matthearn.com

I think I’m basically a good person. I don’t kill people, I don’t steal things, I don’t run people off the road for driving slowly in the left lane of the interstate (although when I get elected Supreme Emperor, one of the first things I’m going to do is develop a device to be installed in all automobiles that causes increased amounts of electricity to a driver’s buttocks the longer they sit in the left lane of a road). I don’t adopt crippled orphans or anything, but I’m not specifically agitating for their euthanasia. So I think I can safely say I’m on Saint Peter’s good list, and will be entering Heaven with Mother Teresa and Sting and everybody.

What I’m hoping is that there is a kind of program up there in which, for a nominal fee (paid in manna, I assume), one can take a short road trip down to hill to visit the folks there and remind them that if they hadn’t been such tools, they could be hitting it nightly with 72 virgins, as opposed to getting railed by Satan’s Wang every day. After I die, I want to go on a field trip, find the guy that installed the light at Airport Road and Old Churchman’s Road, and kick him so hard in the groin that my weird up-pointing pinky-toenail stabs through his taint and he cries.

I live near Airport Road, and so thusly travel on it fairly extensively. For example, when Sarah and I were driving out to Longwood Gardens for the show (I have mucho pictures, going up next week, courtesy of Homegirl Kate), we needed to get to 141, so Airport Road was on our route, almost every day for three weeks. And every single time, we got caught at the new red light at Old Churchman’s Road. It’s a short light, but it changes about every 40 seconds, and so it’s almost impossible to avoid stopping for it, and it’s a major reason why traffic backs up on Airport Road all the way back to Commons Boulevard. It’s frustrating to the point of great violence on my part.

Here’s the thing, though: approximately 8 people live on Old Churchman’s Road. Something like 3/4 of the time we have to stop at the red light in question, nobody is actually waiting at the intersection for their light to turn green. It’s entirely timed, which is interesting because I can see in the asphalt where the sensors are installed. Somebody just decided not to turn them on. And when I meet that somebody, the pain will be broughten.

By me. To that somebody. Care of my foot. And my pinky toenail.