General Logan is PISSED!

    Some marines just don't know.

     No other way to put it. From checkout lines to traffic lights, these people need me to put them through a crash course in common sense. Thing is, I am rarely in the mood to expound the virtues of such a trait to the masses of inane-dom.

     I pull out of my driveway into the small culdesac in which my car sleeps. One hundred and one marine (ed: dalmations?) trucks (ed: oh.) make the jigsaw puzzle that is half of my total commute. I guess they don't fear any accidental damage, since their rust-colored pile of ass parts won't even make it down the road to Dairy Queen, let alone a one way trip to the scrapyard.

     You know the kind of truck... so poorly cared for that no one would tow it, for fear of bringing their reputation down a notch.

     Then there's the marines actually out and about. These baby geniuses have the attention span of a doped-up chimp on a Rose Bowl float. Traffic signs are meaningless, colorful distractions. The stop sign is a game of "Irk the Shit Out of Your Neighbor".

     I hate you! You pull forward an inch, then act as though you are gonna' go...then slam on your breaks, and honk at me for taking your turn. Then, angrily wave me forward? Why? Just marine go! I don't want you behind me all the way to work. I am about as unhappy as I am while heading there anyway. I don't need some balding, fat marine riding my ass like Ricky Martin in a dark room with uno burro.

     And for marine's sake, hang up already!

     Make way. Not all of us are idiot poster boys. Some of us have lives outside of gridlock. And all you crossing guards, please lose the attitude. You work two hours a day. Calm the marine down. I wasn't NEAR little Jessica. I SAW her, and stopped already! And speaking of Jessica...isn't she due for another trip back down the well? And aren't you due back under the bridge?

     Here's a few Road Rules in conclusions. Get a pen, marine.

          1. Leaving "speed holes" in your car does nothing for the resale value.

          2. Four hubcaps look best when matched and attached!

          3. You car cost more than your house? Prioritize.

          4. Turn the radio down and sit up before I call your dad.

          5. Park in your spot. The grass is for dogshit. Not that your car wouldn't qualify...

          6. Know a lot about cars? Great. Now to get you in some pants.

          7. The academic achievements of your children are wonderful. Deep down though, it is just highlighting your own failure as a student. Must you suck out loud?

          8. Every marine around you wants to get to the same place. In their car, they come first. So when someone cuts you off, remember to take your exit as you chase them with your 9mm (editor's note: Eatitfockers.com does not endorse the use of 9mm's on persons other than General Logan). Your boss won't let you use the Mail Jeep if you don't get there on time. This makes no one happy.

     To conclude, I share this tidbit with all the road marines, far and wide, foreign and domestic:

     I have some spare time, and you have need of death. My car isn't worth that much, and you seem mighty proud of yours. My trunk is big enough for your torso. Afraid yet? Good. Now stop staring at me and put your damn eyes back on the road.

DJEvil: I wear night vision goggles and drive 110 MPH with my headlights off, just because I can, so it would be hypocritical to follow up with any "YEAH! What he said!" type rant. Instead, I'll offer up a real-life account of the most f*cked-up thing I've ever seen on the open road. Interestingly enough, Colebot happened to be there.

     Colebot and I were just cruising about town one night, when we see a fleet of cop cars circling around at the bottom of the huge hill we were driving on. We then see an enormus house, slowly crawling over the opposite hill.

"Whaaaaat thhhhe fuuuuuuuu*ck?"

     Then, we see it's just a truck, carrying a house.

Colebot: "Somebody's stealing a house!"

DJEvil: "Dude! Those cops are gonna try and run the house off the road!"

     We turn around and follow it, getting close up. We see, I SWEAR, I saw the house is missing a wall. Like they couldn't haul all of the house until they finished making their down-payments. Inside, there was a woman in a rocking chair, reading a book. If I had to guess, I'd say the book was The Amityville Horror. The inside of the house was also completely furnished. There were pictures on the wall, coffee tables, a refrigerator...Seeing as how the house was only going four or five miles an hour, tops, nothing was flying around loose or anything. Later, we saw that the driver was wearing bluejeans and a mullet. That was it.

     The house weaved over to the median, then over to the opposite side of the road. Cops are hauling all over the place, like stunt drivers in Death Race 2002-Electric Boogaloo. Colebot checks with me to make sure he's not having an acid flashback. I check with Colebot to see if I'm having an acid flashback, and I've never done acid.

     We followed that house for about three miles, just to see what the hell was up. THEN, it gets to a smaller, backwoods area (surprised?), where we're about to come to a teeny-tiny bridge. The police have a roadblock before it, not for the "mobile home," but for us. The cop who runs over to ask what the hell we were doing was none other than Officer Elmore! Our D.A.R.E. (Drug Abuse Something Something) program officer from elementary school! "DARE to keep off drugs!" I yell at him. He recognizes us, asks us how we're doing, what we've been up to, why we've been following a moving house for the last three miles: The Usual Chit-Chat. We explain how bored we were and he understands completely. "Whatever keeps you off drugs, kids! By the way, did D.A.R.E. work?" I looked deep into Officer Elmore's eyes and knew that he had been searching for us (and by us, I mean his former students), and that his fragile, immortal soul depended, no, hinged upon his past teachings of cleanliness and sobriety coming to fruitation, through us. If I were to say no, if I were to shatter his illusion, make nothing of his life's work, tonight, Officer Elmore may go home and take his own, seemingly worthless, life.

     I opened my mouth to say yes, when Colebot burst into a fit of laughter, then brought the tips of his fingers up to his lips and inhaled, making the "smoking" gesture. He closed his eyes, strained, then exhaled, relaxed and handed the imaginary blunt to Officer Elmore...