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Judge not that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.
Judgmentus Tormentus never read Matthew 7:12. And if he did, he didn't believe it. For Judgmentus Tormentus' sole reason for living is to evaluate everyone else - and find them lacking.
You see Judgmentus Tormentus every day. He may be your boss. Or the person working across the hall or in the next cubicle. He's watching. He doesn't approve of you and he wants you to know it. You can tell by the way he looks at you. The frown, the raised eyebrow. Or the way he glares at you as he walks by without speaking.
Why doesn't Judgmentus Tormentus approve of you? You'll probably never know. It may be the way you dress or wear your hair. He may not approve of the way you do your job. Judgmentus, you see, has impeccable work habits. And since he performs his job flawlessly, or thinks he does, he feels it's his responsibility to evaluate everyone around him.
Judgmentus does not limit his appraisal to behaviors he has personally witnessed. Oh no. Among Judgmentus Tormentus' closest friends are Gertie the Gossip and her brother Grapevine Gary. Yes, good old Judgmentus may very well have come to the conclusion that you are an inferior human being based upon the mindless, ignorant prattle of rumormongers. He heard something about you - and he knows it's true.
Your place of employment isn't the only place you'll find Judgmentus. He lives down the street from you too. He goes to your place of worship. Still in school? Judgmentus may be one of your teachers. Or one of your classmates. Judgmentus Tormentus comes in both genders.
The funny thing is, Judgmentus Tormentus isn't hurting anyone but himself. It takes energy to screw your face up into an ugly scowl. A smile comes naturally. Exchanging pleasantries with people makes you feel good. Walking around scowling at people you don't approve of is pretty tough on the hardware. It raises the blood pressure and releases excess stomach acid. The result is high blood pressure, stomach ulcers and an early exit from a miserable life.
How should you react when you cross paths with Judgmentus Tormentus? Whatever you do, don't try to beat a skunk at his own game. He's a master at it and you'll lose every time. Besides, it's a sick, useless game. Just smile and say, "Good to see ya!"
He'll wonder what you're smiling about and the fact that you appear so happy and will bug the heck out of him.
Acrimonious Extremus is a sister to Stupidicus Problematicus. Like her brother, she has the IQ of a potted plant. And she's angry - very angry. Why is she angry? Well, dumb as she is, she's smart enough to know she's deficient in just about every quality that separates humans from apes. This severely limits her options in life. Aside from appearing on the Jerry Springer Show, she has very little to aspire to. So she spends her time trying to prove she's smarter than you - and being angry.
It just so happens that I ran into a live specimen of Acrimonious Extremus this very day. I went into one of those discount grocery stores to buy a box of corn flakes for my dad. This particular store is called Aldi. And, if you haven't been in one, they sell "generic" foods at a discount price. This particular one uses no shelving of any kind. They merely stack the cartons of food on the floor.
I ran into the store, found the box of corn flakes my dad had ordered, and headed for the checkout. Now, there were four registers in this store and only one happened to have a cashier. You guessed it. She was a member of the species Acrimonious Extremus. She was perched on her stool, chewing her gum and waiting for a customer's debit card to be approved.
Customers began lining up behind me. The line soon extended, in a perfectly straight line, all the way to the back of the store. The sight of all these people waiting in line was too much for Acrimonious Extremus. She stood up and began shouting at the people.
"You know, some of you can start unloading at the fourth register. When you all line up like that I don't know whether you're shopping or waiting to check out!"
She then plopped back down on her stool, snapped her chewing gum and resumed scanning groceries.
Now, think about this. Why WOULDN'T they all line up "like that" at the first register? It was the only one with a cashier.
At any rate, about half the people in line began pushing their carts over to register four. The first to arrive was an elderly woman who waited patiently for a cashier to arrive. After about five minutes, she walked over to Acrimonious Extremus and meekly asked, "Pardon me, Miss, when is the cashier coming?"
"HE'S ON THE PHONE! HE'LL BE WITH YOU IN A MINUTE!"
Our angry cashier then turned back to me (lucky me, it was my turn), rolled her eyes and said, "It has GOT to be break time soon!"
I just smiled at her, took my change and left the store.
