"Either one simply had to be there, down by the depot on the Mississippi River, at the end of Nicollet and Hennepin Avenues, craning one's neck, shouting huzzah, and generally buying into the idea that a horse who had never before even visited your town was suddenly its shining hope and emblem—or you wanted to be as far away as possible from what was sure to be a massive traffic jam in an era when traffic shat, peed, and eventually, if gridlock persisted, started kicking."
—Charles Leerhsen, Crazy Good: The True Story of Dan Patch (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2008), 235
Ha! I observed a bit of traffical fuckage today when a beemer made the unwise choice to take on an 18-wheeler. The beemer was fast, I'll give him that, but the truck had size and right-of-way (which he refused to yeild) on his side. I'm sure there was a bit of shat and pee on the seat of the beemer before it was all over! I got a good laugh out of it as the beemer had just pulled a nasty move on ol' lumbering (at 65 mph) me. Ner, nee, ner nee, ner nee!