I was on my way out of Taco Bueno earlier this evening, taking the back way behind the building, and some jackass woman was pulled up alongside the drive-through queue, leaving just enough room to go around her. As I come up behind her, she throws it in reverse and starts heading straight for my insurance premium, not even bothering to look in her rearview mirror. I honk a quick honk to let her know she's not the only person on the road, prompting her to slam on her brakes — a polite notification to avoid a fender bender.

Assuming the matter was closed, I continued to swing around her so I could be on my merry way, and remove myself from her path as well. As I complete my pass, what does she do? Flips me off and honks back at me — the vehicular version of, "Oh, yeah? Well...you suck!" How dare I avoid a collision. I guess she showed me.

Fortunately, however, said incident didn't compare to the time I tried to let a driver know that his headlights weren't on, triggering a band of thugs to spring from the car like a herd of bandanna-clad clowns, barraging me with, "You got a problem? You want a piece of this??"

We need to perfect this much-ballyhooed cybernetic technology already, if only so that we can plug it into automobile steering mechanisms. If you don't meet the requisite number of working synapses, the vehicle automatically careers itself off the nearest overpass.

Would you ever pee against a bare wall from four inches away? Of course not. But, build a little enclosure and drop a scented cake in the bottom and somehow the splashing isn't a problem. Even the full-length version doesn't work out so well. Under what other circumstances would you urinate just centimeters from your own shoes?

Sure, you could back away from the facility, but by the end, you're going to have to move up or suffer squishy socks. Unless you have somehow mastered the consistent-pressure stream. In which case, I'd be interested in some tutoring. But, until then, I'll stick to the toilet — or the rare bathroom treat, the trough.

They used to be transparent. But, many of them are now in full color, sometimes obscuring foreign bad guys' subtitles while you're discovering what they're up to. And the logos seem to be getting bigger. It won't be long before they take up half the screen, much like the promos do that the station runs during the final credits of a primetime movie. (Why even bother running the credits if you're going to squish them beyond readability? But, that's a rant in itself.)

During National Geographic Explorer, they display two logos! The station's logo on the right, and the National Geographic logo on the left. It won't be long before the top two corners become residence to the production company's logo and the major sponsor for the hour.

And in a further effort to make sure you know which station you're watching — which is, of course, more important than actually knowing what's going on in your program — several logos are now animated. Like little shows going on to distract you from Will & Grace... Hmm. Maybe those logos aren't such a bad idea, after all.

However, I don't get this craze in text messaging. I'm not talking about getting your e-mail on your phone. I'm talking about wireless text messaging — sending a note from one phone to another. You can receive text messages on your phone's little screen! Hey, that's super. But, hello, I have a phone! If you're sending me a text message, then you most likely have a phone, too! Are people just not getting the concept?

And have you tried typing a little message on a numeric keypad? Hell, it takes me 10 minutes to enter PORN 2 GO in my contact list.

Always symmetrical, the typical towel composition begins with the one big towel, over which are folded two lovely hand towels, on top of which lay two washcloths, usually embroidered with big flowers. And God forbid you disturb them. I've personally been chastised for dampening such a creation before. "The guest towels are for decoration, not for drying your hands."

Hey, if you want decoration in the bathroom, hang a picture. I don't care how many flowers you put on it, a towel is still a towel. And towels are for toweling. I don't hang floral screwdrivers in my garage and insist you use the ones under the workbench.

But no, I'm expected to use that one moist, off-white, community hand towel laying in the puddle next to the sink. After "drying" my hands with that, I always feel like washing them again — and next time I think I'll use those little rose-shaped soaps in the porcelain swan dish.

It isn't like I've been busy with some sort of life. And I certainly haven't made a New Year's resolution to stop bitching about things.

So what's my excuse? I think I'll go with...connection problems. Yeah, I'll blame it on my ISP.

Come on guys, get it together.