Road rage & 1990s children's programming

If any of you have ever been in the car with me, you'll know I'm a pretty neutral driver. I do the speed limit, I mumble about how the guy behind me is being a dick, and I just go on my merry way. No road rage, no speeding, nothing. It's the farthest from Vin Diesel you'll ever encounter, actually.

Today on route 9 I see a sedan come peeling up behind me. I glare in my rearview mirror and ignore her. Suddenly I see that she's doing the classic attempt of trying to change lanes to pass me, but lo and behold: all of us are generally doing the speed limit. She's stuck behind my ass.

She starts revving her engine a bit to try and push me to speed up. I stare back in my mirror at her and see a sight that startled me greatly.

She was in her mid 40s, had frizzy orange hair, and a vibrant purple/pink shirt on. My jaw dropped. I knew this woman. Let me tell you: I knew her well.



What happened to sweet Ms. Frizzle to turn her into a raging cunt?

Perhaps she lost her magic school bus since her DUI and never recovered since.

Could it be that her pet dinosaur left her behind with a note that said "thanks for good times, but we've grown apart..."

Maybe her tenure didn't hold out when she didn't recieve all the signed permissions slips and lost one child in a vat of stomach acid.



As I watched her ride the bumper of my car, I gasped in realization of what was really going on. Clearly she was high on methamphetamines, thought she was back in her old magic bus, and was attempting to go on an adventure in my colon.



Not today, Ms. Frizzle. Not today.

Let's document the worst possible day ever.

I have to. It's so hilariously unfortunate. Let's list the ways to infuriate Toni.

1) My medical records are lost and nobody seems to know I exist. The doctor's office tells me they'll contact my pediatrician by today and everything will be fine. I call today: nobody has even bothered. I try calling the pediatrician and she doesn't seem to remember me. I'm the fat kid with weird green eyes and blonde hair. No? Not ringing a bell? Okay. I try my old community college and they tell me "Yeah, we've got them right here. Fax them? Sure, it will take a few days. Oh, wanna come pick them up? Fine, ya antsy prick."

2) My college has me waiting about fifteen minutes for two sheets of paper that say I don't have AIDS.

3) I go to Wappingers, my doctor's office, and they don't seem to remember me from an hour's phone call ago. I get the paperwork settled and my doctor comes out and goes "WAIT. before you leave, we need to talk..."

I shit. A doctor actually wanting to talk to you and showing concern can never be a good thing.

"So, your blood results came back and I'm concerned. I'd like to test you again."

4) I wait 15 minutes in a children's room with a table shaped like a truck. I overhear the doctor say to someone "in there is Antonia, she needs to get bloodwork done again...her results came back, eh...*mumbles softly* and I think we should try again."

I look at the table shaped like a truck again. I want to set it on fire.

5) I give blood again and they tell me to wait and they'll give me results immediately. Immediately becomes 20 minutes. I'm nervous. There's an old lady babbling at me about how great her grandkids are and I'm smiling and imagining her riding the truck table on fire. The doctor walks by and goes "....OH!" and goes back to her office to get the results. Am I really that easy to forget?

I'm told that my results are now perfect and then they admit this to me:

6) They left my bloodwork out for a few hours on Monday and everyone seemed to forget about it, clearly because it is blood that came from ole' forgetable me, so the results came back fucked up. Gotta love efficiency.

I now have all of my medical records set straight and everything filled out for New Paltz. I get in my car to leave and

7) A Fedex delivery truck swings around the corner of the parking lot at a good 35 or 40mph. I scream, jam my breaks, and he misses my side of the car by about a foot. Instead of even glancing down at my car to see where the scream came from and if said screamer is okay, he just goes on his way. I hope he dies of pancreatic cancer.

I get to the post office and fill out my little section of the health report but:

8) I don't have a pen and the only person with one is another babbling old lady, but this one smells bad. So I have to wait for her to finish writing out addresses on five or six packages.

I drive home, get to my garage, look around for anymore potential danger, and sigh a breath of relief as I enter my house.

9) A spider falls on my head.



It's almost three o'clock. I've got hours before this day of the damned is over. Do you think I'll survive? Tune in to find out.

Cherry...cherry...pirate?

