About: Driving in Bucharest   Sponge Permalink

An Entity of Type : owl:Thing, within Data Space : 134.155.108.49:8890 associated with source dataset(s)

You know, back in your country – the one with the nuclear radars, the GPS, the remote control parking sensors up the giggity – you know all those softies on the tarmac? You know the type – soccer moms on the way to the mall, caffeine addicts driving about ten kilometers from the correct lane. Basically everyone on the road that gets in your way when you are constantly driving at two hundred kilometers an hour. These people take away from the whole "driving spectacle", if you will, in your cosseted nations. In Bucharest, however, we do not have this problem. You are not allowed to drive on the streets of Bucharest, unless you know how to swear in Romanian. The proficiency in cursing is usually measured in the time you can keep up the cussing without repeating yourself ad infinitum. This kee

AttributesValues
rdfs:label
  • Driving in Bucharest
rdfs:comment
  • You know, back in your country – the one with the nuclear radars, the GPS, the remote control parking sensors up the giggity – you know all those softies on the tarmac? You know the type – soccer moms on the way to the mall, caffeine addicts driving about ten kilometers from the correct lane. Basically everyone on the road that gets in your way when you are constantly driving at two hundred kilometers an hour. These people take away from the whole "driving spectacle", if you will, in your cosseted nations. In Bucharest, however, we do not have this problem. You are not allowed to drive on the streets of Bucharest, unless you know how to swear in Romanian. The proficiency in cursing is usually measured in the time you can keep up the cussing without repeating yourself ad infinitum. This kee
dcterms:subject
dbkwik:uncyclopedi...iPageUsesTemplate
Revision
  • 3705380(xsd:integer)
Date
  • 2009-03-16(xsd:date)
abstract
  • You know, back in your country – the one with the nuclear radars, the GPS, the remote control parking sensors up the giggity – you know all those softies on the tarmac? You know the type – soccer moms on the way to the mall, caffeine addicts driving about ten kilometers from the correct lane. Basically everyone on the road that gets in your way when you are constantly driving at two hundred kilometers an hour. These people take away from the whole "driving spectacle", if you will, in your cosseted nations. In Bucharest, however, we do not have this problem. You are not allowed to drive on the streets of Bucharest, unless you know how to swear in Romanian. The proficiency in cursing is usually measured in the time you can keep up the cussing without repeating yourself ad infinitum. This keeps all of the weaklings off the roads and inside the mental hospitals, leaving the roads free for burning petrolheads such as yourself, no? With the mentally handicapped off the road, you'll find that Bucharest's towns are a playground of happiness, vengeance, and destruction. Cruising round hairpins at 140km/h, crashing into any possible object — shockingly, never getting injured; just like in a video game — drag racing the teenager who thinks he's so hot in his new Zonda... anything is possible in Bucharest. Much better than sitting back in those queues in Democracistan, wondering why the accountant in the Smart car won't go through that massive shortcut, preferring to sit back and relax at the amber traffic lights for ten hours, is it not?
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