'Share The Road' My Ass...

I didn't want to do this. Really. I don't need the hassle, and I almost resent the time I have to spend complaining about it, but they've forced my hand. They made me do it, chipping away at my resolve like a tiny drip of water against a boulder, wearing it away until it's no longer the monolith it once was. Who could do this? you ask. Who could insinuate themselves into my attention and practically force me to comment on them?
   Damned bicyclists, that's who.
   I'm sure you've seen them, no matter what part of the country you live in; they're everywhere, like roaches. With their little shorts and their saddlebags - oh, sorry, panniers, like using a French word makes it any less sissy- and their helmets perched preciously on their heads like they're mushroom people from Mario World... hold on, I'm getting enraged just thinking about it. Deep breath... in... out... in... out...
   Yeah, I get it, share the road, it's a green alternative, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. The problem with bicyclists taking up a traffic lane - aside from their crass presumption - is that they want to play in a sandbox that's just too big for them. It's dangerous because they move too slow, and they're unprotected by US DOT regs cars must follow, and even the most well-meaning bicyclists constantly flout traffic laws by blowing past lights and stop signs, riding against traffic, that kind of thing. It's like your little sister wanting to play football with the guys: it's cute, but she's going to get hurt if she insists on playing for real.
   So bicyclists of the United States, here's the deal: if you obey all the same traffic laws as I do - all the time - you can share my lane. If you can ride your bicycle as fast as I can drive my car, you can share my lane. If your fifteen pound bicycle can survive a crash with my 3500 pound truck without being mangled into tin foil, you can share my lane. Until you can do those things, get the hell out of the way.
   Whew... sometimes it's good to vent.