One of the Reasons Why I Hate Boston: The Driving

I hate Boston. I’ve lived in the Greater Boston Area for about 7 years now, and I think I’ve hated Boston for about 6 years, 364 days, 23 hours, and 45 minutes of those 7 years. Basically within 15 minutes of driving in the city, I knew I would hate this shit-hole.

I know some of you are going to say, “I love it here.” OK…I’m writing about one of the reasons why I (<-notice the pronoun I used) hate it here.

There are a plethora of reasons, but for now I’ll focus on the one that pisses me off the most: driving in this goddamn city SUCKS!! For those of you who have never had the misfortune of driving in Boston, let me link a few videos that might give you a taste of what it’s like driving here:

Just a taste people. Some of you readers at home might have a heart condition.

Let’s first talk about the layout of the city. To say that the city was based on cow paths would be giving it too much credit. I think what happened was an early settler slit his wrists because he lived in Boston, and some wicked pissah Bostonian got offended and used the victim’s trickling blood as a road-map for the city out of spite (native Bostonians are that hardcore about their city). There is NO rhyme or reason to the roadways here. You might have to exit right to make a left turn that splits into 3 different lefts, and you better be sure of which path you want to go or you’re sure to have some dick in an oversized SUV driving up your asshole.

Which brings me to my next point, every driver in Boston is a complete asshole, including myself. I have to be. It’s survival. Either I adapt and become that which I hate, or I die! This is how we got the term masshole. The golden rule of driving in Boston is if you hesitate for one second, you’re dead. The only way to drive safely in Boston is to out-asshole the drivers around you. When I first moved to Massachusetts 7 years ago, my first dance with death on the roadways was obeying a yield sign. There was traffic on the road I was about to enter, so I stopped to let it pass. I then hear tires screeching behind me and I had to perform some Evel Knievel shit in my Hyundai Elantra to avoid getting ass-ended. Why? Because the yield sign in Massachusetts means to floor the gas pedal and give zero fucks in the process. In the rest of the United States a yield sign means to let the existing traffic pass THEN you enter. Not so in Boston. Also, don’t expect drivers to clear an intersection before a light changes, turn signals to be used, or to be in the correct turning lane when they turn.

Oh wait. About the lanes. Good luck finding that shit defined on the pavement. While driving in Boston, you’ll squint at the road and try to figure out, Is this one lane or two?; however, while you’re trying to figure that out don’t violate the golden rule I mentioned earlier about hesitation. Lanes will shift from one to two, or two to one, or one to three, and there’s no markings to indicate the change. You’ll only find out when someone loses their shit behind you because you’re driving in the middle of what you think is one lane when it is really two.

Lost in Boston? I would tell you to use a GPS or stop and ask for directions, but yeah you’re fucked until you can find a way to jimmy yourself to a major highway, just so you can have the opportunity to press the reset button and try again. The problem with a GPS is that it will tell you to make a slight left. BUT! Do you make a slight left? An immediate left? A slightly less slight left? or merge left? Now you’re trying to compare your GPS screen to the clusterfuck road in front of you. Furthermore, due to The Big Dig, many parts of Boston have layers, and the GPS cannot recognize what layer you’re driving on. And again, don’t forget the golden rule of hesitation while driving in Boston. This could be further exacerbated if you’re using an iPhone. Siri is a dumb bitch; just sayin’.

The problem with stopping and asking for directions, is that the locals probably a) don’t know their way around outside their immediate commute to work, and b) how the hell could they even begin to describe it?! “Oh head down Storrow Drive…”

…and another tourist just died trying to remember directions given by a local.

Parking. Just bring 20s and be ready to make it rain. Oh, and by the way, congratulations you made it to your destination without dying. You just unlocked a major achievement point in your life. Now good luck getting the fuck out.

“But the Bible Says…”: Every argument you have against gay marriage is moronic and stupid (part 1)

So gay marriage is pretty much becoming a thing in the United States. The Supreme Court of the United States will hopefully make a final decision at the end of April 2015. It’s already legal in 37 states. As news arrives for each state that has succumbed to the “gay agenda” (whatever the fuck that is) the blogosphere erupts in a shit storm of posts for and against. This article is titled “part 1” because there is just soooooo much bullshit out there that I couldn’t possibly include it all in one essay.

