - like Stephen Hawking on PCP trying to gesticulate while lecturing on the physics of Hell. Fuck you bitch. Fuck you traffic. Fuck you heartless universe.
I have bizarre, perverted visions of just giving up. That blessed moment of just letting go....O god the relief. No!!!! Clench....Squeeze...Clamp....will-power goddammit!!
The battle comes in waves. The frequency of the waves are increasing...the period between the waves growing shorter and shorter. I now know what having contractions and labor pain must be like. For one thing is certain. Very soon now I will lose this great battle, and I will violently, fiercely, ferociously, and mercilessly give birth to the most terrifying shit in the history of mankind. I will ruin my pants, my car, and my rectum in this horrifying process. It will explode forth upon this realm like some unholy tsunami of sewage. Between waves of agony I philosophize, grandly...I contemplate, calmly. What the fuck did I eat? What rotten, putrid piece of offal did I swallow to create this anarchy in my asshole, this entropy in my entrails, this chaos in my colon?
I must make my decision soon.
In my mind's eye, I zoom out, pan out with the brain camera-- from the entire scene. A beige Pontiac Bonneville sits amongst hundreds, thousands, of grid-locked cars on the tollway. The pigeon flying by at 300 feet or the mook in the traffic helicopter at 1000 feet, will not notice that particular car. They cannot comprehend the personal tragedy transpiring far below them. They are blissfully unaware of the great cataclysm and epic upheaval that is about to occur, and that will forever change the course of history.
User Reviews
Submitted by Ducky (user info) at 2004-09-20 04:53:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
try dropping a lit cigarette into your lap while you're doing the gridlock gas-brake dance next time...trust me it sucks.