Now, don't let me give you the impression all members of the Acrimonious Extremus species are sixth-grade dropouts. It may surprise you to know that some of them have graduate degrees from accredited institutions of higher learning. Acrimonious Extremus may not be capable of rational thought but she is capable of fogging a mirror, and that is all that is required to obtain a graduate degree from some American universities.
Regular visitors to Jerk Net will know your humble jerkbuster formerly suffered the humiliation of selling books to schools and libraries. As if it wasn't bad enough that most of the publishing companies published biased, error-ridden bilge and charged outrageous prices for it, yours truly had to suffer the insults of Acrimonious Extremus, genus Librarianus.
It's true. One day I attended a conference of middle school librarians. Part of the librarians' entertainment was the opportunity to go from booth to booth and insult the people from the publishing companies.
A rather portly librarian waddled into my booth, looked me straight in the eyes and said, "So, you have anything in here that won't make me puke?"
I learned a long time ago that tangling with one of these people is like trying to outstink a skunk. So I just smiled at her and invited her to look around. She picked up a couple of the books, scowled, put them down and wandered out of the booth.
The next librarian to come into my booth was familiar to me. She had been my english teacher when yours truly was in middle school. She was a horrible teacher. I can tell you with great authority that she was the poorest excuse of a teacher I had ever been subjected to in twelve years of public education - and that's saying something. One of my teachers was a drug dealer, but I digress.
My former teacher, it seems, had been promoted to building librarian. And now she was in my booth.
"Hello Mrs. Huffnagle!" I said. "I'll bet you don't remember me. I was in your eighth-grade English class at Bumblewig Middle School."
"You're right. I don't remember you," she said.
She picked up a catalog, leafed through it, and tossed it back on the table.
"I don't see anything of value here," she sniffed, walking out of the booth.
Now, don't think you can humor these people and make them happy. You can't. Since they behave like skunks, the best thing to do is to treat them like skunks. Keep your distance.
My parents taught me that all people are equal and deserve to be treated with respect. When I walk into a building, I automatically hold the door open for the person behind me, whether that person is male or female, rich or poor, nine or ninety. It's a policy that has worked well for me. I'm usually rewarded with a friendly smile and a polite "thank you."
One day I walked into my local post office, followed by a particularly noxious example of Acrimonious Extremus. As is my habit, I paused a moment and held the door for her. I immediately knew I had made a mistake.
"I'm perfectly capable of opening a door for myself, PIG!" she shouted.
So beware. Acrimonious Extremus may be a cashier or a customer, a welfare recipient or a professional person. But one thing is certain. Like spiders, Acrimonious Extremus is everywhere. You're never more than five feet away from her. She's right behind you - and she's angry.
This is Stupidicus Problematicus, a first-cousin to Stupidicus Roadrageous. Stupidicus Problematicus has a chip on his shoulder and, if you're careless enough to make eye contact with him, he'll snarl "Hey, you got a problem?"
Stupidicus Problematicus usually wears jeans, workboots, a t-shirt that barely conceals his humongous beer belly and a baseball cap. He washes his long, stringy hair once a month whether it needs it or not. And he's angry.
Why is he angry? Well, the exact cause of his anger is not known, although most researchers believe it is related to his extreme stupidity. You see, Stupidicus Problematicus does not have a brain. There is nothing inside his skull - nothing at all, just a vacuum. And since nature hates a vacuum, the pressure on the outside of his skull is enormous. The resulting headache makes Stupidicus Problematicus incredibly angry. And so, wherever he goes, he looks for someone to snarl at. If he can pick a fight with someone, so much the better.
Like his cousin Stupidicus Roadrageous, and all other bullies for that matter, Stupidicus Problematicus is a coward. He prefers to make faces and rude comments to children and the elderly, fearing that anyone else might mop the floor with him.
Every now and then, if you're in the right place at the right time, you'll be lucky enough to witness two Stupidicus Problematici having a confrontation.
I witnessed a clash of the Stupidici one day. Now, to be truthful, I can't be certain whether the two Stupidici were of the Roadrageous or the Problematicus variety. No matter - the spectacle was incredibly entertaining.
It was a beautiful spring day. I was parked outside my local Burger King, enjoying a Whopper, fries and Coke. I had a ringside seat - the confrontation took place no more than five feet away from my front bumper.
