When you’re driving on the surface streets and you suddenly come to little traffic jam, but one lane is moving really fast, that’s not the lane to get into. That’s the lane that’s causing the traffic jam. Sure enough, when I get to the front, there’s a line of cars in that “fast lane” at a dead stop, turn signals flashing, trying to squeeze into my lane. Turns out, their lane is closed. Duh. Should I let them in? Hell, no. Let them suffer. Bunch of selfish fucks.

Same goes for you dickheads that won’t wait in the long line of people waiting to turn left. You have to go up and block traffic as you try to cut in line. You want to pull in front of me? Don’t even try it, buddy. I don’t care how big your damn truck is. Impatient motorists suck. Almost as much as these automotive rants.

I’ve written this rant once before, but erased it after the service started working again. Not this time. Haloscan, for those of you who don’t know, is the company responsible for the commentary feature on my site. They claim that all I have to do is drop a few lines of code in and the comments link will appear. And it does. Occassionally. But lately, it’s really been unreliable. I know there are people out there who want to comment on my stupid words. But thanks to Haloscan, they can’t. It would be great if I could just eliminate the Haloscan link an find another site to host my commentary feature. But it’s not that easy. Because if I get rid of Halsoscan, all of the comments on my past entries would be be lost forever. Haloscan sucks.

Update: Haloscan was the company I used for my comments. I now use he built-in commenting featuring in WordPress. Sooooo much better.

When gas stations stopped pumping the gas, I didn’t complain. When warehouse stores made you bag your own groceries, I didn’t mind. But when I call my phone company (or any other corporation, for that matter) and I get stuck in a maze of button-pushing and voice commands, I feel like jumping out the window.

Not only do I have to press “1″ to let them know I speak English, but I have to listen to the Spanish version of the message before they even let me do that. Actually, I wouldn’t mind the button-pushing if it made everything faster. But even after I’ve deciphered the code to get to the person I want to speak with, I have to wait over a half hour to get anyone to help me. Of course, like most people, I press “0″ and hope it connects me to a live person. But I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before that person is elliminated.

I want to find the person who invented this torture device, tie him to a chair and ever so slowly cram my phone (antenna first) up his nose. Then, I’d say, “If you’d like the phone crammed further up your nose, press or say, 1. If you’d like the phone twisted while being crammed up your nose, press or say, 2. If you’d like the phone rapidly jack-hammered up your nose, press or say, 3. To hear other options, including the choice of having two phones up your nose at once, press or say, 4.” Automated Customer Service sucks.

One, I can’t believe that companies are manufacturing this crap. Two, I can’t believe parents are buying it. Does this seem like something you’d want in your child’s body? Sure, there are chemicals in just about every processed food. But normally they’re nice, neutral colors, so you don’t notice them. Bright blue is not the color oatmeal is supposed to be. Nor is it supposed to be pink, green or purple. It’s fucking oatmeal, for goddsakes. You know in about ten years, they’re gonna discover that eating day-glow food causes your colon to fall out of your ass or something. But, fuck it. As long as the kids like it. Day-Glow Kid’s Food sucks.

Why izzit suddenly so kool to mizspell wordz? You see it on every album cover, in every band and artist’s name. Are we suppozed to be so impressed with this? Frankly, it scarez me. I don’t really care about kidz picking up foul language in those explicit lyrics. I’m more concerned with them picking up weird wayz to spell wordz. “Johnny, why did you spell this with a Z?” “Missy Elliot does it.” Beware, people, the time is coming. And when it does, don’t say I didn’t warn yew.

You may think I’m going to go with the “people who drive with cell phones suck” angle. I’m not. Actually, I’m one of those people. What sucks are the people who can’t drive while using a cell phone. Me, I know when to ignore the conversation and pay attention to the road. I stop for pedestrians crossing the street. I look ahead for upcoming hazards. Heck, I even signal before I change lanes. It’s these jackasses who won’t pay attention that are going to ruin it for the rest of us.

No wonder so many states are outlawing car phone use. That is, unless you use a hands-free device. Personally, I find these things even more distracting. There’s something unsettling about hearing someone’s voice deep inside your ear (especially when that voice is saying “Kill! Kill! Kill!”). So I don’t use my little ear bud, and I’m a safer driver because of it.

So maybe they’re going about this the wrong way. Maybe they shouldn’t outlaw car phone use entirely. Maybe they should just add “Car Phone Conversation” to the DMV driving test. If you pass, you’d get a little note on your license that reads “Car Phone Approved.” If you didn’t pass, you’d have a little note that reads, “Must Use Corrective Ear Bud.” Hey, it’s just a thought. It’s not my fault that bad car phone drivers suck.

