Archive for Cars

No, stupid bogan, you don’t own an American car!

Posted in Wankers In Denial with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 20, 2010 by Buck Frain

Sometimes I just want to shoot people in the face. There are those people who I honestly think can only be helped by having the addled contents of their craniums aired out and spread over a 10 metre radius.

The Holden Commodore has been one of the most popular Australian made sedans of the last 30 years. In fact it is so popular in Australia that it has oft been referred to as the Holden Clitoris due to the fact that every cunt’s got one! 

I appreciate the need to stand out from the crowd but over the last couple of years there has been a growing phenomenon amongst the cashed-up-brainless-fuck-knuckle set of taking the Holden badges off their Commodores and replacing them with Chevrolet badges. 

The motivation for doing this is hazy at best but is generally perceived to be a moronic attempt to make an extremely unimaginative choice of motor vehicle appear a little more exotic.

  1. It doesn’t work.
  2. It’s fucking bullshit! 

What the fuck are they thinking? Well, it’s questionable whether they’re actually capable of anything as complex as thought or whether this action is just a stimulus-response anomaly. My view? IDIOTS!!! Everyone in Australia knows that the Commodore is an Australian car so the Chevy badges aren’t fooling anyone! Do you seriously think that your Commodore-owning mates will turn around and exclaim: 

Ohmafahkingooooood! Davo’s got a Chevy! Fahkinellmaaate!

No. Sadly, your arse-clown-deadshit mates know that it’s just a Holden with Chev badges. Even your fucking Horizon-smoking mum knows. So, if even the stupidest people aren’t fooled, what is the point? 

Is it part of the great Aussie cultural cringe? That idea that anything we are, have or do would be way better if it was English or American or otherwise internationally approved of so we knew it was OK to like? Is it just a national self-loathing? Oh mate, I’d be way cooler if I was American! Forgetting of course that even if they really were American they’d just be an American fuckwit which I imagine isn’t that much cooler than being an Australian fuckwit. 

It’s fucking stupid is what it is and I fucking hate stupid! It fucking shits me off that someone would go to the trouble of deliberately buying a vehicle to then spend extra money pretending it’s something else. WHY??? Why not just buy a fucking car you want? Why not sit for a moment THINKING THROUGH, or cunt-forbid RESEARCHING, the multitudinous options available in the world of motor vehicles before you purchase the same thing everybody else has and decide it’s not good enough? CRETINS!!!

I realise that re-badging vehicles is no new thing in the auto industry. Holdens were re-badged as Pontiacs in the U.S. and Vauxhalls in the U.K., Holden themselves have sold re-badged Isuzus, Toyotas, Opels, you name it, as Holdens. That’s just selling cars. It’s just marketing. I know that Holden is part of General Motors, a U.S. company, and for years the Holden Commodore has been re-badged and sold as the Chevrolet Lumina overseas but that doesn’t change the fact that under the badge it’s still a Holden Commodore. The real question is: why, in Australia, a country full of Holden Commodores, where everyone knows your Commodore is a locally designed and made Holden, would you spend good money putting on foreign badges that fool no-one? You’d have more luck passing yourself off as a woman by tucking your dick and balls back between your legs! Stop being a  fucktard! Go right ahead and customize your vehicle if you want to just stop being ashamed of its true identity. Stop being ashamed of supporting your local car industry!

But Chevs are cool, man! 

Fucking buy one then! IT’S NOT A CUNTING CHEVROLET!!! 

It may be worth noting that it is common for Holden owners in the U.S. to re-badge them with the original Holden badges. Why do they do it? Out of respect because that’s what the car is! I swear, if you’re one of those slutheads who’s re-badged their Holden as a Chev, you should take it out on a deserted bit of highway, wind it up to 200km/h and wrap it around the biggest gum tree you can find. As much as I like the new Commodores, the human race does not need YOU!

You Wouldn’t Steal A Car – Rip & Burnout!

