Thursday
May212009
Grind My Gears: Literally and Figuratively...
Thursday, May 21, 2009 at 10:53PM
I hate to ruin an otherwise lovely experience but who ever designed the parking structure next to Joe Louis Arena must have gotten his civil engineering degree from a fucking cracker jack box. This no talent ass clown must've been sleeping with some fat broad in charge because the flow rate of this parking garage is lower than the cumaltive ACT test scores of the Detroit Public Schools. I don't want to come off sounding like a complete jerk or smart-ass but there has to be some formula, like for instance, and this is just off the top of my head and I'm not claiming to be a civil engineer wizard but maybe how about you take the amount of cars parked divided by number of exits and if it is over a certain number than the viability of the parking structure becomes a safety hazard.
Another thing that these shit-for-brains morons forgot to take into effect is the stupidity factor of people (one: that are drunk, two: that are hyped up from a Red Wings victory, three: that may be Canadian, four: that may be a dumb fucking Canadian who is about four seconds away from taking full advantage of their country's socialized health care because I'm going to rip the hoser's fucking eyes out) that think they are better than everyone else and can just cut in front of everyone because they see some short cut. There are no cut-zees.
Listen you dumb motherfuckers, we all see the shortcut but the reason traffic flow comes to a screeching halt is because you are violating the social contract that states "If you follow the flow, look how smoothly things will go. If you try to cut, I'll fucking stick your hot muffler up your butt". Seriously this isn't kindergarten and you ain't the cute kid with the extra cupcake trying to movie up in the lunch line in front of the fat kid and this isn't the keg stand line at the fraternity party and you aren't Miss "Popularity". So get the fuck back in line before I really get mad and slash all your fucking tires and leave you to suffer the wrath of 1000's of cars honking their horns inside a swirling concrete echo chamber of chaos.
It is a simple process when two lines are merging, this line, then that line; one for me, one for you; It's my turn, it's your turn. Get it! Pretty fucking simple you rag tag bunch of stumbling bumbling biscuit heads. This simple every other pattern keeps everyone happy and it keeps my anger genie in the bottle and if you have one wish it is that he doesn't come out. You may think I am throwing a tantrum or going on a tirade but trust me this is nothing. In the heat of the moment my response of retribution will be of epic proportion. Mark It.
Another thing that these shit-for-brains morons forgot to take into effect is the stupidity factor of people (one: that are drunk, two: that are hyped up from a Red Wings victory, three: that may be Canadian, four: that may be a dumb fucking Canadian who is about four seconds away from taking full advantage of their country's socialized health care because I'm going to rip the hoser's fucking eyes out) that think they are better than everyone else and can just cut in front of everyone because they see some short cut. There are no cut-zees.
Listen you dumb motherfuckers, we all see the shortcut but the reason traffic flow comes to a screeching halt is because you are violating the social contract that states "If you follow the flow, look how smoothly things will go. If you try to cut, I'll fucking stick your hot muffler up your butt". Seriously this isn't kindergarten and you ain't the cute kid with the extra cupcake trying to movie up in the lunch line in front of the fat kid and this isn't the keg stand line at the fraternity party and you aren't Miss "Popularity". So get the fuck back in line before I really get mad and slash all your fucking tires and leave you to suffer the wrath of 1000's of cars honking their horns inside a swirling concrete echo chamber of chaos.
It is a simple process when two lines are merging, this line, then that line; one for me, one for you; It's my turn, it's your turn. Get it! Pretty fucking simple you rag tag bunch of stumbling bumbling biscuit heads. This simple every other pattern keeps everyone happy and it keeps my anger genie in the bottle and if you have one wish it is that he doesn't come out. You may think I am throwing a tantrum or going on a tirade but trust me this is nothing. In the heat of the moment my response of retribution will be of epic proportion. Mark It.
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