>>> Beaver Fever
By staff writer Brent Stone
January 16, 2008

Okay, as you may have noticed I already blew one of my resolutions, seeing as this column is more than a week after my last one. If you believed in me, good for you, you gullible bastard you.

The good news is that so far I’ve managed to stick to the rest—I made it to the gym four days last week despite being drunk for six. (The other was spent celebrating the purchase of a new vape.) The eating’s been relatively healthy, aside for several thousand calories of beer a night, but that’s life. I haven’t been to the zoo yet, but I swear I’m working on that. Finally, and most importantly, with the help of a few close friends, I’ve begun the tradition of Tokyo Tea Tuesdays, during which other degenerates and I drink Tokyo Teas on Tuesday. I know you wish you had thought of it, but feel free to carry the celebration to other places.

Anyway, now that we’re done with that unsolicited follow up, here’s the real article. Actually, truth be told it’s more of an angry rant than an article, but I’m sure you’ll pick that up of your own accord.

“When I’m forced to pass you in the right lane, I feel morally obligated to glare at you.”

Rules of the Road (West Coast Edition)

Some of the East Coasters I know think that California drivers are worthless idiots who are too laid back to get anywhere on time. As a California driver, I’d say that every last one of them is a road rage filled monstrosity who will eventually go Johnny Drama on someone’s windshield with a nine iron. That being said, I will concede one thing: No one in this state understands how to drive on a two-lane highway.

It’s simple guys, seriously—the right lane is for driving, and the left lane is for passing. Thus, you drive in the right lane (again, driving lane) until you need to pass someone, at which point you move into the left lane (it’s the passing lane, so guess what we’re gonna do here) and pass them. Then you move back into the right lane. You don’t drive the entire way in the left lane, even if you think you’re going fast enough that you won’t be in anyone’s way. It doesn’t work that way. You’re in my way.

Dad, just because you’re hauling ass at 95 in your family minivan doesn’t mean you can stay in the left lane. Not you either, Grandma—I know you think us young whippersnappers drive too fast, but that doesn’t mean you should stay in our way. College student in the Honda CRX that qualified as a sports car 15 years ago when your uncle bought it but now can’t go 50 miles without leaking oil, you just can’t possibly make that thing go fast enough to warrant being in the left lane.

Now, if you’re going to blatantly ignore me on that (and I know you are, you asshole), have at least the most basic courtesy of the passing lane. If you see somebody coming up behind you really fast (let’s say, a 2004 silver Acura TL at about 115—y’know, just as an example), move over. When I’m forced to pass you in the right lane, I feel morally obligated to glare at you as I drive by to shame you, and that means I have my eyes off the road, which is dangerous. For safety’s sake, get the fuck out of my way. I’ve been on this road for 250 miles, I’ve got 150 more to go. Quite frankly, I was forced to eat Carl’s Jr. at a road stop to keep me sustained, and I want to be home to shit in my own toilet when that Portobello Mushroom Six Dollar Burger starts poking its head out.

Also, one other tidbit—let’s say you’ve been trying to race someone in a nice sports car (let’s use that Acura again) down the freeway in your awesome new Jetta. Needless to say, you’ve challenged his masculinity by trying to keep up with him, and he takes this personally and floors it for the next 10 miles. His car is much faster than yours, but all of a sudden, you see him slam on the brakes, slow it to 75, and get into the right lane. What do you do here?

If you said “go faster and pass him,” feeling triumphant about this little moral victory of speed, you are wrong. Another guy made that same mistake 70 miles back, and just like you, he was pulled over by the cop hiding behind that bridge and given a reckless endangerment ticket. You see, unlike you, the guy in the sports car is prepared when he attempts to average over 100 miles per hour on the drive home and beat his own record time (5:15 from Stanford to a little south of LA, just in case you were curious). He’s got a radar detector in his car, and it beeps really loud when there’s a fat man in a black and white car sitting with his radar on drinking a super size Mountain Dew.

In other related news, he’s also smarter than you. And more handsome.

Ah, screw it—I’m done here.


Alex’s Video Corner

This is starting to get the point where I have to go back through my old articles and check to see whether I’ve put up a given video or not yet. I’ll do that, though, because I’m dedicated to you, the reader.

Anyway, this week we have a video entitled “Laughing German Midget.” Unsurprisingly, it’s three straight minutes of a German midget laughing. Don’t worry though, there’s a great surprise twist 18 seconds in—watch and be amazed!

Join comedy classes at The Second City: Writing Satire for the Internet, Sketch Writing, and Writing for TV & Film start Feb 29. Use code "PIC" for 10% off by phone.