The Worst Driver. Ever.

Unless things have changed drastically in the years since I got my Driver’s License, I remember the qualifications being fairly lax when it came to giving mostly irresponsible teenagers an official document allowing them to drive a very heavy, very fast thing that has the potential to break a lot of stuff. Most importantly, bones.

Back when I was a teenager, my friends and I couldn’t wait to get our driver’s licenses. It was like once you hit the age of 15, that was all you thought about. Well, that and girls. But mostly getting your license. I mean, it was common knowledge back then that you wouldn’t be getting the girls without getting the license. We loved the ever present thought of driving so much that we would spend hours watching all the cool car movies. And not like the car movies nowadays, where they make 23 sequels all about some suped up Kia with rims, a fin, and that dummy Vin Diesel driving. And we’d cut as many lawns as possible, or sell as much weed* as we could to save our money and put it towards buying our first car, the minute we turned 16. Heck, I actually paid more attention in the few hours a week I went to Driver’s Ed classes than I did the entire rest of my high school career. Actually, no I didn’t…I was a jerkoff in Driver’s Ed, too.

When I finally passed the test and got that license I was beyond ecstatic. I bounced around like a speed freak on a trampoline. I, of course wasn’t a speed freak, or impaired in any other way. Because as we all know, driving impaired is very bad. (You’re welcome for the PSA.) I had passed one of the most important rites of passage in my young years. That, and banging the hot girl that worked the cosmetic counter at the local strip mall. My dad was even actually super helpful with getting me my own wheels once I got that license, too. I was 16 and had achieved freedom. I was like Mel Gibson at the end of Braveheart…FREEDOMMMM!!! Just without the gnarly bowel evisceration and whatnot.

Now that I’ve got boys of my own, I’m sure that they’re going to be just as excited as I was to start driving. Matter of fact, they already love cars! Which is quite evident by how many Matchbox cars I step on daily.

That being said, I’m pretty sure that my three year old son Raylan, is gonna be the worst driver ever. In the history of driving. And when I say, the history of driving, I mean since back when the cavemen were rolling around rocks with a stick and saying “Ug. Gordok rike driving.” Shit, the kid’s not really even that good at walking. And he’s been doing that for at least two years!

Here’s a few things I’ve been noticing that have me questioning whether I should ever allow him to get his license.

1. The Kid Can’t Walk a Straight Line To Save His Own Life.
It’s truly amazing. Point him in the direction of something directly in front of him, five feet away, and he’ll bob and weave his way along, never coming close to a straight line. He’s like an ocean buoy in the middle of a hurricane. I even periodically check him to make sure one of his big toes didn’t fall off. I once heard that if you lose your big toe, you won’t ever be able to walk in a straight line again. Seriously. Google that shit**.

2. He’s Gonna Be a Litterbug
I can honestly say that I don’t think Raylan’s intentionally malicious when it comes to his littering habit, I just think that in his world, easily identified and well marked garbage areas aren’t important. I mean, whenever he’s done with something he just tends to drop it wherever. We’ve told him about it over and over again, but he just doesn’t get it. One time I even stood him in the garbage can just so he knew what and where it was. He told me it was his elabater and he was going to the eleventeenth floor.

3. He’ll Run Into Something. Or Someone.
It’s not that he’d do it on purpose, but bet your ass, he’ll do it. I’ve watched this kid walk into a wall in an otherwise empty room. Last year we made the mistake of getting him one of those motorized power wheel trucks. Needless to say, we took it back after he reenacted a cross between Death Race 2000 and Cannonball Run, in the back yard. Our 5 year old daughter still refuses to even go down the power wheel aisle at toy store after that debacle.

4. Constant Speeding Tickets.
Raylan has only one speed. Hyperfuckingsuperfast.

5. He Doesn’t Pay Attention To Anything Longer Than 7 Seconds.
Very concerning issue to have when you’re driving down the highway at 80 miles per hour and all of a sudden he can’t suppress the urge to investigate what’s under the seat. And eat it.

There you have it. I know that he’s only three, but I’m only thinking of his future safety. And mine. And yours. And random wildlife trying to cross the street. And the environment. And all the stores with parking spaces four feet away from their front windows. And…..

* I really didn’t sell weed. I was too busy drinking.

** Just fucking with you. I have no clue if you’d walk around in circles if you were missing a big toe. That would be pretty funny though.

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I’ll have a diablo sammich and a Dr. Pepper. And make it quick, I’m in a GD hurry!

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daddyanarchy

daddyanarchy

I write stuff. And I have Poodles. Big Poodles. The Poodles don't write stuff.

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