Shit-intolerant. Stress intolerant. Niggle intolerant.
I confess as I wend my way through the narrow, dark, dank passages of life it is the little things that annoy me more. Which isn’t to say the big things don’t bug me. They do. But they’re so big I can philosophize about those. Make them part of a theme of moaning that actually gives my life journey a bit of impetus.
But the little things trip me up. Make me gnash my teeth. Make me spit feathers.
A ridiculously pimped up car is one of those things. And I realize that by definition a pimped up car will always be ridiculous. You know the type I mean. Hub caps with chrome spokes that look like something off Ben-Hur’s racing chariot. Fins on the back that look like they’ve been designed by a Great White shark but applied by Harry Hill’s tailor. Windows so black you suspect the occupants have coughed up all the tar from their lungs at a single sitting.
Now I know what you’re thinking.
These idiots have a right to spend their hard earned money how they like. I mean, it’s not easy selling drugs to kids these days or keeping your bling up with the Jones’s. Why should it bother me?
It bothers me because the drivers of these prattmobiles cannot drive past another car or pedestrian without slowing down or gunning the engine so loudly it sounds like a consumptive bull elephant.
They want people to turn around. They want people to crane their necks and eyeball the daft-punk homage to moulded plastic that they have created with their ill-gotten gains and they’re GCSE in woodwork.
They want to be noticed.
And I refuse to notice them. Refuse to.
Well. Strictly that’s not true. I refuse to acknowledge them.
Call me petty. Call me silly. But when one of these souped-up cock-wagons rolls past I deliberately turn my back on it and look the other way. I have also been known, on occasion, to randomly select a blade of grass from the verge before me and admire it intensely and theatrically as the baseball capped driver behind me desperately ups his rev count in an attempt to snare my attention.
It’s not happening, mate. I’m in love with photosynthesis. On your bike. Oh, and by the way, your exhaust needs sorting out.
And thus they drive away, their curses and imprecations drowned out by the high decibel dirge that invariably emanates from their in-car speakers. Some R&B bollocks sung by a woman who can’t sing a simple “oh” but has to sing “oooo-eer-urgh-ewww-oo-o-o-oh” instead.
They might look happy as they nod their heads in time with the music and take a toke on that scaff-pole sized spliff.
But really they’re crying inside.
Crying, sobbing and bleating: “Why is he ignoring me? Why is he ignoring me?”
And that makes me pimptastically happy.
With bloody great fins on.
28 comments:
As well as turning your back, you should clasp your hands behind your head and flap your elbows to signify disdain. Don't bend over, that's a submissive gesture.
Gorilla Bananas: thank you for the tip-off. It explains the offended looks I used to get whenever I performed the Macarena.
I love it when you see them a little later broken down or ditched. Nothing I enjoy in the morning more than seeing a ditched pimped up boy racer car. Well apart from maybe the smell or napalm.
Kelloggsville: you sound like a deadshot. We should hang out together.
~So, in your yoof, you never fancied having your own set of shiny wheels to cavort around in and pull the birds? Guess that`s the Harley(Penile Extension)in your doteage out of the question too then....Geek!
Nana Go-Go: a hog is a different beast entirely and different rules apply. Once I'm confident without the stablizers you may yet see me roaring around town on my two wheeled penis extenstion.
What if I drove by in my Prius that I bought with my hard-earned money from my job as a chemist making addictive prescription painkillers for Pfizer? Would you notice me then? Smile even?
I've become more and more impatient as I get older too. Toilet paper that rips because it isn't serrated properly gets right up my...! Oh and you're spot on about R&B, drives me up the wall, especially that bloody pretentious Carey woman.
Calm down dear! (now who was it who said that?) They're not worth the rise in blood pressure they are causing you - just learn to laugh at them. That will hurt even more than being ignored.
Its even worse when you realise that the driver is actually a chick!
Wanderlust: only if you were selling valium from the boot.
TimeWarden: toilet paper that rips too easily gets right up my goat too... but I'm not quite ready to make the jump to Izal.
Alienne: ignoring them is safer. No one ever got beaten up for ignoring someone... but laughing into their face? Well, that's a whole other ball game.
Amanda: oh my God. You mean they're cross-dressing now?