Stupidicus Number One pulled up to the traffic light and stopped. Stupidicus Number Two pulled up right behind him and exited his vehicle. I have no idea what previous event precipitated this particular confrontation - it was in full bloom by the time the Stupidici stopped their cars in front of me.
Stupidicus Number Two positioned himself next to the hood of his car and began hurling invectives at Stupidicus Number One. Number One jumped out of his car, slammed the door, and joined Number Two. What happened next was pure Stupidici. They stood toe to toe and arranged their faces in such a manner that their noses were side by side. They then proceeded to question the marital status of one another's parents. One of the Stupidici referred to the other as the male child of a foul-tempered female.
Within seconds, one of the Stupidici challenged the other to engage him in a round of pugilism. The other accepted the offer by removing his baseball cap and placing it on the trunk of his car. Alas, it was too late. The light had turned green and other drivers, eager to be on their way, began honking at the two gladiators.
Stupidicus Number One returned his baseball cap to his head, told Stupidicus Number Two he was lucky the light was green, turned and headed back to his car. Number Two, not to be outdone, shouted a few parting comments about the virtue of Number One's sister and opined as to how he would utilize his foot to impact Number One's posterior upon the occasion of their next meeting.
The contestants drove away, but not before waving an enthusiastic farewell to one another with their middle fingers extended. Each gladiator went his way confident he had bested his opponent and proven his manhood to the spectators.
A wonderful time was had by all.
Ever go into one of those cheesy "rent-to-own" stores? Every city has them. They plaster their front windows with signs reading "Forget the Credit Hassle" or "Pagers for only $15 per week."
They exist for one reason - to take advantage of poor people - people with no cash and no credit. The one thing the target audience of these sleazy enterprises have in abundance is a need for instant gratification. Rather than saving their money and buying a VCR or sofa with cash, they opt for the infamous "rent to own" plan.
"Hey, I can afford $15 per week for this nice sofa," they think, not realizing they'll end up paying $900 for a sofa they could buy almost anywhere else for $375.
These rent-to-own jackasses say they're doing the poor people a favor. Well, if they were truly interested in doing these poor souls a favor they wouldn't take advantage of their lust for instant gratification. They'd say, "Go home and save your money. When you save up $200, go down to Sears or Wal-Mart and buy a nice VCR. If you get one from us, you'll be blowing a lot of money you can't afford to lose and you'll be poor forever."
Do they do that? Of course not. There are a lot of misguided souls who want a stereo, DVD player or pager TODAY and don't have the self-discipline to wait until they can afford it. The rent-to-own vultures' goal is to harvest every one of them.
To illustrate our point, we offer you a bit of fiction. As the late Rod Serling would say, "submitted for your approval . . ."
The Adventures of Ed Slimey
Ed Slimey maneuvered his Mercedes into his private parking place in front of his store, Slimey's Rental. He got out of the car and locked it.
"Nice car!" said Bill Robbins, the manager of Fabulous Finance. Fabulous Finance was next door to Slimey's Rental.
"Thanks!" Ed replied, glancing lovingly at his pride and joy. "Top of the line. I get one every year. Wouldn't drive anything else."
"Hey, Ed, let's try out that new Chinese restaurant for lunch today!"
"Good idea! See you at noon!" Bill and Ed unlocked the front doors to their respective businesses and went inside. It was 8:30 and customers would soon be coming in.
"Gotta put these new signs in the window!" Ed thought to himself.
He laid the large signs out on the table so he could admire them.
"SUPER VHS for only $20 per week. No Credit Hassle!" read the first sign.
Ed laughed to himself as he taped the sign in the front window. He rented at least a dozen of those video cassette machines each week. At twenty dollars per week, his customers ended up paying over a thousand dollars to rent the machine for a year and $3000 if they opted for the three-year "rent-to-own" plan. All for a machine that Ed bought for $125 wholesale from a Korean distributor.
Ed's customers were people who were, for the most part, down on their luck. They didn't have the cash to buy furniture or small appliances at a regular store and couldn't qualify for any kind of credit. Ed didn't mind taking advantage of their adversity.
"Heaven, I'm in Heaven!" Ed sang to himself as dollar signs danced in his head.
