Emoto motoring on Deal's Gap
This is a page fashioned by Bob somewhere in faceless semi-suburbia, south of beantown. Ah, Beantown: land of the arrogant pedestrian. Juxtaposing pedestrian and arrogant seems incongruous, even oxymoronic doesn't it? The root of oxymoron is moron. This brings us full-circle, because what is an arrogant pedestrian? That's right! A MORON! Yet, I see them every day. They dart out in front of you as you are traveling at 40 mph, and force you to decide to either kill them or come to a screeching halt, so that they may cross while the crosswalk sign says "don't walk". Jaywalking ticket? Whassat? So far, I have always decided to stop, but it is always a difficult choice. Heaven help you if you honk at them. Massive quantities of vitriol and self-righteous indignation will spew in your direction. Be prepared to return fire with a rude gesture. What most people don't know is that the law states that pedestrians shall enter the crosswalk only when it is safe to do so.
Of course, pedestrians aren't the only morons out
there; plenty of drivers
are idiots too. Here's a link to the moron drivers page.
You're probably wondering about that title, eh? On the other hand, maybe not. Perhaps you're one of Them. You know the type. Don't kid yourself. You are, aren't you? Kidding yourself, I mean. That's right. I knew it! You can't be trusted, can you? You only found your way here by accident; some sort of cosmic practical joke that you're playing on yourself. Well, it isn't funny! Look around, is anybody laughing? Of course not. What did you expect? Wisdom? Well, you won't find it on the net, my friend. And certainly not here. Wake up and smell the burnt toast. I did. It reminded me of a sunny morning some years ago in another town, not far from here. And boy, was it ever burnt. I was awakened by the sound of a knife scraping it off into the sink. "Why can't we just throw it away and toast some more?", I asked. She turned to face me and smiled seductively. I knew she was right. Right-wing, that is. Another goddamned kitchen nazi, determined to make me toe the line. Well, that just wouldn't do, would it? No, of course not. Some people are natural-born toast-scrapers. She was one. Of Them. You know the type. They prowl the malls, peering at the display windows with dead eyes and slack jaws, faces drawn like hungry vampires waiting for the sun to set. Grab a torch and a pitchfork and meet me in the square! But, I digress. Eventual Master of the Obvious. That's me. Oh, sure, some things are immediately apparent to me - like the fact that it doesn't make a lot of sense to expect the government to put our money to use wisely - but a distressing number of these obvious things elude me for far too long.
If you've gotten this far, you might as well check
out my music, motorcycle,
and pictures pages.
Write to me at emoto1 at gmail dot com. If I put my
email address out here in complete form, I'll get lots of spam.