Texas Drivers – Worst Drivers Ever?

I’m not sure I should have a question mark on the end of the title.  It’s really not a question, I believe it to be true.  Texas drivers are the worst drivers ever.  I can’t substantiate this with anything other than anecdotal evidence, but that’s going to have to be enough.  Allow me to present my case:

Texas drivers, at least the millions that I’ve encountered on the highways in my years living here, don’t believe in turn signals.  You can never tell when they’re merging, you can’t tell when they’re turning, they don’t even know that they’re doing either of these things until they’ve already done them.  This is tricky when you’re driving behind one of them and they slam on their brakes to turn into a neighborhood.  This is also problematic when they look at you, acknowledge your presence next to them on the highway, speed up, cut you off, and then slow down.  Shit, if any of you would just use that little clicky-doo right next to your hand on the steering wheel, I would probably let you over and sing your praisesMaybe it’s just Texans rallying against the oppressive government, those pesky Democrats, trying to make the roads safer.  I’m not really sure, though it is true that using turn signals makes you a Marxist-homosexual-fundamentalist.

To make matters worse, one normally needs to merge multiple lanes just to get out of the cluster-fuck traffic that seems to exist everywhere in the DFW area.  This isn’t necessarily a driver’s fault, but more likely the fault of the drunken child who clearly drew out the road systems here.


Here’s where this shit is your fault.  If you choose to change lanes at the moment a ramp is merging onto the highway, you deserve to be kicked in the throat. This is a daily battle for me, and I’m sure you’ve experienced it yourself.  It’s that moment when you run out of road and the soccer-mom-nazi in the minivan with the cell phone and batshit crazy makeup decides she wants to be where you’re going to be in a few seconds.  It’s the moment where you realize that death lurks around every corner, and sometimes death is a crazy bitch named Jessikah driving a Toyota Sienna like that ice cream truck-driving clown in Twisted Metal.  The things I have yelled out the window at Jessikah should probably never be repeated anywhere, so I will spare you.


This brings me to my next point.  The horn.  Every time I honk at one of you fuckers, even if you are clearly in the wrong, you act like I’m taking a dump in your living room, in front of your whole family.  If all I’m doing is honking at you after you’ve nearly killed me, then chalk that shit up as a “win” and give me the apology wave.  Give me some form of acknowledgement that yes, you did something stupid, and no, you won’t do it again.  In 30 seconds.  To that car in front of me.  Christ.

I could probably go on for paragraphs, and maybe there will be an addendum to this post, but for now that’s all the chiding I have in me.  You’re winning, Texas.  I’m too tired to bitch anymore.


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