Full Credits

Stats & Data

July 17, 2014

Just some thoughts I had on my daily commute.


For those who are unaware, when living in Los Angeles you expect to be in traffic like you expect the sun to come up each day, or like you expect to see the little green cross of a weed dispensary every half mile, indicating “The Doctor is in, Bro”.


You also know to avoid the 10 at all costs, and the 405 is a parking lot during peak hours. You could probably order some Gluten free pizza, have it delivered to your car, and finish it before getting to work.


Sadly, it can be unavoidable and you join the Autopia speed race across town, part of the mobile masses, and just deal with it the best you can.

Today, aside from various accidents (probably occurring at the ludicrous speed of 5 mph), I saw a couple of comical gems. The first of which was a rapey white van with tinted windows. I thought to myself, “I guess if I was a pedo, a white van would be ideal. It’s spacious so there’s room for toys, stuffed animals, bags of Flaming Hot Cheetos, and other rape bate. Those perves are a crafty bunch.” As I looked closer there was a sign that read “MEDI-COACH” .


I know it’s most likely a transport for old people, with complimentary Depends diapers, Werther’s Originals hard candies, and stylish cataract surgery shades. I think of it as Uber for the old, “Uber Old”. Anywho. I also think, “What if it was a new form of EMT service run by a former high school athletic coach?” Driving the van is an old gym teacher, that comes to emergency locations. Like my old teacher Mr.Breslin, a stout man at 5'6", 210 lbs, dressed in baseball shorts and a white polo shirt that never stayed tucked in, because after he got back from fighting those Japs in Korea he had to numb his P.T.S.D. by chugging cans of Hamm’s Premium and in turn put on some powerful inches.


I picture him arriving at the scene of a car accident. There is a young man flung from his motorcycle, bloodied, bruised, broken, and most certainly suffering from internal bleeding. While screaming for his mother, the MEDI-COACH driver approaches and yells, “Shut up you little shit! You know how many yellow men I had to kill so you could have the freedom to ride that bike?! Get your ass up and walk it off!” Out of complete fear of being made fun of by the rest of us rubber-neckers on the highway, that broken biker (probably near death), arrises like a phoenix from a flame. The gym teacher says, “Now get the hell out of here before I make you run laps!” and the job is done.

That could be a thing, right?

The other thing I saw was more of an obvious oversight on someone else’s part. Let me explain. As I was waiting to exit Centinella Blvd. I spotted the ever so abundant Off-ramp Bottle Full of Urine. Seriously, they are everywhere. Keep an eye out if you haven’t seen one. It’s almost as bad as the presence of the Parking Lot Baby Diaper.


This time was a little different because the bottle was one of those miniature water bottles. You know, the kind that actually makes you thirstier when you finish it because it took more energy to lift that little bottle to your lips. It got me thinking how desperate to take a piss that person was. I have never in my life taken a measly 8oz piss! So imagine that person looking around the floor of their car and only finding that small bottle. What sure embarrassment that person must have felt, knowing they were going to work covered in piss. Because once I fill up that bottle, bust out the swimming gear. This is gonna look like I installed a Water Willy in the cabin of my sedan. A good old fashion Pee Party!


I wonder what their excuse was when they got to work. “So yeah, some kids were filling up water balloons with their piss and throwing them off the overpass. Kids, right? Am I right?!” He gestures seeking for approval from a stranger, “This guy knows what I’m talking about.” The stranger gives a disapproving glare.


If there is anything I take away from my daily commute, it’s how much I love this city. Even though there are shit filled diapers, bottles of piss, rapey vans, racist Korean War vets, and traffic jams, there’s still never a dull moment. I love my town. I Love LA. WE LOVE IT!!!