Men with hats

I had a glance at the Nut’s rant the other day, and you know, he really does make a very valid point about people with hats driving cars. He’s right, isn’t he? All those old fuckers you come up behind on narrow roads and you can be guaranteed that if the bastard is wearing a hat he’ll do all in his power to fuck you up. It’s true. It is! I’ve even made a comparative study of the behaviour as it relates to the kind of hat the bastard is wearing: it will form part of my PhD thesis in Applied Begrudgery at UL. An tOllamh Ó Cinnéide is deeply impressed (though of course he doesn’t admit it).

If you come across an old fucker with a battered trilby, you’re shagged because that bastard will sit in the middle of the road doing 15mph the whole way. He’ll plant himself on the white fucking line and there’s fuck-all you can do about it, unless you happen to know someone in the Israeli airforce who’ll be happy to blast him for you on the basis that he’s in a moving vehicle and is therefore a terrorist. It’s even worse if he’s with his wife. In that case, he’ll be leaning forward over the wheel gripping it with both hands and working hard on ignoring the argumentative old hag, just like he’s done for the past seventy-eight years since Tom-Pat and Jeremiah moved out to join the priesthood, and since the other fella got the farm, damn him.

There is a variant on old-hat-man : old-flat-cap-man. He’ll be driving an Anglia. He”ll be about four hundred and you’ll know him by his cadaverous shrunken features, and complete lack of life-signs. This is one dangerous bastard. He can think of nothing but getting back to his unheated, unelectrified, unwatered, unseweraged, corrugated-roofed fucking hovel to get stuck into a naggin of Gold Label and count the millions that he got from the EEC for doing fuck-all. The dirty smelly old fucker with a food-encrusted oilcloth on the kitchen table, bluebottles breeding in the frying pan and a mangy greyhound to lick his dinner off the piss-soaked bedclothes when he passes out from the drink. He’s the bastard who goes the wrong way on roundabouts. Fuck him.

Of course, you also have the four ladies wearing tea-cosies on their way to Bingo in their new Micra. Or to devotions. Or fucking Mass. Or the motherfuckin Novena. Or some other shit. How do I know where they’re fuckin going? They could be going to the fucking mosque, or the synagogue. I don’t fucking know. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is the fact that all these fuckers wearing tea-cosies are the same. It only matters that they wear tea-cosies for one simple reason: they’ve been lobotomised and the surgeons have removed the bit of the brain that controls driving. These fucking bastards don’t know left from right or up from down. They don’t know the first thing about lights, indicators or indeed using the steering wheel. They’re fucking mad, and they should all be taken away and shot.

I’m starting to believe that there’s a conspiracy. I drive a lot. I’m out on the road a lot and I have to tell you I meet a lot of irritating people while out on the road on my peregrinations. Many stupid people. Many. For example, yesterday I pulled into a filling station and it’s arranged the usual way. You know. A pair of pumps here, then another pair over there and so on. And you’d imagine that it wouldn’t be too hard to work out. You’d imagine that, wouldn’t you? No need for Einstein here. You pull in and you’re the first to the pumps, you pull forward past the front pump so the next guy in has room as well. Not hard to figure out, you’d imagine.

Do people not know that the hose comes a good bit out of the pump? That you can pull it out and stretch it all the way over to your car? Apparently not. They think that you have to park right on top of the fucking pump or else you won’t get your petrol. Slow fucking learners, fuck off and die. In this filling station, here’s a guy parked right on top of the two pumps, and he’s using the one at the back. Nobody is using the front one, because he’s in the way, and I can’t use either the front or the back one, because this fucking retard is blocking both of them. He finishes filling his tank and I say to him How about you pulling out of the way before you pay? So I can get in there? You know what he says? He says, Right, so. I’ll just run in and pay.

Move, you fucking moron!

Guess what? The gobshite was wearing a baseball cap.

1 thought on “Men with hats

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.