Ed had just finished taping the first sign to the window when his first customer came in.
"I saw the sign in your window for the Super VHS!" said the young man with the tattered jeans and dirty t-shirt.
"You came to the right place," said Ed. "Twenty bucks a week and it's all yours!"
"What kind is it?" asked the young man. "My cousin has a Sony and likes it a lot."
"I'm glad you asked!" replied Ed. "Ours are built by Sony!" he said, leading the young man over to the corner where the cassette recorders were displayed.
"But this says VIDEOMASTER on it" the young man objected.
"That's the beauty of it!" said Ed. "Sony builds these in their own plant in Tokyo and puts our name on them. You're getting a real SONY Super VHS recorder without paying for the name."
Ed, of course, was lying. Sony had nothing to do with the machines. They were assembled in Malaysia by some obscure company no one ever heard of.
"Yeah, that makes sense," said the young man.
"Of course!" said Ed. "It happens all the time. C'mere." He lead the young man to a display of vacuum cleaners.
"See these SuckMaster vacuum cleaners? Who do you think makes 'em?"
"Dunno" said the young man.
"Hoover!" shouted Ed, lying again. "Hoover builds these and puts our name on them."
"That's really weird!" said the young man.
"It's not weird at all!" said Ed. "Who do you think builds Hondas?"
The young man shrugged. "Honda?"
"Ford!" shouted Ed.
"Are you sure about that?" asked the young man.
"Would I lie to you? Whaddaya say? You gonna take one of our SUPER VHS machines home with you?
"I ain't got no cash," said the young man. "The guy at Electronic Palace said I could apply for their credit card and buy a cassetter recorder for only eighteen percent interest."
"Eighteen percent interest?" shouted Ed, feigning horror. Forget the credit hassle. Our Rent-to-Own program makes a lot more sense for someone like you. You look like an intelligent young man!"
"Well, I'm not sure. That credit card could come in handy."
"Why mess around with credit card applications when you can walk out with one of these baby's right now?"
"Yeah, you got a point," the young man replied.
"Sign right here!" said Ed, slamming an application and a pen down on the table. A few minutes later the young man walked out with his Super VHS recorder.
THREE HOURS LATER:
Bill Robbins, the manager of Fabulous Finance, walked into Ed's store. Fabulous Finance, like Slimey's Rental, took advantage of people who were down on their luck. Fabulous Finance customers were always short on cash and couldn't qualify for a traditional bank loan or even for a Visa or Mastercard. They'd put up all their earthly possessions as collateral for a 30 percent loan from Fabulous Finance.
"Hey Eddy!" said Bill. "Let's hit that new Chinese restaurant next door.
Ed and Bill went next door to the new restaurant. As was their custom, they walked to the table all the way at the back of the restaurant. This gave them the opportunity to steal the dollar bills previous customers had left as tips on the tables. If their timing was right they could not only get their lunch free but earn a nice profit as well. Stealing the tips of some hard-working server didn't bother them a bit. They found a table and sat down. A pleasant young woman handed them a couple of menus.
"What kinda scam you got goin' this week, Ed?" Bill inquired.
"Just got a new shipment of SuckMaster vacuum cleaners in," said Ed. "I pay $27 a piece for them. I rent them out for $10 a week. My discriminating customers own them in only three years!"
Bill did a little quick math in his head. "Fifteen hundred bucks for a $27 Hong Kong vacuum cleaner!" shouted Bill, laughing hysterically. "Oh man! And I thought I was getting away with something charging 30 percent for a loan!"
Ed leaned back in his chair and laughed. He suddenly turned white.
"Hey, Eddy! What's the matter? You look like you just seen a ghost!"
Ed choked a couple of times, stared at Bill, and fell over. Fifty years of high-cholesteral food and no exercise had taken their toll. The Grim Reaper came calling, and Ed was ready with his bags packed.
MEANWHILE, ON THE OTHER SIDE:
"Uncle Frank? Are you okay? Uncle Frank?"
Ed opened his eyes and saw the young woman staring at him with a look of concern on her face.
"You must have dozed off, Uncle Frank!" she said.
Ed didn't recognize the young woman. And why was she calling him Uncle Frank?
"I was just passing by on my way to the community college. I thought I'd check and see if there's anything you need," she said.