Posted in Wankers In Denial with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 6, 2008 by Buck Frain

DVD copyright warnings. What the cat-fisting Jesus is with all the warnings? I mean, I go to the shop and buy a DVD. I fucking well BUY it! I take it home and before I’m allowed to watch the fucking thing that I own for fuck’s sake I have to sit through a warning about what will happen if I steal, copy or profit from its piracy. I fucking own it and I have to put up with this accusatory bullshit before I can watch what I legally own! It’s not even like the good old VHS days when you could fast forward through all the shit to get to the good stuff, you have to watch it. And not just once! When you’ve got through one warning you then get a lame-arsed commercial to crappy warning music with fast edits flashing slogans telling you: You wouldn’t steal a car! You wouldn’t steal a handbag! and a whole bunch of other shit so Don’t steal movies! and Movie piracy is stealing! and blah blah shit shit shit. WHAT THE FUCK??? I CUNTING WELL OWN IT, YOU DRIBBLING, SYPHILLITIC NOB-ENDS!!! Even if I didn’t own it, even if I’d just rented it from the fucking video store, isn’t it a bit presumptuous to assume I’m going to want to steal it before I’ve even watched the cunting thing? For fuck’s sake, what if it sucks? Why the fuck would I steal a turd?

 

Having bought Season 3 of The Mighty Boosh and put it in my player, part-way through the multiple warnings I’ll have to watch every time I want to view the DVD, I got so fucked off I just stood up and stomped my coffee table to pieces Eh, master-race IKEA bullshit, I always despised you anyway! took the pieces out into my courtyard, doused them in lighter fluid and incinerated them. I felt a little better and as the flames of triumphant fury warmed my face I started thinking about why the DVD companies should feel the need to have so many warnings cluttering up their shit.

 

Why? Fucking why have multiple warnings about piracy before and after films as well as all over the packaging? DVDs I’ve bought from the USA have FBI warnings on them for shit’s sake! Watch out, bitches, the fuckin’ feds are comin’ to bust yo punk ass!!! It all seems a pretty heavy-handed policy of intimidation but it’s all undone by the commercials with their imploring consumers to do the right thing. To the untrained eye it would appear almost as though they’re trying to prevent something they have absolutely no control over, you know, like when kittens puff all their fur up and walk sideways in an attempt to look frightening. Except, of course, kittens are cute and they don’t prevent you watching movies you’ve paid for with a never-ending stream of pissing and moaning about what they’ll do to you if you avoid their copy-protection systems with easily-available freeware applications and burn exact digital replicas of their product rather than forking out ridiculous amounts of money for an obsolete media format. Well, be realistic, if they did you’d just lock them in the kitchen and sit down and enjoy your movie without them.

 

You wouldn’t steal a car! Well, let’s think about that: If I could steal it by cheaply making an exact replica so I’d have exactly the same car but the owner wouldn’t know I’d done it nor would he lose any benefit of his car and I’d probably never ever get caught for it- fuck it, wouldn’t I steal it? Of course I fucking would! I’d have a yard full of faux-Ferraris, Lamborghinis, you fucking name it, I’d never watch a fucking movie again!

 

If anyone has software for copying furniture please e-mail me, I need to pirate a coffee table, I’ve been spending too much money on DVDs!

Eugenic Fantasies Inspired By Vocal Toolishness.

Posted in Random Shit That Gives Me The Cunt with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 22, 2008 by Buck Frain

 

Yobbos who yell things out of cars. They are the stupidest creatures on the planet. Aside from the fact that they have nothing to say to anyone ever because their brains have atrophied from a lack of education and an excess of pre-mixed bourbon and cola, they fail to realize that whatever they scream out of the window of their work-in-progress Holden Commodores is unintelligible to anyone other than themselves. The slurred speech of drunken fucktards is bad enough but when flying past at 80km/h it’s completely indecipherable. It might as well be shrieking baboons. In fact, if angry baboons were caning a Commodore up Royal Parade shrieking at cyclists you probably wouldn’t know the difference. I’m pretty sure they weren’t baboons.

 

I find cycling quite a focused experience. There are plenty of things to be watchful for, fuckwits opening car doors without looking, fuckwits changing lanes without looking, fuckwits in trucks, taxis, buses, old fuckwits in hats, fuckwits in Volvos, any fuckwit with a fish sticker anywhere on their car and all manner of other psychopaths. But despite the exhaust fumes and the constant threat of death, there is something free and solitary about cycling that I like. Plus, it keeps me away from the plethora of annoying cunts I might take to task for their various transgressions should I be locked in close quarters with them on public transport. Yes, cycling is wonderful…until some cockbrain screams in your ear as he and his fuckwit mates hoon past. Screaming…for free…just because they’re tools.

