I remember being so impressed by this opening. It's still not bad, considering it's from 1989...

Fuck you, I'm not letting you in.

Yeah. I know. I see you there. And you know what? I don't care. I'm not letting you into this lane. Fuck you. Yeah? Fuck me? No. Fuck you. I hear you honking at me. Guess what? I'm gonna pull a page out of your book! I'm gonna honk back at you for honking at me, even though I'm not doing anything technically wrong by not letting you in!

You knew this lane was going to veer off as the exit to 826 North, and yet, you did nothing to pull over into AT LEAST the lane for 826 South until it was too-fucking-late. Boo-hoo-hoo. Too bad, so sad.

End up in Hialeah or at the Golden Glades, for all I care; I'm not letting you in.

It's not that I'm heartless. For the first few weeks after Miami-Dade County and the City of Doral created yet another highway abomination, I stopped, and let people in, because, hey, they hadn't driven on 836 West before since the new lanes were painted, and what was once not an EXIT ONLY 826 NORTH lane, served both 826 North, before becoming EXIT ONLY at 826 South. You were confused back then, I understand. Well, apparently, you're still confused, and there's no excuse. Because that's what I call "lazy," and I don't react well to "lazy."

Heck, if I had my way, I would cut across five lanes of speeding traffic and jump on the flyover that avoided the Flagler Street exit just to avoid the chaos they've created right outside my office. But that's a left exit, and I have just under half a mile to get there, and, well, in Miami, with five lanes of traffic, you do the math. Rarely possible, and harrowing when when so. And to add insult to injury, I watch State Troopers pulling people over three-at-a-time for crossing over the solid lines at the flyover.

But back to the topic at hand: No. Fuck you, Dolores. Fuck you, Willy. Maybe you were beating some kids in the back seat. Maybe you were eating something. Maybe you were applying lipstick, or changing CDs. You were PROBABLY on the phone, come to think of it.

Well. That's not really my problem, is it? I don't have to be nice. I don't have to let you in. And so help me God, if you run into the side of my car, I'm calling the cops, and they'll ticket you for violation of Florida Statutes Section 316.085 (2006), Improper Lane Change so then I can have your insurance replace my door panels and repaint my car. And it's gonna be expensive, bitch.

It's called "foresight." and you exercised none. I hope that your forty-five minute long journey between 826 North and the first exit at NW 25th Street, and the twenty minutes it will take you to go East on NW 25th Street, South on Milam Dairy, East on NW 12th Street, South on Milam Dairy Again (I know, it's sort of confusing, but Milam Dairy does some strange things, thanks to the Airport's location) and merge back onto the scene of your idiocy, will teach you the foresight and "preparational skills" that you so obviously lack. A drive through unincorporated Dade County's warehouse district will be good for you. Don't piss off any of the 18-wheelers. They play games if they don't like you.

If you had thought about this twenty seconds before, you wouldn't be in this mess You wouldn't have added an hour and five minutes to your commute. Don't cry to me, Missy. You have no one to blame but yourself. Traffic would have flowed smoothly, and you wouldn't be causing a mini-jam at rush hour. But that's how it always goes with you, isn't it? You wait till the laaaaast possible moment, and then someone else has to slam on their brakes so you can go bumping across the breakdown zone and cut in front of them. You, You, You. It's always about you, isn't it? You float through life, cutting people off, blithely aware, and indifferent to the fact that you're inconveniencing everyone around you; whether it be in line at Publix, or in the line at the Movies, or WHEREVER YOU WAIT UNTIL IT'S TOO LATE TO BE WHERE YOU SHOULD BE.

Well. Not this time, sister. Not this time, "Bro." I hope you didn't have to take a leak, because you're going to be sitting on 826 North for quiiiite some time, before you can get off in 13 blocks. And even then, I'm not so sure you're going to want to pop a squat in a neighborhood that looks like the backdrop for a gay porn starring Hank Hightower and the rest of the Raunchy TruckerBear squad.

Ta-ta! By the time you loop back around to get to this exact point, I will have arrived home, changed clothes, PEED, and started dinner. And you'll be at this exact spot, having to pee so badly, you can taste it.

It didn't have to be this way.

You could have saved yourself this agony.

Tough luck, Chuck.

You're never too old to learn a lesson, and here's your lesson for today: I'm not letting you in, when you act like a douchebag. And, with enough operant conditioning, you'll merge onto 836 West, and immediately get over into the 826 South Lane. That, at least will buy you some time before you have to merge over again, so you can continue on into the depths of Miami-Dade County that don't even register on my radar. S.W. 107th Avenue? Where the hell is that? You live at S.W. 126th Street?! And S.W. 107th Ave? Do you also live on a Fern Plantation? I don't fucking care where you live, as long as it's far away from me.

Oops! Sorry!

Taaaa!