Confused, Ed just shook his head.
"Okay, well, give me a call later if you need anything. I've got class until 3:00 but I'll be home shortly after that if you need anything. Give me a call."
And with that, the young woman departed.
"Who the hell was that?" Ed thought to himself. "And where's Bill? Hey, this ain't no Chinese Restaurant."
Sure enough, Ed was no longer in a Chinese Restaurant. He was in a dreary little third-floor apartment. And it was hot. The temperature must have been 100 degrees. A little electric fan labored away by the one open window. Ed tried to get up to see what was going on - but couldn't move his legs. He looked down and was horrified to see he was sitting in a wheel chair.
"What the Hell's goin' on!" he shouted. He saw a mirror on a nearby wall. He wheeled over and looked.
"Aughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" He wasn't ready for what he saw looking back at him. For instead of seeing a reflection of himself, Ed Slimey, he saw the reflection of a much older man. An older man with no hair and no teeth. And a small clear-plastic tube protruded from his nose. It was connected to an oxygen tank built onto the back of his wheel chair. There was a knock at the door.
"Frank Wiley, I know you're in there! Open up!" The door flew open. And in came two young men wearing coveralls. "SLIMEY'S RENTAL" was embroidered on the front of each pair of coveralls.
"Sorry old man!" said one of the young men. "You're three weeks late on your oxygen rent."
The second young went about removing the oxygen tank from the back of Ed's wheelchair.
"I can't breathe!" gasped Ed.
"Well, you should have thought of that before you defaulted on your payments, old man!" said the first young man.
"Too bad too. You would have owned this unit in another couple of months."
The two young men wheeled the oxygen tank out the door. Ed, slumped in his wheel chair, gasped for air in the 100 degree heat of the tiny third-floor apartment. No one came back to check on him. The only sound that would be heard in that apartment would be the little electric fan in the window - and Ed gasping for air. Forever.
Spamus Rectumus. These are the fly-by-night jerks who fill your e-mail box with advertisements for XXX-rated websites and get-rich-quick schemes. The majority of them are bottom-dwelling, gravy-sucking hucksters, con artists and criminals. They're the poor cousins of the jackasses who pollute late-night television with those idiotic "become a millionaire by placing classified ads in newspapers and magazines" infomercials.
Have you seen their latest slimey attempts at respectability? They try to make you think you ASKED to be on their mailing lists! They put phrases like"here's the information you asked for" on the subject line. Or they include some nonsense about "we wouldn't want to send e-mail to people who don't want it. So if you want to be removed from our mailing list, please go to www.lowlifeslimeballsareus and complete the deletion form."
Don't do it! If you visit their website and complete their "delete" form, you'll be confirming that you're a real, live human being with a valid e-mail address and they'll spam you even more.
Some of the internet service providers these jackasses use aren't much help. Send an e-mail to their webmaster complaining that one of their members is bombarding you with unsolicited e-mail and you're likely to receive an electronic tongue-lashing about how you didn't follow their official procedure for reporting spammers. Then they offer you detailed instructions on how to file a complaint.
How many internet service providers are there? Ten thousand? A hundred thousand? A million? And each one of them expects us to be familiar with their particular policy for reporting the spamming jackasses among their membership?
These jerks all have one thing in common. Instead of getting a respectable job and actually earning a living by doing something worthwhile, they sit at their computers all day dreaming of slimey, dishonest schemes to separate gullible and/or desperate people from their money.
Meanwhile, the rest of us wear out the "delete" keys on our computers and hope the day is not far off when Spamus Rectumus joins Telemarketus Bigmouthus, Extended Warrantus Obnoxicus and Stupidicus Road Rageous in that place of eternal torment.
High Pressure Sales Jerks
High pressure sales jerks can be found almost anywhere a commodity is sold to the public. There are three common varieties:
Telemarketus Bigmouthus: A lowlife jackass who calls you at home, usually at dinner time, and uses high-pressure tactics to try to sell you all kinds of useless crap you have no interest in.
Repugnant Automobilus: An obnoxious scoundrel who employs all manner of games and sleazy tactics to separate you from your money.
Extended Warrantus Obnoxicus: These jerks inhabit appliance and electronics stores. They try to steal your money by selling a useless commodity called the "extended warranty."
