God, I fucking hate people who preemptive honk.
This isn’t about people who honk at you at a red light the nanosecond it turns green. No, these are the ones that, if you’re driving and you’re at a stop sign, easing out because cars are parked all along the street and you can’t see the oncoming traffic from either direction, you slowly edge yourself out, right? It’s all you can do. You can’t see through tangible matter. You’re not fucking Superman.
So here comes Superasshole, cruising perpendicularly. He sees you. Creeping. Invading his territory. So what does he do? beepbeep. A couple of quick lovetap honks. “I’m here, motherfucker. And I’m coming. Beware me.”
Worse, however – far worse – is when you’re walking. Yeah, man, I know I’ve got my headphones on. And, yes – my ears are weird and the iPod buds don’t fit in them, so I have to rock the over-the-ear Sonys. It’s what I do, how I roll. You know what else I do? ARM MYSELF WITH THE KNOWLEDGE OF MY SURROUNDINGS, PARTICULARLY – AND ESPECIALLY – WHEN IT INVOLVES GIGANTIC, MOVING MASSES OF METAL THAT CAN CRUSH OR HARM ME.
I’m an adult, for chrissake. You think I just walk wherever the fuck I want without reaping the consequences? I look where I’m going, and what’s coming at me. Are you compelled to honk because you’re concerned for my safety?
You do it because you don’t want your shit fucked up. What if you clipped a car, or worse, a person? You’d have to maybe, possibly, like, stop and stuff. And that would be awful! So, no, you’ll just honk. Preemptively. Like an idiot.
Next time, just hit the person. They deserve it. Especially these little shits who cross the street like they own it. They’re daring you, man. Don’t honk – smack those little bastards like you’re in bumper cars at Six Flags.
Then honk at their funeral. That would be great.