Warning, the following is the result of a bitter, antisocial young man driving an hour to work each day. These comments may be bitter, sarcastic, self-contradictory, and are generally unwholesome. You've been warned.
Ah, Houston. The one place where if you cut in front of somebody, it is tradition to immediately slam on the brakes.
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Oh dear. An old guy. Going 30 in a 40. Good for him. In his day, real men didn't need those extra 10 miles an hour! They just worked with the 30 they had and made do! Not like these fancy kids these days with their iBerries and their Facechats. No need to hurry so much. No need at all.
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You drunk douche. You're so boozed you don't know what's going on, do you? You're staring at the green arrow, trying to figure out what kind of mysterious message it's trying to tell you. You know it's important, you just can't figure out why. You're going to run over a teenager and regret it for the rest of your stupid stinking life.
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No, driving five miles below the speed limit does not make talking on your cell phone safer when you drive.
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Whoa, look at the old guy go! It's like they slipped laxatives in his prune juice or something.
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Does the rest of Houston know something about overpasses that I don't? Everyone always drops their speed going under them. It's not like there's any possibility of ice here; it's like 80 degrees out. Are there trolls? Grues? Maybe a fuhubugath? I just wish I knew...
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Nooooooooo! BUS!
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Left for work five minutes early. Cue twenty minutes of unexpected bumper to bumper traffic due to the average driver's inability to merge. Welcome to Houston.
Bus?! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!1!!
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