I was ringing customers at my monotonous cliche of a front end retail job when a couple walked up to the register doing that "couple" thing - hands in each other's back pockets, smiling - the whole PG 13 romantic comedy. I say hello and I get a cheerful "how are you" back.

Then the girl puts a pregnancy test on the counter.

I double take and think about this for a moment. Everytime I ring someone up for one of these it's a depressing atmosphere. It will be the angry boyfriend, the crying girlfriend, the hungover sleazy looking girl, etc. You name it, it's a bad scene. I could not understand how these two could be so happy right now. I'm pretty sure I had a raised eyebrow the entire time I rang them up.

About fifteen minutes later, it hits me.

I forget that some people actually like having babies. Not every baby is an accident or mistake. Not every couple is forced into marriage by the arrival of a little genetic mutant they call "son" or "daughter."

Personally, I beg to differ. I think children are little hellspawns. Little black, cancerous spots on this sphere we call a planet. Children make me feel like a retail Sisyphus - they knock over everything, I put it back, and they knock it over again. It's neverending.

But humans are meant to procreate and I guess it is nice to see a couple that enjoys what they're nature tells them to. Just caught me offguard. I could end this on nice note, but I'm debating it...let's see if I can resist the temptation of a PS.






PS - Abortions.

"Get your paws off my novel, you damned dirty ape."

I visited a local library sale today and I was surprised by how large of a crowd it attracted. It was actually a reassuring feeling to know that people still read. What a concept, right?
However, upon my browsing, I began to take notice of a flaw we all seemed to have:

We lack social skills. Completely.

For example, The tables arranged with books are very long and we all kind of move down the sides of them like fat kids browsing the buffet. However, when you're tired of standing behind the lady in the orange tee-shirt who has been eyeing the same Nora Roberts book for five minutes, reading the synopsis aloud to herself, you really just want to cut on ahead. So, as the polite person I am, I say "excuse me" softly. Her response:

"mmhmm...the life of Roz Harper is that of a widow and mother..."
Maybe she did not hear me. She is quite old and that orange tee is a little loud. I say it a bit stronger. "EXCUSE ME."
"HRM?!"She eyes me. I apologize and attempt to cut out of the line and move forward. She does not budge. She's gripping that novel for dear life. I become fearful and back down. I will wait until she has decided whether she wants to splurge the 50 cents on that book.
That was the biggest problem, really. the "Excuse Me's" and the grunts I received thereafter. Nobody spoke. You would attempt to walk by, they'd eye you, grunt loudly, and shift awkwardly to the side. The only other sound was the quiet murmur of reading aloud and nothing else. Oh, sure there were children screaming and begging to go home, but children don't count. They're not real people.
The only full statement I heard the entire time was (and I don't lie to my readers):

"Oh this is interesting...it's an encyclopedia of cheese!"

So, let me get this straight. The avid readers, who probably have extensive vocabularies, wonderful insights, and deep cognitive thoughts grunt at one another. The person reading an article about Swiss cheese is bright and talking joyfully amongst her friends. Where did we go wrong?
Maybe I should give up. Maybe I should just put the Doctorow book down and go watch The Happening.

Uplifting conversation.

[00:48] Chris: the kid from twilight got hit by a car!
[00:48] Toni: is he dead?
[00:48] Chris: nah unscathed
[00:48] Toni: ...so we can expect another movie then...
[00:48] Toni: Damn.

Oprah, your tyranny shall end.

Months ago I wrote a letter to Oprah regarding my friend Vicki injuring herself after watching one of Oprah's intense exercise specials. The letter I wrote is as follows:


Hello, Oprah. I cannot say I am a fan of your show. I have actually never watched one episode. It was a choice between you or Match Game '78 on the game show network. However, that is not what I'm here to talk about.My friend, Vicki Belasco, came to me after watching an episode of yours called "Good Life" sometime earlier this month (January). She told me that you inspired her to get herself in better shape and take better care of herself. She seemed terribly excited over the idea. I suggested we go out and get a beer, but she resisted and said she must begin working out immediately.Today I found out that she severely pulled her back on an ab machine due to her extreme vigor and excitement. She is in pain and is having difficulty with normal daily activities such as yoga and smoking cigarettes. Her vigor is the result of your charisma and charm. You are to blame, Oprah. We do not expect reparation, although that would be mighty kind. We just want a formal apology for your drive and inspiration that caused this scene. Thank you for your consideration. Take care, Oprah. Be strong. But not too strong as to hurt another fan.



