Davezilla: Clean Humor, Filthy Comments

Our high school typing instructor was hot. She had a body like Bettie Page and wore ridiculously tight skirts and stiletto heels. Her one odd trait was her nails. As a typing instructor, she had to keep her nails trimmed, but she was all about long painted nails. She compromised by growing one nail to a length that would impress an eagle. It was curved; a red scimitar springing from the end of her hand.

During every class, she used an overhead projector with transparencies that she had prepared. She would make a point of bending a bit in her skirt, ass pointed toward any cute boy in the class, as she pulled down the screen. Her nail would appear in silhouette on the screen, pointing out items of interest. We of course, were fascinated and horrified by this vision. Remember the scene in Nosferatu when the shadow of the ancient vampyre’s hand first appears on the wall? Well that. This was why she was nicknamed, “The Claw”.

One year, one of the students decided to prank her. Getting in to class a half hour early, he added something to the screen and rolled it back up. She went through her usual naughty teacher bending routine and pulled down the screen, to be greeted by a rather revealing centerfold from a men’s magazine. The model in the image looked strikingly like The Claw. She stared at it for a good five minutes before slowly turning to her desk, sitting down without a word and bursting into tears. Classic.

Tell me how you pranked your teachers.

Identifying more arsehole drivers in front of you.

1. Texters: True story: Tuesday, I had to swerve to avoid a woman who almost ran me off the road. She was completely unaware of this. She was too busy texting on her cell phone. She was a large woman, and used her ponderous breasts to steer. Her left hand was busy cradling her phone, while her right hand gingerly poked at the keys. Her fingernails were the same length as her fingers, curved like talons, making her typing take attention away from other distractions like say, watching the road.
2. The Braker: StevieC pointed this tribe out and I’d like to expand on those observations a bit: This driver is prepared for any emergency by always driving with their left foot on the brake at all times. But why? It starts with fear. This tribe was bullied at school, afraid to run through the house with scissors and leaves the light on at night. Now you’re telling them to get on a road with thousands of giant metal boxes, hurtling toward oblivion at 60 MPH? The nerve of us.
3. The Adjusters: Ever been caught in a traffic jam that seems to have no cause? After two hours crawling at 2 MPH, you finally reach what must surely be the scene of a four car rollover. It is in fact, one idiot who needed to adjust his radio. He, is an Adjuster. This is a new tribe, obsessed with the settings in the car. They will come to a complete stop on an expressway just to find the perfect wiper speed. They must be run off the road as quickly as possible.

Identifying the arsehole driver in front of you.

1. The Midwestern Bookworm: The Bookworm loves to read. Right now, she is in the fast lane in front of you, finishing the last chapter of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, which is spread open across her steering wheel. Her emotional reactions to her reading material greatly affect her ability to commit to a single lane. Should you be unfortunate enough to resemble the antagonist in her story, you will be promptly run off the road.
2. The North American Talker: Far more common on major roads are the tribe known as North American Talkers. Completely self-centered (yes, more than most Yanks, Spud), the Talkers are more engrossed in their cell phone than the road. They will only put their phone on hold long enough to tell the the police that they were not using their phone when they drove through the café window.
3. Dodge Ogler: An almost exclusively male tribe, the Oglers drive enormous Dodge pickup trucks, using the added height of their knobby wheels to peer down the blouse of the driver next to them. Easily identified by a pathetic moustache (circa 1978), excessive chest hair, a King mullet, a tattoo of “Taz” holding booze, and a bumper sticker that informs the public of the dangers of buying foreign automobiles or his fondness for oversized breasts.

Over the past few years, I’ve noticed a change in the patter of waitstaff. I only pay attention to these things because I was once a waiter, myself. Time was, a server would come by, a minute or so into the meal and ask, “How is everything?” A concise sentence.

Nowadays, servers come when you have one bite left in your meal. “Is everything tasting OK?” they blurt out, without making eye contact. I have several problems with this:

1. It’s just a lame thing to say. Would your mother ask you that?
2. It assumes that your only possible issue could be flavor, avoiding the issue of say, bad service? A crappy table? Overly loud big screen TVs? No, you are only allowed to respond to one question and it’s probably too late in the meal for it to matter
3. What are your thoughts? Agree? Disagree? Something else bugging you?