I now live in Massachusetts. My entire childhood in Vermont was spent calling residents of this state, 'Massholes'. When I got my plates here, I wanted to get the Spanish word for 'hole' but I forgot to look it up and then the moment passed but whatever ...
These people are the worst drivers in America, second only to Rhode Island. I live right on the border of the two states ...
I've figured out how to totally mess with them. I let them into traffic. I stop for pedestrians. I slow down for yellow lights. I GO THE MOFO SPEED LIMIT AND I NEVER DRAG THEIR STUPID KIDS IN MY GRILL BECAUSE I'VE JUST GONE THROUGH THEIR NEIGHBORHOOD AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT AND ONE OF THEIR LITTLE FUCKERS IS STUCK IN MY WHEELS POSSIBLY SLOWING ME DOOOOWWWWWNNNNN!
No exaggeration, whenever I slow down for a yellow light, allow a car to merge or do anything else that may be identified as considerate, some asshole, or Masshole as it were, will beep. And give me the finger. And yell. Loud. This happens to me every single day. I wish this wasn't true, but I swear on my pile of newly deceased friends and relatives that it's the honest truth. I've spent an inordinate amount of brain space, taking away from the every important lottery brain space, trying to craft an effective bumpersticker.
Most are too long. Maybe one of you fine folks could help with editing. Brevity is not my forte.... Here are a few. See if you can find any unnecessary verbiage:
*Please back the fuck off, you total asshole. There is exactly 4 inches between me and the car in front of me and no I won't get any closer! Additionally, I can see up your nose, you're so close, and there is a bat in the cave.
*If you rear-end me, as it would seem you're bound and determined to do, I will sue you so hard and so long and I won't rest until you're ruined and you have no choice but to become my bitch - living in the basement, doing my bidding, washing the cars and cleaning earwax out of my dog's ears.
*I hope your child is as much of an asshole as you appear to be because it would be sad if that little face was actually MISSED after being smeared across the intersection because you HAVE TO BEAT THE LIGHT EVEN THOUGH YOURS IS THE 5TH MINIVAN FULL OF KIDS TO CAREEN THROUGH THIS RED LIGHT!!! CROSSING THE INTERSECTION!
*It's called 'the speed limit'. I won't go faster because I don't want to die in a fiery crash AND I love my child and my dog. I realize I'm going slow enough for you to hit the back of my car with your Dunkin Donuts cup (which doesn't mean you had to go ahead and chuck it), but I suspect you are the littering sort anyway ...
*See the top of my carseat? I know you can! We're going 70 in the slow lane and you're so fucking close to my ass that I can count your eyelashes. Well, this carseat means that, at great personal discomfort, I cranked out a small human in an effort to balance the karma of that video game playing, 'on-board-television' watching, high fructose corn syrup slugging, ill-tempered, over-scheduled monster that is half hanging out of the carseat behind you. Hang up the phone and train your rearview on something besides your puckered smokers mouth. See? That's your kid. Drive like you give a shit, okay? OKAY?
So, yeah, see what you can do to make these viable. I'll totally get one printed for you, too!
In the meanwhile, I'll be that odd soul surrendering your right-of-way to you.