Na na na na na na na na... Asshoooooole!

"Commissioner! It's too quiet tonight!"
"You're right, Chief... time for the Asshole!"
And so the Asshole Signal was beamed onto the moon.
"Oh, dear," said the butler, catching sight of the call for help. "I'd better alert the Master at once."
In the dark depths of the valley, the door to the Asshole Cave opened, and like a streak of overpriced light, the Assholemobile shot out into the night, forcing one or two other cars off the road as it merged, without signaling, at breakneck speed... And what kind of car was it? Why, a Nissan Murano, of course!

I've seen a lot of assholemobiles over the years... Z-28s, minivans, pick-up trucks with four rear wheels... but for so many reasons, I have to give the nod to the Morono... I mean, Murano. In the past week, I've had dealings with three of these things, and all of them bespeak the same casual disregard for the rights and safety of others combined with an overt flair for conspicuous consumption that, combined, can only indicate narcissistic tendencies that verge on pathological.

First, the personal experience. Yesterday I watched one weave in and out of stop-and-go highway traffic that everyone else was patiently and carefully negotiating. Not a single signal to indicate lane changes or prevent heart attacks in others. No space was too small, even it was too small, and meant someone else had to slam on the brakes — them's the breaks, I guess, ha. Last week, though, was the incident that really brought them to the forefront of my attention. I was up north driving a road where the right hand land dropped off after an approaching intersection. The light was about to change. The Murano on my right, who didn't risk passing me and running out of blacktop, stopped for the light, but I went through. By the time I got to the next concession road, 7/8 of a mile away, the guy in the Murano had driven like a bat — excuse me, I mean, an asshole out of hell to catch up with me, and, without ever signaling, pass me illegally, crossing the solid line. When you think of the speed this took on an uneven road surface, and the risks of crossing the line under such conditions, all to show up a total stranger, a person he doesn't even know and will likely never encounter again, all I can say is, I don't care if he's hung like John Holmes... psychologically, he's hung like Topo Gigio.

Go out on the web and have a look at the thing. It doesn't even have the excuse of being an SUV or something. There's no real space in this lardbucket to haul any sports equipment. All it is is a huge, overblown, fatass version of a sedan, with the trunk space shoved up into the air, and a massive cabin for two 250 lb. adults and their brood of three 150 lb. 8-12-year-olds. God bless (North) America. What does this get, seven yards to the gallon? It's wasteful extravagence like this that has brought us to Peak Oil in the 2000s instead of the 2020s. Way to go, you selfish pricks. Enjoy the ride at the pumps.

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Update: I was out driving around at lunch time and what did I find myself behind but the ugliest blue Murano. I kept an eye on the guy, and sure enough, in under a minute, he drifted over into the other lane... no signal, just the typical "read-my-mind/kiss-my-ass" attitude. Maybe it's genetic.