Warning!!! I’m going to express my unvarnished opinions quite clearly in the proceeding passages, and they’re quite a thing to see. If you’re a complete punk-ass, you might want to look elsewhere.

Of course, we all know that there is a wide rift between what we are taught in driving school about the rules of the road and what actually happens on actual roads. It’s not just a cynical statement; there are a number of occurances which might at first blush seem to be standard “written test” scenarios which for one reason or another simply aren’t. In those cases, it is the limit of each involved person’s sense of fair-play and etiquette which determines the outcome.

In this light, I suppose that many people would classify me as an “agressive driver,” though the adjective I feel is most appropriate is “authoritative.” I don’t tailgate and honk my horn, swerve back and forth behind someone I want to pass. I don’t steal parking spots, and generally, I’m fairly polite about letting people merge into my lane, or make that left-hand turn from the oncoming lane when the row of cars at a stop sign would naturally put me in their way. I simply believe that if people on the road would make their minds up and stick to their decisions, there would be a lot less accidents on the road. I won’t be at all ambiguous about where I’m going next or that I’m on the road for a reason, not simply cruising.

All of that being said, I wonder if any of you other liberals ever have this happen to you:

You’re driving down a busy street, bumper to bumper traffic all the way. Someone leaving a restaurant or store or whatever rolls up from the driveway of said establishment and angles their vehicle with the clear intent of merging into your lane, ahead of you, if possible. Under normal circumstances, you know that letting go of your clear right of way is not only the polite thing to do, but also a key component of relieving grid-lock situations, assuming others follow suit. However, the blinding flash of headlights that are perfectly parallel to your eyes tells you in no uncertain terms that the vehicle in question is an SUV, and a thought comes bubbling up unbidden to your mind.

“Fuck off, bitch.”

No? Well, you certainly don’t have to admit it to me, even if so. I’ll take one for the team and admit that, yes, indeed, I do have that feeling more and more lately. Or perhaps it is more correct to say that I’ve been feeling these sorts of things for the last few years, and just thought of a good title under which to publish them.

Why I behave that way is multifaceted. Yes, I’m complex. For one, there is something about the intimidation factor that makes me feel more agressive. Whether they realize it or not (and I don’t suspect most SUV drivers are anywhere near experienced enough large-vehicle drivers to fully cognate it), SUV drivers have a bad habit of tailgating and intimidation. I get sick of yielding to some jerk-ass who thinks the world is his personal playground where they get to bully others. In fact, I admit that on occasion I take their intimidation as something of a challenge.

But the other issue is that I’m sick of paying “petroleum welfare taxes,” for SUV drivers every time I go to the pump. I’m paying an additional penalty for people who simply cannot avoid spend conspicuously despite the ticking time-bomb of Global Warming, as is every other unlucky bastard going to the pumps these days. These crass fuckers have a far more direct impact on our lives than some fictional “welfare mama” in the here-to-fore unnammed ghetto so much a part of Republican fancy.

Allow me to turn the rhetoric of Republican anti-worker stereotype for one moment, and see if it makes any sense to you. Seriously, if you honestly have so many kids that you cannot manage to grocery shop without the aid of these gas-guzzling peices of shit, you don’t need an SUV. You need a condom.

“Oh! Was that out of bounds? Did I infringe on your freedom as a rich bitch? So sorry.”

Wrap that emaciated little fucker up and by a real car, already. The rest of us and our successive generations shouldn’t be obligated to pay for your phallic inadequacy. Ethanol and Biodiesel are not petro-phallic Viagra, they’re stop-gap measures. We need conservation, which means we don’t need your crap.

So I suppose you might say I’m starting to feel less and less sympathy for the SUV drivers of America. The favoured whippin’-bitch of American greed, the “welfare mama,” asks only for money, whereas the SUV driver demands nothing less than money, blood, oil and oxygen.

“The bum on the rods is a social flea who gets an occasional bite,
The bum on the plush is a social leech, blood suckin’ day and night.”

~ The Two Bums, a Wobbly song.