A Letter to Commercial Drivers Concerning the Road

Dear stupid and/or psychotic CDL carrying chimpanzee CRACK HEADS,

Where are you going?

WHERE are you going?

WHERE are YOU GOING?

I shout only because I want my question to be heard over the roar of blood in your ears as you suddenly wake up in the cab of your 18 wheeler only to find yourself actually mother fucking driving said vehicle down I-30 at three in the afternoon when you were sure that you were still at the Petro station snoring on top of an open Easy Rider with half a bottle of Jack next to your smoke stained face!

10 minutes ago I was looking at the back of a USA Truck trailer and now I could swear that I was watching some drunken circus bear on a unicycle attempt to balance a ten foot high stack of pancakes on top of his head.

Seriously. What is so urgent inside that tiny cockpit that you think it appropriate to sashay 20 tons of steel across the world's largest catwalk, a.k.a., my goddamned lane? Did some wires in the engine get crossed causing the inside of the cab to become immediately electrified? Or perhaps, maybe, that colony of lice that has been living, nay, thriving on your furry ass has decided to stage a coup against the fleas on your back and a violent skirmish has ensued? Maybe you just got the funk and all you want to do is shake what the good lord gave you.

Regardless of the reason you have got to make a decision. Pull the hell off the road, or learn how to control your disco fever ass because there are people around you trying not to get crushed like a coke can by a truck full of official Bratz merchandise bound for the nearest Super Target, and you've got to cut that swerving shit out! You look like the pirate ship ride at Six Flags. I don't know whether I'm supposed to pass you or just wait in line until it's my turn to ride.

I mean, you have got to feel that right? That double load of wood that is swaying back and forth so hard the sawdust is spraying across my windshield? You know what a windshield is right? That is the object that normal, mortal, people use to protect their face and bodies from wind and whatever else might try to enter through the front of their vehicle. But, when I get into the territory of hoping the windshield will stop things from your truck bed, well, it would be like me hoping a condom would stop a bullet.

You make me wish I had two different horns. One that makes a normal honk noise and one that makes a noise like a crowd of women screaming. The kind of hysterical group scream that would occur if someone was shot outside of a deli in some late 50s gangster flick. That way you could get the full emotional effect of my warning. Honk would mean that you need to go at a green light. Screaming women would mean that you are about to roundhouse kick my van with an oversized pallet of steel girders.

Would that work? Would screaming women be enough? Do I need to get more basic than that to get your attention? Maybe I could get a horn that sounds like a large explosion, or maybe a dinosaur. Perhaps an air raid horn complete with dive bomber and anti-aircraft fire sound effects might make a bigger impression.

Maybe I should just build I giant plywood costume around my work van so that I look like a bigger vehicle. Use some animal kingdom psychology on the road and just fool the trucks into thinking that I am one of you.

Then again this might just be taken as a sign of aggression and dominance and the next thing I know I'd be rammed off the road by some jealous psychopathic Optimus Prime in his attempt to keep me from fucking his hot truck wife.

Really, my only recourse is to avoid you Mad Max motherfuckers at all costs. I have to keep my driving loose and adaptive so that I can take evasive maneuvers against you giant deranged land asteroids at a moment's notice, all the time John Williams urging me to get closer to one of the big ones.

All I'm asking is that you guys try to be a little more aware of the world outside of your cab interior. Try to realize that when you are bending over to reach that SlimJim under your break pedal that the swerving that ensues is a little disturbing to some of the other drivers. Some of the other drivers meaning all of the other drivers, and swerving meaning destructive homicidal rampage.

If you're tired, pull over.

If you're drunk, pull over.

If you are swerving violently to knock off the gremlin tearing out pieces of your engine in the middle of a thunderstorm, for fuck's sake, pull over! He's small, you could probably take him in a fist fight.

Thanks and Sincerely,
Chiggie Von Richthofen
The man you just ran into a XXX Super Store billboard