Take A Report

To anyone looking to get a head-start on traffic this weekend, you might want to avoid Chinatown. Apparently there’s an overturned blue whale near the intersection of Canal and Broadway, and thousands of the local animals… Umm, I mean residents… are showing up with butcher knives and styrofoam coolers.

Take a report.

-Large

Now I’m a big guy. I think we are all comfortable with that concept. And I drive a full size sedan to and from work every day, but the amount of extra room I have in the driver’s seat is minimal. I am certainly comfortable while driving, but trying to reach for anything is a pain in the ass… Especially since I found religion in the form of 4 or 5 tickets, so now I wear my seat-belt whenever I drive.

One of the most annoying pains is getting into my pockets for my phone while I am driving. I hate having to squirm in between my pocket and the seat-belt buckle. So to combat this inconvenience, every time I am about to get into my car, I take my phone out first… then I sit down… and then I tuck the phone between my fat thighs - just underneath my balls. I also have my phone set to “VIBRATE”, so any incoming call carries with it the superfluous bonus of a quick taint massage.

Why am I telling you this? Well, for one, you may not want to borrow my phone in the future knowing where it spends most of it’s early evenings. And two, something disturbing happened to me on my way home from work last week.

I was on a three day bender of red meat and alcohol, and was finally driving home early enough to see my kids before they were asleep, and possibly ingest some sort of fruit or vegetable… Basically anything that wasn’t slab bacon. So I am driving home alone, and I gas. Nothing earth shattering. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a little gas stored up in the old rectum, and I let it rip. Almost simultaneously with my release, my phone rings. And after the prerequisite 5 seconds of welcome vibration, I reached down, grabbed my phone, and brought it up to my face to answer.

Now I’m sure by now, you know where I am going with this whole “ass-phone” story, but I am telling you, this thing smelt like I was talking into a log of my own shit. I actually had to tell the person the other end I would call them back, and then opened a window to take a literal “breather” from the fumes that were coming off of this thing. All that red wine and lamb chops from the previous 3 nights had my system so fucking backed up, that whatever air I managed to push out came right through a couple yards of thick, foul smelling stool, and then clung right onto my cell phone.

At least I learned a valuable lesson from this whole ordeal, and I feel confident that I will never make that same mistake again. But I also think it is worth mentioning that this would’ve never happened in the first place if I was on my trusty old Vespa.

Take a report.

-Large

Might as well leave now… I hear the Garden State Parkway is flying.

Six hours in your car for 3 hours on a beach full of greasy gindaloons… Sold to you.

Take a report.

-Large

You see this picture yet?

Some drunk guy fell asleep at the wheel and plowed into a bike race on a highway near the US/Mexico border. Amazingly, only one rider was killed.

This helps bolster a point that I’ve been trying to make for years… NO MORE BIKE RACES ON U.S. HIGHWAYS… They only cause traffic, and add un-needed distractions for sleepy drunks.

And while we are on the topic of driver safety, we here at takeareport.com would like to remind you all to- “BUCKLE UP!… The life you save could be hers.”

Take a report.

-Large

Sometimes I take my 3 year old to the big PetCo by the mall, and tell him it’s the zoo. It’s cheap, it’s close, and it’s indoors… Does that make me a bad father? On a similar but totally unrelated note, the same day as our last “zoo” trip, we stopped into Babies R Us on the way there, and I could’ve convinced ANYONE that we were in Puerto Rico. Did white people stop having kids?… Or does Babies R Us offer some kind of Hispanic discount? I was loading up my car in the parking lot and I coulda sworn I saw an old woman cooking fajitas on a fucking hubcap 3 spaces over. Later on, when we were walking through the fish section of PetCo (or “the aquarium”, as I like to call it), my son and I had this conversation…

Little Large: “Daddy, where are the elephants?”

Me: “Probably stripped and up on cinder blocks outside of Babies R Us, son.”

Take a report.

-Large

“Road Rage”… That phrase has always struck me as a made-up clinical term for an irrational act. Kinda like the way parents justify having d-bag kids by shrugging it off as “ADD”, or how the Jews or always going on and on about that alleged “Holocaust” thing. But here’s what happened on my drive home last night that might qualify your old buddy Large as a “road rager”…

Fought traffic for about an hour and a half, and picked up a couple chicken parms at the local Italian joint on my way back to the estate. I am maybe 10 blocks from the house, and the car smells great… Which reminds me… I can’t stand picking up take-out food, because it makes the car ride home seem like a fucking eternity. I think the reason for this is because I am grossly overweight, but it probably has greater cultural significance that I will dive into at a later date.

Anyhoo, I am driving down a long road with a stoplight that is green in the distance, and the mini-van in front of me decides to slow to a stop so oncoming traffic in the lane to our left can turn into a parking lot on my right. There were no cars ahead of the mini-van, and there were no cars behind me, and for some reason, this gash driving the van decided that she would be a good Samaritan to the complete strangers trying to turn across incoming traffic even though I was clearly behind her, and there wasn’t a fucking soul behind me. This fucking bag-of-douche felt that the convenience of strangers and her desire to be a good Christian (she had an annoying Catholic School bumper sticker) was much more important than my hankering to get home to my wife and kids, and, more importantly, to tear into this chicken parm.

So I am sitting at the freshly turned red light that this bitch made me privy to, and all I can think about is strolling up to her window and ripping out her fucking brain stem. What separates me from all the crazy people in the world is that I ultimately didn’t have the desire/balls to assault this mother of 4. I gunned my car around her as our light was turning green, and just bee-lined it back home. But for more than a split second I was prepared to treat this lady like a pedophile serving his first night in Rikers Island.

I guess my point is actually a question… What is it about driving that changes people? Why do the slightest violations sap a normally well-balanced person, like myself, of all patience and common sense?

Would love to hear your opinion in the Comments.

Take a report.

-Large

Weather is warming up and we might yet avoid rain this weekend.

Might just have to grab my lucky suspenders and fire up the old Vespa.

Take a report.

-Large

I cant fucking stand waiting in traffic at toll booths because people who still don’t have an EZ-Pass have to bottleneck into the one remaining full-service lane.

NEW RULE: If you no longer have a rotary phone, then you no longer drive without EZ-Pass. That’s it, no exceptions. Let’s move the fuck on.

Take a report.

-Large