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Observations while driving

I think it's Lesbian Day in Windsor. Twice in 5 minutes I saw two women together and they either kiss or hold hands while crossing the street.


I was tempted to yell at the crone outside of Met Hospital holding the "abortion stops a beating heart" sign, but she looked like she could disintegrate at any moment. She's probably hedging her bets that there's a Heaven.


I am part of the pro-bike camp where I think some cyclists need to be clubbed with a clue-bar. Actually, I'm glad they are on bikes because they would probably kill someone in a car.

Can I be pro-bike but complain about idiot cyclists? I say, YES.


I love this Autumn weather. I can have my car window open. I don't like randoms asking me for change while I'm stuffing my face. I don't have any change. I used my credit card for this. Uncomfortable. In retrospect, I should have given her my fries. But I'm pretty sure she wanted booze. Next time...



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Damn. Ernie has a great line about "you think so little of your present set of circumstances that you are tempted to get out of your car and stop THEIR beating heart" but I can't find the lyrics online.

Because everything's about Ernie. ;)

There were TWO new ones on the way back. I should blame them for my car dying.


I feel a little bad for the frumpy-dressed woman who holds up the "I regret my abortion" sign. She looks so dour. She wasn't there, this time. Nor were the people holding up graphic images.

Okay, here's what you do: get an angel costume and a clipboard. Go up to the old lady and tell her that God will see her shortly. Also confidentially whisper to her that He didn't seem too pleased about she's doing right now. Before you walk away, tell the other one, "Oh, by the way, the Lord thanks you for your blood sacrifice, so you can still regretting it." Ta Dah!

Cyclists. They infest the little country lanes of Surrey now, pretty much year-round, as we have big annual road races that involve mobs of THOUSANDS of the bastards.

They're like big fragile insects - you can't touch them for fear of breaking a limb or killing them, but you just want them to Go Away and Get The Frack Out Of The Way. Which they steadfastly refuse to do.

We call them Lycra Louts round here. Aggressive, smug, in the WAY and roadhogging at all times. Damn nuisance.

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