 

It had been a quiet ride, so the jolt of random, aggressive toolishness scared the absolute shit out of me, I swerved away from the sudden noise and realised this placed me on a collision course with a very nice parked BMW, still spooked, I think I must have over-corrected and braked at the same time. After that everything is crystalline: the front wheel locked and its tyre gripped the bitumen perfectly pitching the back wheel off the ground and me forward towards a muddy white lane marking on the oily black road. My hands came out in front of me by reflex and I thought for a fragment of a second I might be able to roll out of it. One of my shoe cleats, however, had not disengaged from the pedal so the bike pursued me and, as my body was slowed by its impact with the somewhat unforgiving tarmac, my bike found safe refuge by pounding itself into the yielding softness of MY BALLS!!! Fade to grey.

 

I lay tangled in my bike in a crumpled mess on the road. My face resting against the soothingly cool, filthy bitumen, my knees and hands hurting somewhere vaguely in the distance. I writhed half-heartedly in near silence for a while. The all-consuming grey fog of ball-pain gradually lifted and I kicked myself free of the bike, rolling over to inspect the damage. Torn jeans, minor grazing, some juicy bruises to look forward to – Ah, get fucked! The bike appeared fine so with effort I gathered myself up.

 

The last time I fell off my bike was 1989…hmm, that unique mixture of pain and humiliation never changes. My inner seven year-old wanted to cry but thankfully my inner nine year-old was there to call him a pansy so we all got ourselves on the bike and eased into the tight, uncomfortable ride home you get peddling with unskinned flesh.

 

I’ve always been averse to notions like eugenics but…maybe I’ve been too hasty. Fuck ’em! If we could isolate the gene for a propensity to be a complete fuckhole in a car, and compulsorily sterilise anyone with it, the fuckwits will never pass it on to anyone ever again – the world would be a much better place. Genius, and while we’re in the lab there’s a whole bunch of other fuckers out there who shouldn’t be breeding. Bring it on! We can lay waste to all the world’s fuckwits, sure it’ll take a good 100 years for the current crop to die out, but what a grand day it would be, a world without fuckwits…

 

I think I need to have a lie down. Must take the helmet off.

 

 

http://humor-blogs.com/

 

Shutup, Sluthead! You’re not saying anything!

Posted in Human Stupidity with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 5, 2008 by Buck Frain

What the dog-felching fuck is wrong with motorists? The horn. The fucking car horn – the single most useless automotive accessory ever, with the possible exception of Baby On Board signs. Whilst everything to do with cars has been improved over the last 100 years, the horn has become electric and that’s it, other than that it’s the fucking same.

 

Indicators, on the other hand, are great. They’re articulate, they say: I’m turning left or I’m pulling over, if you count hazard lights as well: I’m a bit fucked right now, watch you don’t get fucked too. Horns do fuck all. The just scream AAARGH! indiscriminately at everyone nearby. Even variations in duration or number of horn-blasts communicate nothing except possibly a very subjective rendering of the user’s emotional state. They have no real meaning, there is nothing they communicate categorically, and this is largely because dumb-fuck motorists use them for everything huh, it makes a noise thus making their sound utterly redundant. Horns also have no direction and so no-one really knows who’s using the horn or who at, except the person using it huh, I told him stuff! It’s all cuntfully stupid.

 

How many times have you seen some suburban sluthead leaving a friend’s house and giving the horn a cheery beep beep! What the fuck? You said goodbye to your friend before getting in the car, you thanked them for dinner, you did all that, they already know you have a car, they know you’re in your car, they can fuckin’ see you! Why the horn? It’s fucked, it’s an absolute cunt and makes me want to chase their vehicle with a cricket bat and smash the weeping-arse fuck out of it. SHUT UP, YOU SHIT-EATING FREAK!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!

 

They think the beep beep! means something? Of course it doesn’t, the same sluthead will use the same beep beep! at the lights to gently wake up the catatonic fuck in front of him who’s turning right. Sluthead  will do this even though he can’t see the CF in front of him is not moving because of something like, oh, oncoming traffic. CF doesn’t interpret the beep beep! as good-natured. He thinks that Sluthead is having an impatient go at him, so in return, he gives him the finger. Fuckwits collide! You see how poor communication can lead to people being bludgeoned to death at the side of the road with tyre irons?