Since Telemarketus Bigmouthus will have his own page here at JERK.NET, we will devote this page to Repugnant Automobilus and Extended Warrantus Obnoxicus.
Repugnant Automobilus can be found selling both new and used cars, trucks and sport utility vehicles. He wants your money and he'll go to any length to get it. Ask him for a price on a car and you're likely to hear this:
"Well, Bob, you tell me. How much do you want to pay for this car?"
Obviously, he knows how low he can go on the car. He's hoping you'll be a sucker (he thinks most customers are) and name a price substantially above that figure. If you do, he'll say something like this:
"Gee, Bob, I don't know if my sales manager will go along with that or not. Tell ya what. I'm gonna go talk to him and see if he'll go along with it. I'm on your side Bob"
The salesman will go into the sales manager's office and shut the door. The two of them will sit there, drink coffee, and laugh about what a chump you are. Or, the sales manager may not even be there. The salesman may sit there by himself, drink coffee, and laugh about what a chump you are. After ten minutes or so, the salesman will come back out, shake his head, and tell you you'll have to part with few hundred dollars more.
"Gee, Bob, he just about choked when I gave him that figure. Tell you what, have you got fifty bucks on you?"
"Yes," you say, "I have fifty bucks, why do you ask?"
"Well, Bob, that'll show my sales manager you're serious about dealing."
If you really ARE a chump, you'll hand the salesman your fifty dollars and he'll disappear inside the sales manager's office again. Now the two of them will REALLY laugh about what a chump you are. The salesman will come out a few minutes later and hit you with something like this:
"Bob, what can I do to get you to take this car home today?"
Well, you get the idea. You're not going to get a straight answer out of him. Do you have a car to trade in? If so, you're in for double jeopardy.
"So, Bob, how much do you want for your car and how much do you want to pay for the new one?"
Suggestions: Do your homework. Use one of the internet "blue book" sites to find out the current prices on your trade-in as well as the particular model you're trying to buy. Second, don't play the salesman's games. You're the one with the money, you're the boss. Be assertive and make sure he understands your time is valuable and you're not going to waste even a minute of it playing games. If he can't or won't understand that, get up and walk out.
Extended Warrantus Obnoxicus sells appliances and/or electronic items. A substantial part of his commission comes from trying to sell you a useless commodity known as the "extended warranty."
Extended warranties are almost always worthless. Think about it. Why would the store try so hard to sell it to you unless it's in their best interest to do so? Electronic items either work or they don't. If it works the first time you turn it on, it'll probably work just fine for the next five to ten years. The store knows you'll probably never collect on that extended warranty - that's why they want you to buy it. It's pure profit for them.
When you buy an appliance or electronic item, the sales person should treat you in a genuinely friendly and courteous manner. He should thank you for your business. Some do. Extended Warrantus Obnoxicus, however, does not. He'll argue, cajole and get downright insulting if you don't agree to buy his worthless warranty.
What should you do? Walk out. There are probably a dozen stores within a twenty-mile radius of that one selling the same product.
You're driving along, minding your own business. Suddenly, without warning, there he is: Stupidicus Road Rageous, one of the biggest jerks to ever inhabit the earth - and one of the most dangerous.
Stupidicus Road Rageous may be male or female. He may be a sixth-grade dropout driving a rusty Chevy or a Harvard MBA tooling along in his BMW, chatting away on his cell phone. All Stupidici have one thing in common, regardless of their social status: They own the highway, they resent anyone else using it and, above all, they're in a hurry - even if they're only going to Wal-Mart.
You may be driving the speed limit. You may even be driving a few miles over the limit. No matter. You've committed the unpardonable sin of being ahead of Stupidicus Road Rageous. He'll ride your back bumper to show his displeasure. Then he'll flash his headlights and blow his horn at you, trying to intimidate you into speeding up.
Stupidicus Road Rageous will do anything to get around you. He'll drive on the berm to get around you. He'll cross over the double yellow line to get around you. Laws mean absolutely nothing to Stupidicus Road Rageous, they're for other people, not him. Human life means nothing to him either. He has no conscience.
