It’s 5:45. I’ve come across the Ross Island bridge, and am headed up the hill to get onto the 405 where I will eventually get onto Highway 30. And there you are again, you dumb f*ck-ass.
I’ve been inching up the hill for the past 10 minutes. NPR is keeping me company. This isn’t my happy time, but having just left work it’s pretty damn close. And there you are. F*ck-ass.
You zipped up the hill, through the lights and now you want into my lane. You’re lingering, right before the ramp down onto the highway. F*ck-asses. Blinker on. Just WAITING for me to break so that you can squeeze in and head home to Beaverton. No. I waited for 10 damn minutes to get on the freeway. You? Mr. F*ck-ass? You didn’t. So guess what, f*ck-ass? I’m gassing this bitch and not letting you in. Wait for another sucker who isn’t in a hurry to go home.
F*ck-asses. All of ’em.
Perhaps if you simply CHOSE A DIFFERENT ROUTE, instead of whining and saying “f*ck ass” a whole lot, you’d get home alittle sooner.
This is the Portland Mercury. It’s okay to type “fuck.”
I always assume when someone uses “F*ck” that they are referring to anal.
Now lemme see if I can get this straight. You have grown tired of being in a que so you took your deluted ass to whineybitch town where I’m the mayor.
I think the real problem is that you live in Beaverton
No, not if they’re trying to get to Highway 30. But of course, what they’re bitching about here does indeed happen every day, so you’d think they would have found a better way of dealing with it.
No one in this town knows how to merge. Not the worst IA ever.
You say that you are in a “hurry to go home”. When you get home and see your wife, do you wonder what all that hurry was all about?
Oh look another stressed motorist on I, Anon! WOW THIS IS GREAT STUFF.
Another fuck ass case of Beaverton envy.
Little tip: native Oregonians say “I-405” or “I-5”. Californians call it “the 405”.
Or they call it “the San Diego Freeway,” Blabby. We should start calling our 405 that too, just to be weird.
Since you’re willing to wait 10 minutes, and allegedly understand what a dashed white line means, I can only assume you are not in a hurry. If this isn’t the case, how about putting your big girl panties on and going around the line of cars going to OHSU. Fuckass.
I would recommend flailing wildly about in your automobile whilst throwing the bird and screaming colorful obsenities. No one will want to fuck with you. I got pulled over about a week ago because someone called me in for doing this, however. No ticket, just a kind of “You smoking crack, son?” type of discussion. It helps me feel better and makes the douche who cut you off not even so much as look in that rear-view mirror.