There's always a line to get on the bridge they're fixing, and I almost always wait my turn in the morning. There's always a couple assholes who skip the line. But this morning there were so many I couldn't count them! I didn't know what was going on, but I was having none of it: I pulled out to be half way in both lanes to block traffic. It didn't work though, they were still able to squeeze past me, and I didn't want to go over any more, cause then I might lose my spot. I need a fuckin Canyonero! If you don't remember what that is, here are the lyrics:
Can you name the truck with four wheel drive,
Smells like a steak, and seats thirty five?
Canyonero! Canyonero!
Well, it goes real slow with the hammer down
It's the country-fried truck endorsed by a clown
Canyonero! Canyonero!
Hey, hey!
Twelve yards long, two lanes wide,
Sixty five tons of American pride!
Canyonero! Canyonero!
Top of the line in utility sports,
Unexplained fires are a matter for the courts!
Canyonero! Canyonero!
She blinds everybody with her super high beams
She's a squirrel-squashin', deer-smackin' drivin' machine
Canyonero! Canyonero! Canyonero!
Whoa, Canyonero! Whoa!
If this happens again, I will pull into the other land, lose my spot, and just sit there moving at the same rate as the line so that everybody has to wait. Whatever car was behind me should notice and let me back in.
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