Let us begin with the one that pisses me off the most: “But the Bible says…”

When I read a comment on any forum, I first scan for the words: God, Jesus, Bible, Our Lord Savior, His (with a capital h). If I see any of these mentioned as a fact in a post I immediately dismiss the person as a stupid asshole. A common example of this stupidity is, “I’m against it because the Bible states that marriage is between a man and a woman.”

….except that IT DOESN’T!

Here’s a thought. Why don’t you read the goddamn book you’re always thumping. Nowhere does Jesus turn to his followers and say, “Let it be known that marriage is only between a man and a woman.” In fact, Jesus never even mentioned homosexuality. You know what he did mention a lot of? All that liberal shit about loving your neighbor as you love yourself, helping the poor, judge not lest ye be judged….you know…the shit that gets tossed out the window any time a Bible-thumping Republican talks about immigration, foreign aid, welfare, or gay marriage.

Let’s just pretend for a minute that Jesus DID specifically say to his 12 bros and favorite fag hag, “Homosexuality is wrong and my other dad is going to cast them into the pits of Hell to burn for an eternity”. You mentioning that to me as fact equates to me saying something like, “My Fairy Godmother says that you being a bitch and making shit up is wrong; therefore, she will cast you into a pit of glitter and grind your fucking face in it for eternity.” Now, if I say that with faith and conviction does it make it real for you? Probably not. Just as your faith and conviction in whatever you believe does not make it real for me. The point being, just because you believe something strongly does not make it a fact that public policy should be based upon.

I’m not saying that you can’t believe what you want. It is your American right to believe whatever bullshit you wish. However, your belief in that bullshit should not govern the lives of others, and it absolutely has no place in our government.


So how ’bout that cock fight?

So those of you who know me, understand that one of my biggest pet peeves is random strangers asking me about goddamn sports. It happened again today. I went to a local deli, and all I wanted in life at that moment was to get my enormous turkey/bacon fresh made hoagie with extra mayo. I generally don’t like striking up conversations with random people. I just don’t see the point of it. Unless you’re someone I know already, chances are you’re probably someone I genuinely don’t care about. As hard as I try to paint RBF across my face, people still always want to strike up a conversation with me about pointless shit, specifically sports. The x on the diagram below indicates my level of care for sports:

X            Don’t care [————————————————–] Care

Holy shit that’s off the charts!!

To me, watching others play sports is like watching the elderly play shuffleboard. I’m sure they’re having a great time playing the game, but I’m not playing it, so why would I care? When I attended Florida State University back in 1999, I was in the marching band and our team was undefeated. While the rest of the band was psyched to play the goddamn war chant for the one hundred ninety millionth time, I was behind the bleachers eating nachos in the shade. I couldn’t tell you what went on during any of the games. When I looked out onto the field, all I saw were these muscle-bound gnomes fighting over a flea.

Anyway, back to today. I order my sandwich at the deli, and here we go, “Did you catch the Bruins game last night?”

Now I know you’re thinking, Why don’t you just tell him you didn’t see it! Here’s the thingI’ve tried that!  If I make up an excuse, it’s like the universe conspires to fuck with me until I have to confess I have no clue what you’re talking about. Because then they’ll start telling me blow by blow about the fucking game, or how it wasn’t as good or better than another game I didn’t give a shit about. Or they’ll ask me my opinion about how the Patriots will do in the World Series. You see my problem?!

So I’ve learned to just say, “I don’t really follow sports.” Then I get this look as if I just told the man that I like to put his wife’s underwear on my head when he’s not looking….followed by awkward silence. Now I feel guilty like I have to make the situation better, so I just say something like, “I’ve never even met your wife.”




I don’t go around asking you if you saw the latest episode of Table Top, or if you watched the latest play by Faker in yesterday’s LCS match. Do you know why? Because those conversations would be awkward to the average Joe the Dumber. In fact, I don’t ask people SHIT unless I know them, because if I did, that would lead to assumptions. And we know what they say about assumptions: It makes a complete asshole out of you.


Ehr Mehr Gehrd!!! I just wrote my biography in the About Meh section. If you give a rat’s tit, then by all means read away; otherwise, stay tuned. I promise I will write some wacky articles that are fun to read and not all-about-me narcissistic essays.