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Since I have a multitude of piercings and tattoos, and I own not just one, but TWO leather jackets, I would argue that I’m more of an outlaw, really. Which basically means I’m a criminal – only way cooler.
I don’t mean to brag, but I break the law all the time, and when I do, I’m usually smoking (for us outlaws, smoking is mandatory). If you need proof of how bandito I am, you need look no further than the My Music folder on my C:\ drive. Those babies weren’t exactly delivered by a magical stork on a moonlit night, I can promise you that much.
But wait, there’s more. Get this: When I walk into a bank, I don’t turn off my cellphone. Yes, you read that right. If it rings, I do just what I do when I’m overtaking in the left lane on a highway: I answer it. On any good day, you could catch me exceeding the speed limit while talking on my cellphone and listening to suspiciously sourced MP3s on my iPod. Usually while smoking. With this litany of crimes to my name, the dead hooker in my car boot seems almost like an insignificant drop in my ocean of badass, don’t you think?
Although it’s not written into the constitution, speeding is silently regarded as a fundamental human right by any South African with a steering wheel and a destination. But this a right that the traffic police are trying to take away from us with their ridiculous cameras when they should be out there catching the real criminals, and by "real criminals", we mean people who rob our houses while we’re out on the road driving like cartoon characters.
Speed cameras aren’t going to catch a rapist, for example, unless he happens to be raping while exceeding the speed limit (in which case they could probably also nail him for not wearing a seatbelt – maybe the police should look into that), but they are going to make the roads safer from reckless douchebags. The problem with this is that they’re also going to catch me.
Like everyone else in the automated world, my definition of a bad driver is someone who doesn’t either drive exactly like I do, or piss themselves with terror and swerve into a ditch when they see me coming. With my bodacious driving, I can’t understand why the traffic police haven’t realised that there is nothing they can teach me. I’m way too awesome to be bound by ridiculous signs that tell me to stop when I can see perfectly well that no cars are going to hit me if I cruise through a four-way at 80km per hour. And I don’t care how far I am from that orange light – I can make it.
Perhaps the greatest insult to my superior intelligence is one of those signs telling me to slow down. I immediately ask,"Well, speed is relative, so how do they know that I’m going fast enough to warrant a speed decrease?" What if I was crawling along at, say, 40? I’m not, of course – I’m usually hitting 100 in an 80 zone while texting, smoking and singing along to stolen music, but how do they know that? For all they know, I could have been going at 180 when I saw the sign, slowed down to 100 and am therefore innocent of all charges. Stupid pigs.
Which is why I’m all for PigSpotter, the Twitter hero who not only keeps me informed about speed traps, but also puts the boot in with an insulting name. Thanks to her (or him) I now know exactly where I should slow down and drive like a pussy, and where I can safely floor it so that when I gaze at my gorgeousness in the rear view mirror I can see what I’d look like straight after a facelift.
So I think PigSpotter should be free to spot pigs – but only for me. Now come on, I’m just being fair. South African drivers are some of the worst in the world, and telling them where the police are is exactly the same as telling them where they aren’t. Do you really want psychotic taxi drivers, school bus-driving drunks and angry white people with a backseat full of lethal sporting equipment to know where they’re free to do whatever they want? I don’t think so.
But don’t worry PigSpotter – at least you know your information is safe with me.
I don’t mean to brag, but I break the law all the time, and when I do, I’m usually smoking (for us outlaws, smoking is mandatory). If you need proof of how bandito I am, you need look no further than the My Music folder on my C:\ drive. Those babies weren’t exactly delivered by a magical stork on a moonlit night, I can promise you that much.
But wait, there’s more. Get this: When I walk into a bank, I don’t turn off my cellphone. Yes, you read that right. If it rings, I do just what I do when I’m overtaking in the left lane on a highway: I answer it. On any good day, you could catch me exceeding the speed limit while talking on my cellphone and listening to suspiciously sourced MP3s on my iPod. Usually while smoking. With this litany of crimes to my name, the dead hooker in my car boot seems almost like an insignificant drop in my ocean of badass, don’t you think?
Although it’s not written into the constitution, speeding is silently regarded as a fundamental human right by any South African with a steering wheel and a destination. But this a right that the traffic police are trying to take away from us with their ridiculous cameras when they should be out there catching the real criminals, and by "real criminals", we mean people who rob our houses while we’re out on the road driving like cartoon characters.
Speed cameras aren’t going to catch a rapist, for example, unless he happens to be raping while exceeding the speed limit (in which case they could probably also nail him for not wearing a seatbelt – maybe the police should look into that), but they are going to make the roads safer from reckless douchebags. The problem with this is that they’re also going to catch me.
Like everyone else in the automated world, my definition of a bad driver is someone who doesn’t either drive exactly like I do, or piss themselves with terror and swerve into a ditch when they see me coming. With my bodacious driving, I can’t understand why the traffic police haven’t realised that there is nothing they can teach me. I’m way too awesome to be bound by ridiculous signs that tell me to stop when I can see perfectly well that no cars are going to hit me if I cruise through a four-way at 80km per hour. And I don’t care how far I am from that orange light – I can make it.
Perhaps the greatest insult to my superior intelligence is one of those signs telling me to slow down. I immediately ask,"Well, speed is relative, so how do they know that I’m going fast enough to warrant a speed decrease?" What if I was crawling along at, say, 40? I’m not, of course – I’m usually hitting 100 in an 80 zone while texting, smoking and singing along to stolen music, but how do they know that? For all they know, I could have been going at 180 when I saw the sign, slowed down to 100 and am therefore innocent of all charges. Stupid pigs.
Which is why I’m all for PigSpotter, the Twitter hero who not only keeps me informed about speed traps, but also puts the boot in with an insulting name. Thanks to her (or him) I now know exactly where I should slow down and drive like a pussy, and where I can safely floor it so that when I gaze at my gorgeousness in the rear view mirror I can see what I’d look like straight after a facelift.
So I think PigSpotter should be free to spot pigs – but only for me. Now come on, I’m just being fair. South African drivers are some of the worst in the world, and telling them where the police are is exactly the same as telling them where they aren’t. Do you really want psychotic taxi drivers, school bus-driving drunks and angry white people with a backseat full of lethal sporting equipment to know where they’re free to do whatever they want? I don’t think so.
But don’t worry PigSpotter – at least you know your information is safe with me.
