TUPID people, they’re everywhere. Some of them don’t even know they’re stupid. They’re probably the most dangerous ones. Actually no, the most dangerous ones are the ones who insist on sharing the road with me. In fact, if they all stayed at home, they’d be welcome to be as stupid as they pleased. Wouldn’t bother me. But when they take to the road, their stupidity is truly given flight and I can’t help but notice.
There are a handful of sub-sets of the stupe that I’ve noticed over the past few years. Let me share them with you. May they serve as a warning.
I’ll start with the Feet-Up Twit. For some reason, this one is usually female and insists on travelling with both feet planted up on the dashboard above the glovebox. In a car built before the ’90s, this would possibly be okay – although there’s still the very real chance of the Twit submarining out from under the seatbelt in a decent front-ender. But in your typical car of 2017, that won’t be an issue. Because the same front-ender will also set off the airbags which will, in a few milliseconds, snap off both the Twit’s shapely S legs and shove them up her nose. This ain’t gonna be pretty, kids.
Ever seen a slo-mo shot of a footy player’s knee over-This is what’s going to happen to the Twit’s the point where her feet are smashed are either crushed or idea of the folks, should Then Straight-outta-Compton look is very difficult to pull off if you’re not what really scared heads, the vision of a gelding. Throw that, despite that we were talking about, places the seatback almost horizontal, locating the B-pillar, and we The other thing about head in a loose-fitting did, by some mistake, before changing lanes, swivelling your scone bother? Indeed. Same Worthington-spec sunglasses completely blinker the wearer. ds. r extending? s knees. Right up until ashed into the windscreen and torn off. Now, maybe the Twit has no force with which an airbag deploys, but seriously hould you need to have this stuff explained to you? there’s the Hooded Wombat. Just for starters, the n five-seven, middle-class and white. But that’s worries me; that’s just comical. What makes me d is that with the hoodie pulled up over their Wombat has the peripheral blinkered two-year-old w in a driving position at womble-like stature lking g the Wombat’s melon right about have a winner. out driving around with your ng sack is that even if you e, perform a head-check you’d find you were just inside the sack. So why goes for those hideous Corey asses with their thick arms that also arer.
But there are upsides. The sight of the Hooded Wombat at speed in a V6 VR Commodore is often enough to attract the attentions of El Plod. And if the Wombat is engaged in a roadside chat with the law, then he’s not weaving in and out of traffic in a school zone. And finally, with a bag on the Wombat’s head, I can’t see the Southern Cross tattoo behind his right ear.
The third ding-a-ling is the tradie who lurches about in a dualcab ute with a tray full of unrestrained garbage. How many times have you seen empty buckets, gumboots, tools, bricks and flanno shirts scattered along the side of the freeway? My tradie-roadtinsel PB is a wheelbarrow. A wheelbarrow! Now, maybe you don’t care whether you arrive at the job site with all the gear you started with, but trust me, as a motorcyclist, I’d really prefer you Look, you want to wear a hoodie, I honestly with that. It’s the same as if you phone or read a trashy southern-cross really M did. y have no problem u want to yap into a mobile y novel, jettison work gear or get a tattoo – all fine by me, but don’t do it when you lly oughta be driving.