 

Personally, I have no sympathy. I think every car should have a loaded gun in it and it should be legal to shoot to death anyone who uses their car horn ever. In the name of articulate communication I say death to horn users. The horn is a piece of cowardly, passive-aggressive bullshit and has been rendered completely ineffective through misuse.

 

beep beep!

 

DIE, FUCKBAG! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

Bad Drivers – Give Me A Sign!

Posted in Human Stupidity with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on April 25, 2008 by Buck Frain

Bad drivers give me the absolute cunt. I love driving and I always have. I’m a good driver – still can’t say that without thinking of Rain Man – and it fucking kills me that so many people are fucking awful drivers.

Ooh, road rage, Buck? Very predictable, you’re the menace to society!

Fuck off, you shit-eating do-gooder! I’ve every right to be angry at bad driving. You’d be fucking angry if some mad person wandered through a shopping mall indiscriminately firing a gun, just randomly, for free. You’d be pissed off as hell, even if she was a really nice person and her husband was a dentist, you’d say Lock that mad bitch up! But, put the same dentist’s wife behind the wheel of, say a Ford Explorer, she’s talking on her phone, doing her make-up and disciplining her children in the back whilst piloting 2 tonnes of steel around at 60km/h and not really watching where she’s going. She won’t indicate because everyone gets out of her way anyway and cyclists are invisible to her. Can’t get angry with her! No way, she’s doing her best, calm down, take a chill pill. Fuck you! She’s murder waiting to happen, she’s the same mad bitch!

I don’t mean to demonise female drivers, it was only an example. Bad drivers come in all types across all demographics. Now I’m fired up, I don’t think I can tackle all of the bad driving thing in one post so today I’ll just focus on one element of bad driving – the misuse of indicators.

You’d imagine it’s pretty fuckin’ simple, wouldn’t you. You’ve got this lever on your steering column that controls lights on the outside of your vehicle that display to other road users your intended path. It’s easy, you did it in your driving test, but after that a bunch of people have forgotten completely. For a tutorial, if you need to brush up, go here. Please.

The most important thing is indicating BEFORE you turn or change lanes. There are so many fucking idiots out there that seem to think that better late than never has some relevance to indicating. They indicate to show you what they’ve already done. WAKE UP YOU USELESS FUCKTARD MEATBAGS! I CAN FUCKING SEE WHERE YOU ARE, YOU CUNT, I WANNA KNOW WHERE YOU’RE GOING SO I CAN STAY OUT OF YOUR CUNTING WAY!!!

Indicate, it’s in the word indicator. Indicate before you move, and if at all possible check mirrors and blind spots to ensure there’s no-one else already occupying the space that you intend to occupy. It’s not rocket science, it’s basic spatial awareness, a lack of which gives me the shits. Same principle as this.

Spatial awareness is knowing where you are in relationship to other objects in your surroundings and how that relationship will change in the near future as you and other objects around you change positions.

Then of course there’s the smart-arse fuckers who are way too important to bother using indicators at all. Why should they? They are the gods of the road, it’s their taxes that payed for the road so they go where-so-ever they please and don’t lower themselves to using the indicator lever. These are the real bastards. These fuckers, these WANKERS! They make me so fucking mad I want to shit my own pants, they weave everywhere braking nonsensically making driving a pure fucking hell. It’s like they want you to run into them. FUCKIN’ OVER-INSURED PRICKS, I’D KILL YOU IF I COULD AFFORD IT!

But you know that killing’s not really going to help. Education is the only answer. One day, it’s my greatest wish, that one day I’ll pull up behind one of these non-indicating arseholes at the lights, having put up with their smug refusal to consider other road users for several kilometres…

I’m calm. Professional. I step from my car, walk up to their driver’s window and tap gently on it, smiling benignly. I’m well-dressed and non-threateningly white, I say: Excuse me, I noticed back there… just low enough that he can’t hear all of what I’m saying as I point back down the road. 9 out of 10 would wind the window down, for sure. Quick as a flash, I reach in and snap his indicator lever from the steering column and brandishing it in his face, I scream into his window: SEEING AS YOU’RE NOT USING THIS, I’LL KEEP IT MY-FUCKING-SELF! IT’S AN INDICATOR, YOU CUNT!!!

I return to my vehicle and watch the offender kangaroo-hop away from the intersection, shell-shocked. I resume my journey with the wind in my hair and the radio blazing. Ha ha, fuckers!