If his antics result in one or more people getting killed, too bad. He won't accept the responsibility and he'll feel no remorse. His only concern will be to get off with the lightest possible sentence. Chances are, he'll probably succeed.
Stupidicus Road Rageous does whatever he wants on the highway. Your driving, however, had better be perfect in every way. Hesistate a moment too long at a stop sign and he'll blow his horn, give you the finger and shout obscenities.
A friend who happens to be a trooper for the Ohio Highway Patrol told me that road rage idiots regularly blow their horn at him if he hesitates a second too long at a stop sign - and he's in uniform, driving a big, gray OHP Crown Victoria with a light bar on the roof. These people are not intimidated by anyone - irrational people rarely are.
There's really only one thing you can do - get out of his way. Then, if at all possible, report his license number to the police. They won't be able to arrest him based on your information alone, but a number of reports from different people may eventually allow them to build a case against him. Whatever you do, don't make eye contact with him and don't provoke him. He may ram your rear bumper or try to run you off the road. Or worse.
A couple of volunteer paramedics in Monroe Township, Ohio had the misfortune to cross paths with a Stupidicus Road Rageous while responding to an emergency. As one of the men backed the ambulance into the driveway of an elderly woman, the other stood in the road to direct traffic.
The thought of having to stop, even momentarily, so enraged this jerk that he pulled a handgun off the passenger seat next to him and shot both paramedics. Thankfully, both survived and are now recovering at home. Meanwhile, Stupidicus Road Rageous sits in the county jail complaining that his rights have been violated.
Finally, if you are a practitioner of road rage, consider the following: The old man you're tailgating might have flown 40 missions over Nazi Germany. Or he may have celebrated his 19th, 20th and 21st birthdays in foxholes, in conditions you can't even imagine, so that the world would be free from tyranny. Instead of blowing your horn at him and giving him the finger, you should give him a friendly wave and be grateful a whole generation of young Americans put themselves at risk to provide a safer world for YOU.
And that old lady who's slowing you down? She lived through the Great Depression, World War II and Korea. She probably watched one or more of her sons go off to Vietnam, hoping against hope that they'd come home in one piece. Slow down and show her some respect. Wal-Mart can wait another fifteen or twenty seconds.
This guy is a "suit." His IQ is inversely proportional to his ego and his primary objective is making sure you know he is more important than you.
He talks on his cellular phone as he drives his car. He talks on his cellular phone as he walks through airports (suits love airports). He never leaves home without it.
He has a pager in his briefcase or, better yet, clipped to his belt. Suits must be accessible 24 hours a day. If a suit cannot be reached, entropy will overtake the universe and life will cease to exist.
Suits love to be paged. They print their pager numbers on their business cards and hand them out to anyone and everyone who will accept one. "Feel free to page me anytime."
Suits look at their watches at least once every two minutes. No matter where a suit is, he needs to be somewhere else.
Suits love meetings. The meeting is the suit's favorite way to share his wisdom with the knowledge impaired. Suits conduct meetings and then tell other suits about them . . . on the way to the airport.
Suits give off peculiar auditory signals:
"Movies? Who has time for movies. I haven't seen a movie in fifteen years."
"Bob, I haven't seen you since, where? Denver? Houston? You on your way to the airport?"
"That's a win-win situation, Bob."
"Pardon me, Bob, I'm being paged."
"I'll have my people arrange a meeting with your people."
"We have a zero-tolerance policy on that, Bob."
"Can't talk now, Bob. Got a meeting in five minutes!"
Suitus Big Dealus may be a corporate executive, a school administrator, a government bureaucrat or he may sell insurance, used cars or shower curtain hooks. Many are national, regional or district sales managers. He may earn $5,000,000 per year (unlikely) or $25,000 (more likely). It doesn't matter. He's a suit and he's more important than you.
The Jerkbuster's grandfather, may he rest in peace, had these people all figured out.
"If you could buy that guy for what he's worth and sell him for what he thinks he's worth, you'd make a fortune," he'd say.
Interesting Fact: Did you know most self-made millionaires wear jeans and shop at Wal-Mart? It's true. The majority of them live in modest homes and drive 5 year-old cars. Unlike "Suitus Big Dealus," most self-made millionaires aren't out to impress anyone. They're comfortable with who they are and don't waste their time trying to impress others.
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