Where’s the fire when you need it?

Because after a 70-minute slog to get home, the longest it has taken me in the eight years I’ve been here on a day where there was no snow, I can think of several people I’d like to seal up in a Bessemer converter.

Along with their cars, in fact. Some shlub got himself racked up on I-35 “north of 50th,” according to the radio — try “between 63rd and the I-44 westbound junction,” ya nimrod — and while I’m in no position to judge the heinousness of his driving, I have no problem pointing to the fourteen people who decided they’d accelerate into what passes for a breakdown lane and slide off the next exit. The first thirteen were merely stupid; the fourteenth actually tried to kill me. As the title card on the film doesn’t say: God forgives. I don’t.

Also marked for a cruel and painful death, since they keep filling up my Caller ID: all these third-party debt weasels who buy written-off accounts at pennies on the dollar and then robocall everyone in the Western Hemisphere in an effort to find someone stupid enough to pay them. Being melted down into slag is too good for ’em.





2 comments

  1. Jeffro »

    21 November 2011 · 8:39 pm

    My sister was caught in that mess – I happened to call her after she’d been in it for about thirty odd minutes. I wish I had better timing – she was not a happy camper.

  2. CGHill »

    24 November 2011 · 10:47 am

    Incidentally, yesterday I came back up that route and took a look at the crash site. Somebody had managed to knock loose several chunks of Jersey barrier. As we used to say back in Carolina, “that takes some doin’.”

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