Yeah, I know you saw this one coming. But, seriously, what’s the point of this stupid holiday? If you need a special day to express your love to your significant other, you’ve got problems, baby. Of course, I don’t have a Valentine this year. That’s why I’m sitting here typing on my computer instead of dripping warm carmel on some sexy little number. Not that I’m a big fan of carmel. But somehow, everything tastes better on warm, smooth female skin. Well, everything but creamed corn. That’s just disgusting.

But I digress.

The fact is, Valentine’s Day is great for those who are in a relationship. But it’s just awful for those who aren’t. It’s bad enough I don’t have a mother and I have to deal with Mother’s Day every year. But Valentine’s Day? All those flowers and candy. People making reservations weeks in advance. Blowing wads of cash on diamond-encrusted pendants and watches: “I love you so much, honey, I’m willing to go bankrupt for you.” Yeah, nothing says lovin’ like maxing out another credit card. Way to go, Romeo.

But you don’t have to have a special someone to enjoy Valentine’s Day (No, I’m not going there, you sick perverted pukes). I’m talking about when we were kids. You’d buy a box of cards and hand them out to all the children in the class. Even the guys. You didn’t care what people thought . The card didn’t read: “I’m not gay or nothin’, but be my Valentine….dude.” It just showed a boy on a minibike looking cool. Come to think of it, I didn’t really get too many Valentine’s Day cards back then either. Fuck Valentine’s Day. It sucks.

Glovia, this would be an appropriate time to vent about relationships.

Such a rich topic. Where do I begin? First of all, what’s with the printing my name on the envelope? Is that supposed to impress me? What am I supposed to do, look at it and say to myself, “Wow, these people know me really well. That’s my name!” Don’t kid yourselves. It just pisses me off. Who the fuck are you to use my name? Whenever I see my name in big bold type on a piece of mail, I rip it in half and toss it in the round file. Fuck that.

Yes, sometimes I do open a piece of junk mail, but when I do, I’m almost always disappointed. What’s with all the copy? Do you really think I have that much time to read a novel about your stupid product? Get to the point, already. And while we’re at it, lose the stupid fucking stickers: “To get your free subscription, place the heart sticker here.” What the hell is that about? Do I look like I’m six years old? Give me a check box to mark off or something. I don’t want to play any of your stupid games.

Of course, junk mail in general sucks. But junk mail trying to masquerade as something very important really sucks. What exactly is the concept here? Sure, you might piss me off when I realize I’ve been deceived. But once I see what a great deal you have on life insurance, I won’t be able to resist. Bullshit. I’ll commit your company to memory and vow never to do any business with you.

Look, if you’ve got an offer, tell me about it quickly and let me get on with my life. Junk mail sucks.

How could anyone with such a divine name be so inherently evil? From the beginning of her career, her less-than appropriate dressing style caused me to purchase her albums and ignore the weak voice that was featured on them. Teen girls wanted to be her. Men wanted to be with her. But was that enough? No. She had to destroy yet another art form: film.

Yes, name a movie that features this celebrity slut and you’re not going to be praising its virtues. You’ll be cursing the cows whose bones created the gelatin that produced the film the movie was made on. Take Die Another Day, the latest James Bond flick. From the moment Madonna’s tinny electronically enhanced voice projected out of the Dolby Stereo system, the movie was over. How could anyone nominate that song for a Golden Globe? Somebody’s got her hand permanently down the pants of the movie industry. How else can you explain that brief cameo of hers? You couldn’t get a more wooden performance out of a dead tree. I’m just glad it was only a cameo.

Madonna even managed to destroy the rising career of her husband Guy Richie. Try recovering from such a flop as Swept Away. Madonna’s used to it. She’ll bounce back. Her husband, I’m not so sure. So, what’s next for America’s sweet tart? A new TV show? A Broadway bomb? We can only guess. But one things for sure, Madonna will always suck, in every possible way she can.

Don’t know what this stuff is? You’re lucky. Commonly found on hemp-wearing alternative-diet-eating modern-day hippies, the more-than-fragrant patchouli oil packs a powerful punch. It smells like a cross between black pepper and mint, and while some scents are designed to attract the opposite sex, this one is down right repulsive. What’s worse, people who wear this stuff, tend to bathe in it, ensuring the fragrance lingers wherever they go. Enclosed spaces (like elevators) seem to be a favorite spot. A couple whiffs of patchouli won’t just wake you up better than a double shot of espresso, it’ll curb your appetite better than the latest “all-natural” diet pill. That’s because the scent of patchouli not only stinks, it sucks.