Beltline is the road here in Addison/Carrollton that I live/work on. Every day I drive its length once in the morning and once in the evening ... okay ... afternoon. I am the most well tempered driver that I know, but frankly, dear viewers, the way people drive on Beltline is starting to get to me. The way I see it, there are only three kinds of drivers on this road.

Unconcerned With The Speed Limit
This person does not care what the speed limit is on the road, they are not in a hurry. Despite the 40 mph speed limit, they choose to go anywhere from 30 to 20 mph, even when no cars are in front of them. I'd say this is the majority of Beltline drivers. I admire their lackadaisical approach to the passage of time, but when you're already 40 minutes late to work, they can be a bit frustrating.

In The Wrong Lane
Despite their best efforts, these drivers simply cannot get into the correct lane. If they're turning right, they stay in the left lane as long as possible. This requires them to make evasive maneuvers to get into the lane they need to be in, often decreasing their speed well below that of Unconcerned With The Speed Limit to get behind them. I don't have to tell you that this only complicates the problem.

Wife In Labor
Whenever someone is being a jackass, going too fast, and swerving between lanes, I always try to be understanding. I generally assume that their wife is in the passenger seat going into labor and they need to get to the hospital (or sometimes the mall or movie theater) as fast as possible. Residents of Addison must be fuckin like rabbits because there are tons of people driving around with wives in labor. It's not exactly easy for them with our other two personality types, but somehow they dangerously manage.

So this is my plea to anyone who drives on Beltline. Go the fucking speed limit and stay in the lane you need to be in and we can all get where we're going faster. While I was stuck in traffic, I was composing this blog in my head, so you'll have to bear with it's length. I was only going to talk about drivers until I heard a radio ad for free booze tonight. I got so excited. Until they went "BOO! There's one free!" Fuck me, they meant free 'boo's. Give me a break. Don't joke about free booze.

Then that reminded me of when those bible thumping dumb fucks in the dorm would post signs that said, "FREE BEER! Now that we've got your attention, come to bible study." It's just not cool. The bible, I mean.

Then that reminded me of when we had a couch burning at the dorm. Somebody found a loveseat and innocuously stored it outside the dorm during the day. Then around midnight Operation Hot Pocket torched that shit. The next day Allison and I hung up signs on all the doors that said, "Has anybody seen my couch? It was a brown loveseat. I left it outside the dorm last night." It was hilarious. Then that reminded me of when Allison and I hung signs in the MSC on the doors of the locked bathrooms that said, "Door not working properly. Push HARD!!!" That was even funnier.

Today on my way into work, I found two dollar bills laying on the ground. Chalk it up to good luck, I thought to myself. Not an hour after sitting down at my desk, a guy came by and gave me a check for 20 bucks to buy a Thanksgiving turkey -- a gift from the company. Score! Like an hour later, I find out that I got a bonus check for the third quarter. Big score! I was feeling so lucky that I bought like 5 scratch off tickets trying to capitalize on my newfound diety status. I lost on all of them. Oh well, I still came out ahead.

And that concludes my predetermined blog material. Thanks for reading, you have nots!

After the sun goes down and you, O Captain! my Captain, have made your way safely home…

Alas, another breed of Belt Line driver swerves their way from Midway to Preston and back again to the Tollway. Yes, that’s right, the drivers I call the Champs. The boozers. The drunks. The Pete’s, Sambuca, Champs, Mercy, Sherlocks, Velvet Hooka, Flying Saucer, Trulucks, fare that are either too drunk to be aware of their insane speed or else too busy trying to remember if they have all the necessary accoutrements for what they hope comes after the drive home. They may be busy trying to remember the name of their passenger who they met just oh-so-few moments ago.

In any case, this 4th type at least has a reason, I suppose, for their driving impropriety.

I love commas.

I, too, love commas. This fourth driver, although no invention of my own, is now added to the list.

Eats Shoots & Leaves!

I mean honestly, why would I…I mean, why would someone light a couch on fire. How immature.

i wonder what percentage of viewers have lit, witnessed, or somehow been a part of a couch burning.

43%

I’m disappointed that you failed to mention that Sober soaked two of the three cushions with lighter fluid, intending to sit on the dry one to light it, then proceeded to sit on one of the soaked ones and singed the f*ck out of his hair when that baby went up in flames. Shame on you David.