I was sitting outside a cafe enjoying a coffee in the sunshine last week whilst chatting to my sister on my mobile and a pimpmobile, similar to the ones you described, pulled up right by me with music blaring out.
The driver was, of course, looking round to make sure he was being noticed. I pointed to my phone and mouthed 'I'm trying to talk here', half expecting a mouthfull of abuse and bugger me, he turned his music down and shouted 'Sorry moi luvvly' (cause that's how they speak down here). Gobsmacked I was!
Wylye Girl: was he driving a big gay tractor? ;-)
I reckon intolerance is a sign of intelligence and a deeper sensitivity - so there! In addition to pimped up cars I'd add: personalised number plates; those tribal football scarves that supportes hang from car windows; parking charges in hospitals...
On entirely different note - do you read Winston Smith's blog? (see my sidebar) His new book Generation F is a must; I guarantee you'll be shocked and incensed and get loads of material /thoughts for bloggertropolis - you'll enjoy it too.
Mark: we should start a club. No wait. Clubs annoy me. Damn.
Thanks for the tip-off - will have a look-see. ;-)
It sounds like most of the cars that drive around my "manor". Loadsa R&B blaring out all the time...it's kind of par for the course in London though....I imagine it's less common in Leamington Spa? (Incidentally I've been meaning to tell you, I drove up to Birmingham a couple of weeks ago and went past signposts for Leamington....thought of you, Stevenage!!
(Also meant to say I appreciate your continual efforts to come and comment on my blog when I don't always get a massive response...you are my stalwart, Stevenage!!)
OC: there are a surprising number around Leamo, I have to say. And growing in number by the day. I guess dickheads breed like rabbits.
As for popping round yours... always glad to be your stalwart!
It's that boom boom boom of club music which comes out of those cars, it would be much better perhaps if they were to play the theme tune from The Magic Roundabout for instance. Just saying
Löst Jimmy: what a fabulous idea. I'd love to come up with an alternative playlist for these fools: the theme from The Good Life, Chorlton And The Wheelies, Crossroads... not to mention the jangly version of Greensleeves that you hear from most ice cream vans.
And a great big welcome to the ‘Grumpy Old Men’ club. Come on in, the waters freezing but the whinging and moaning is blissfully intolerant of just about everything you don’t personally enjoy or excel at already.
Oh…and you’ve just become your parents by the way. Congratulations, you’ve finally made them smile again, after all these years.
I could not agree with you more. They annoy me so much that they make me laugh uncontrollably. So much so that sometimes I've been scared of them. Because i can't stop laughing at the ridiculousness of the attention-seeking. And then I wonder if they're going to pull a knife on me at the next lights. Oh dear. It's a curse sometimes, this sense of humour.
Phil: you sound just like my therapist. But cheaper.
Being Me: you could always tell them it's a form of tourettes. I have a more traditional form of it when I see their stupid cars: I just want to swear uncontrollably.
Nice use of simile there.
Awww thanks for being my stalwart!!
OC: hey, it's a dirty job but someone's got to do it! ;-)
Jeez Steve, you really know how to pee on someone's party with considerable gusto and linguistic flair...
Now, can I come on up on the overpass bridge with you, and we can pee together on their party as they drive under ? What fun, especially if their convertible top is down ! Splash !
It is just appalling that with the shape the world is in these days, that some folks still spend time worshipping their automobiles, and driving as though the supply of petrol was infinite. Automobile racing also ticks me off seriously... F1 is huge business... and utterly brainless...
What really irks me deeply is in the USA though, where huge numbers of (often fat) people are driving monstrously oversized SUVs and pickup trucks which they don't even need because they don't work on a farm... sick...
Pee on man, may your bladder be boisterously bloated with bountiful supply of liquid waste to spew... here, have another beer...
:-)
Owen: cheers! If you're going to pee, pee with considerable flare has always been my personal motto. Beer accepted with gratitude and honour. I shall expel it with the same. ;-)
'Old age is when broad minds and narrow waists change places' as the birthday card slogan has it!
I find I am becoming more tolerant in some ways, but suffer fools less glady for sure.
Laura: who knew that an approaching dotage could be so much fun!
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