I never did recieve any letter or even a reparation check. I'm pulling the bullshit card on you, Oprah.

Well another incident has occurred and this time I want satisfaction - well, satisfacation by living vicariously through Vicki's pain.

To Whom it May Concern (that means you, Oprah):
Months ago, I sent you a letter regarding my friend's injury from watching your television program. She became overwhelmed by your diet and exercise program and hurt her back on an Ab Cruncher. I was hoping that a reponse or reparations would come in due time, but never did.
However, I'm not here to talk about that. I'm here to tell you of more sad news.
She hurt herself again.
Yes, Oprah. You did it again. Your inspiration and empowering motivation has led Vicki to yet another injury. She watched a commercial about a show about sex offenders airing on Friday (today - June 12) and became overwhelmed. She ran down the hallway to announce to her grandmother that sex offenders were coming after her body and proceeded to trip on the stairs. She was in severe pain and almost broke her leg.
Today is Friday. I'm terrified for her life. If she watches this episode today, god knows what could happen to her?
Your motivation, although powerful and endearing to most, is dangerous and the world needs to know this. I hope you read this letter because you've touched a girl too deeply and its affecting her life and those around her. You've touched thousands of women, Oprah. Deeply. See where I'm going with this?
I expect at least a response and two apologies. One for the first injury and one for the most recent one. Better apologize three times since I'm pretty sure that after Vicki views this episode, another will be necessary.
Never seen your show,
Toni O.


Come on, Oprah. It's your move.

Defensive Driving? FUCK YOU!

To get 10 percent off my insurance, I went to an eight hour defensive driving course. Needless to say, it's not the most riveting material. Evidently, cars are death traps and everyone is going to kill me. I like to stay positive though. I let my creativity flow in the workbook. Read along with me now.

one one of the first activities, we're supposed to identify what the driving hazard is. Now in this picture, we see a truck being towed backwards, ready to pop off the tow and smash into your front end. What is the hazard?



You never know when it'll happen.



Second activity: What if scenarios.






The last bit I got creative on was not so much an activity as an illustration of how to properly pass someone. I think my way is correct:

Step one:


Step two:


Step three:


At least he was courteous enough to turn off the music to say "UP YOURS."



I also did a drawing of Gandalf standing in the middle lane saying YOU SHALL NOT PASS! but someone was looking over my shoulder and I crossed it out.


So all in all, a very productive class. To quote the old lady sitting in front of me:

"When the fuck is this over? I want to go home."

It was like looking at my own future Bif.

Oh hai.

It has almost been a year since my last updates (ya know, the ones where I promised I'd update more?) and I must say I miss writing this blog. So, you know what? I'm back. Why not? I want to keep pushing out the funny, so lets see what trivial crap I give mind-birth to this year.

There will need to be a few changes around here though:

1) I'm no longer a community college student. I've recieved my useless Associates. So a new catchline is in order for this place.

2)No more stolen Youtube videos. It seems every video I've posted has been taken down due to lawsuit, embarassment, or pending embarassment. So I'll post my own videos from now on and if necessary - screenshots.

3)I won't disappear for a year long hiatus again. I'd like to say I went on a hajj to find myself, or possibly joined the Crusades (both ends of the spectrum, why not?) but sadly I've been right here, just ignoring you. What a cunt, I know.

4) I'll try and keep the topics varied. I tried my hand at doing review videos of books in the style of AVGN and Nostalgia CRitic - I sadly called it the Angry Lit Critic - and needless to say, nobody cared. It's hard to make a video of something that has absolutely no visuals. So, I'll do my best to keep you interested and not bore you. Although, I may do a text review of the Lonely Lady again because that book was blow your mind awful.

5)To keep morale up, I'm enforcing "wacky tie Fridays" so please - don't be a fucking dick. Wear a wacky tie.

So that's what's up. You'll be hearing from me soon and hopefully I can have your attention back after being a neglectful whore. My apologies.