Says it all really....

I'm not normally susceptible to road rage, unless it's old people or BMW drivers but I'm saving those for a "special" rant, but the other day this stupid bitch decided she wanted to drive on the tarmac exactly 3 centimetres from my front bumper.  Not too much of an issue you're saying, but I was doing 70MPH at the time. To add insult to injury, not only was she driving like Ray Charles, she had the audacity to be using a mobile phone.

To begin with, she can't even drive - so what makes her think that she can drive any better whilst on the phone? Maybe UK highway legislations don't apply to her?

So I back off a bit and follow her, now she's slowing down to 60. Very sensible I thought so I signalled and moved to overtake her.  When I got level with her I found out the reason she'd slowed down, not only was she now checking her makeup, she was occasionally turning her head to shout at her 2 screaming brats in the back. As if driving on busy roads is not hazardous enough, no - she wanted more of a challenge. Next time love, why don't you try no handed or even blindfold, just make sure I'm not using the same stretch of road as you.

Not only can women not drive, they can’t park either. It’s as if somehow they think that because they are in a 4x4 x 4 tonne behemoth they can take up as much space as they like. The other end of the spectrum are those that drive the smallest cars they can find who still have trouble getting into and out of a parent a child parking spot in Sainsbury’s car park.

Size DOES matters with women

Who are these men that authorise women to drive? They tied to a V8 sports and dragged the entire length of the UK.

Statistics show that women have more accidents on the road than men, yet us men suffer the consequences when we get twatted from behind by some bimbo and her screaming offspring in a 4x4.  It’s alright though, she doesn’t know all about insurance and things because her husband sorts all that out. Well wake up bitch and smell the coffee, if you had to arrange and pay for your own insurance, tax, MOT, servicing, petrol / diesel and vehicle, you’d soon change your mind and drive a sensible fucking car.

Whilst we’re on the subject of women and 4x4’s – Drive a sensible fucking car, you only need to go down the shops or take the kids to school so get a car that doesn’t take up all the road, drink it’s own weight in fuel every 50 miles and if it hits me, I hope I’m going to survive. Where the hell do you live? You live in Croydon, not Nepal. The most offroad that car has ever done is when you mount the kerb outside the shoe shop.

Fast enough?

OK – we all know the banter that goes on between blokes about women drivers, but lets look at the facts:

Women cannot drive – we know this because some company’s have set up women only insurance. Is that because they don’t like the idea of men having too many accidents? No – it’s because these company’s are subsidiaries of larger insurance agents and they don’t mind making a loss on these books to protect the profit of the parent company.

Women can’t park – we’ve all seen them in the supermarket carpark, attempting to negotiate their Fiat Panda into the parent and children parking spots. These spots are designed to allow a whole pram and some more space either side of the vehicle being parked – and you can’t fit it in there.  Boo-hoo!

Women can’t follow maps or road signs – If you have ever been on a journey with a woman reading the map and giving directions, you’ll know exactly what I mean. Statements like “Get into the right hand lane and turn left” and “At the end of this road, go straight on.” Bloody hell, I’ve even seen women turn the map upside down when travelling north to south.

Women can’t use any of the controls in a car – I’m taller than one of my female mates, so when she was heavily pregnant, I had to drive her around in her car. After the rug rat was born, she came to drive her car and told me that she couldn’t drive because I’d adjusted everything like seats, mirrors, steering column, etc.  I told her to just set it back to how she likes it, but her response was along the lines of “the man at the garage set it for me.”

Women can’t read gauges – Fuel, Oil, Water are all things that take care of themselves. I check my oil and fuel every time I get into the car (electronic oil checks are performed), water maybe once a week / fortnight. The number of times I’ve known women (my own mother included) who have said things like “I don’t know how to check the petrol” or “how do you know when it’s out of oil?” and the unmistakable Her: “What goes in there?” Me: “What the cap marked WATER?” God give me strength.

I could go on all day about this subject, but I really must get back home and slap the woman about for not having my dinner ready or not having my pool cue waiting for me to go down the pub whilst she’s looking after the baby. To summarise though, the nearest a woman should be allowed to a car is either draped across it in skimpy lingerie and plastered all over the front of a men’s magazine, or sat in the passengers seat with her head in my lap giving me some sweetness.