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A mild case of Schadenfreude, cured by TELLING EVERYONE.

Posted by Miss Knotty on May 10, 2010

Today’s schadenfreude is brought to you by the letter D.  For D-bag.  There was a prime specimen whizzing around on Addison Road this evening.  I got to indulge in a little bit of schadenfreude when Mr. Speed Demon caught EVERY. SINGLE. RED. LIGHT.  It would have been better if an Addison cop had eyeballed him weaving in and out of traffic, speeding when he could and tailgating when he couldn’t, and stopped him, but the fact that he had to stop every 100 feet after going 0-60 in 2 seconds in the land of a thousand stoplights made me kind of happy.   Way to get to that red light first.  Yeah.  The one you could see, clearly and unimpeded FROM THE RED LIGHT WHERE YOU WERE JUST SITTING.  It’s less than 100 yards away, but you somehow need to get there before all of your slow-driving brethren.  Speed Demon, you realize you’re driving a 4-door, 10+ year old Mitsubishi sedan, and not a Maserati, right?  Well, way to get to that red light first.  I’m so very glad you’ve got a good pole position for the next 100 yards. Idiot.

You might have noticed that I don’t have much patience for reckless drivers (who weave between a guy with hazards on and me on the right when I’m CLEARLY getting over to let his in-a-hurry butt through).  (Seriously.  Every. Single. Light.  Normally I wouldn’t be enjoying catching all the lights myself, but the fact that this jerk in SUCH a hurry that he was weaving in and out of traffic, speeding when he could and tailgating when he couldn’t got caught at every light kind of improved my day.)  He had a buzz cut and I didn’t look hard enough to see if he had a pixie tail, but he had a horseshoe-type mustache that looked like it was his pride and joy.  Seriously, probably the best groomed thing on his body (what I could see of it anyway).  I was almost disappointed that he didn’t have a mullet, because then he would have been (more of) a textbook example of bad taste.  T-shirt with sleeves torn out, window down with tattooed arm* hanging out, cigarette smoke** billowing out at regular intervals, acting as if his car was hot stuff when it couldn’t have been less than 10 years old, filthy on the outside and filled with garbage inside, terrible driving manners, and bad hair. Not that his hair wasn’t bad.  It just wasn’t a mullet.

Apart from being a jerky person and taking a little pleasure at the so-called “misfortunes” of my fellow man, even if that “misfortune” was only his increased inconvenience of having to wait at a thousand red lights, which in my book isn’t really so much “misfortune” as instant karma for being a d-bag, my day was uneventful.  I haven’t knit a single stitch on the sock.  I’m brain-fried because I think I got like 2 hours of sleep last night.  So I’m going to go collapse in a heap and get a little extra rest.

Interesting Fact:  Al Capone did not die in prison.  He served 10 years in prison for tax evasion (1931-1941), but died a free man in 1947 (of syphilis-related apoplexy – no noble end for this fella).  He was 48 years old.

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* I have nothing against tattoos, as a rule.  I’ve seen some really pretty ones.  At a glance, the one on this guy’s arm wasn’t pretty.  I didn’t stare or anything, but it looked rather like a homemade/prison job – all blurry and dark.

** Smoke if you want to; I really don’t care.  It’s your money you’re spending.  Personally, I prefer my vices to be a little less carcinogenic.  For the record, I don’t smoke (tough to figure that one out, I’m sure); I did briefly in college and then quit when I realized that it was an expensive habit, to say nothing of the fact that it gives you breath from hell and ruins your lips, lungs and everything in between.  Smoking in your car instantly decreases the resale value, by something like 50 percent.  That’s 50 percent of the depreciated value, but that probably only matters if it’s a car worth reselling though.

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