Wednesday, February 15, 2006

AM I MISSING OUT on some faboo sexual thrill by stopping behind the line I'm supposed to stop behind when I pull up to a stop sign or a red light?

I'm all about the jackrabbit start. I've been known to go into race mode when I know about tight traffic-signal timing. But when I'm forced to stop, I just don't see the point of stopping in the middle of the damn crosswalk -- certainly not when walkers are crossing, but even when it's 3 a.m. and I'm the only one for blocks and blocks who's not asleep.

Everyone else in the world apparently disagrees. They'll be damned if somebody tells them where to stop. They're like the bane of my tennis existence -- the 99.9 percent of players who consider the baseline merely a starting point for negotiations on where the feet should go during the serve.

Way to stick it to The Man, ass-wipes.

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