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By: Pam Newman
 Louisville, KY - Dearest Motorists in the Kentuckiana area,
I would like to preface my letter to you(all) by expressing how much I detest the word "Kentuckiana." But sadly, this phrase encompasses the exactly the individuals I would like to address.
With that out of the way, it is important for me to let you know I have spent the majority of my life driving cars on the crowded, fast-paced roads, streets and expressways of the northeastern corridor. I have driven in Manhattan at rush hour, and not feared for my life as much as I do on i65 south toward Bullitt county. I have also driven in California, where the speed limit says 65, but it is generally accepted that the pace is 80 - 90 miles per hour for anyone not driving a Semi. I was never terrified on those roads as much as I am on 64 trying to merge on to 65. Which, I might add, is just a poorly designed exit. Don't nix 64, how about a simple redesign?
Now, I will directly address the issue that I, and many other people who have been willingly (or unwillingly) transplanted from places outside of Sarah Palin's "Real America," have with your driving skills and abilities, Kentuckiana ... or lack thereof.
There are rules and actual polite courtesies involved in driving. Most of them prevent horrible things like death, or red-faced pissed off at that motherfucker in the minivan road-rage. These are courtesies that do not involve waving at a stranger when driving towards them and catching eye contact. I'm talking about actual driving abilities, not some flaccid attempt at selfishly holding Southern Hospitality on the feeding tube and respirator.
I'm not sure that the natives of the our aforementioned geographical location have ever been educated on these rules, so I'll keep it slow paced like the asshole in the F150 did this morning on 264, (which Kentuckiana calls "The Watterson.")
In the past 2 years that I have resided in Louisville Kentucky, I have not noticed many of you utilizing the following rules and/or courtesies.
First of all, the expressway, highway or interstate -whatever you prefer to call it- is a place for going fast. The speed limit is only a suggestion for people who are old, have cars held together with chewing gum and prayer, and people trying to decipher their Google Maps directions.
For those of you who do understand this unspoken speed limit suggestion, specifically those of you who travel I65 south during rush hour, I have not advice, but an urgent resolution. When you took your drivers exam, there is a question that asks how much space you should leave between you and the car you are behind. It is always a minimum of a car length. It increases along with your speed. This offers you time to stop. It also prevents you from becoming another bloody twisted piece of metal on the side of the road. It also prevents the person in front of you from hemorrhaging from their anus as they pray that the car in front of them does not put their breaks on while traveling 85 miles per hour, thereby turning them into the unwilling cream in an metal Oreo cookie of death.
Ample space in-between cars pisses people off less, and makes life safer.
That being said, there is a trick to driving in such a situation, if you must-- avoid using your breaks.
When I see a car in front of me traveling 60 miles per hour put on their breaks, only one thing comes to mind. The shriek that one emits when they see a car crash, or someone with a really pasty ass drops trow to moon you. It's an internal scream of sheer terror, and EVERY TIME YOU PUT YOUR DAMN BREAKS ON IT HAPPENS TO ME. Why is this? It's not because I'm a paranoid driver (At least I wasn't before I moved to Kentucky) it's because you're not supposed to put your fucking breaks on while you're on the expressway.
Just lay off the gas. I'm surprised that this breaking to slow down shit was still common practice when gas was $4.20 a gallon. You waste a lot of gas speeding back up from breaking, and you're more likely to wear your breaks down doing this.
Oh, and if you weren't fucking tailgating the douchebag in front of you, then you'd have room enough to lay off the gas and slow down when they do.
Turn signals. They do exist. And they are your friend. Simply leaning toward the lane next to you is not enough warning for me to become aware of your immediate need to be in front of me. In fact, I witnessed an accident occur on the off-ramp of 264 going towards the St Matthews Mall in which a minivan (containing mom and kids) chose not to use her turn signal, and royally obliterated the front end of a 2006 Mustang driven by a man who's penis I'm sure is very happy he owns that car.
One would imagine such individuals in those cars would want to protect not only their vehicles, but the people inside of them.
I was once cut off by a guy in a red truck, who's license plate I didn't write down, but I should have. I flipped him the bird, as is the custom in my native land, and he turned around and shouted the N word to me repeatedly.
This is unacceptable. A simple "Fuck you, Lady," would have done the trick. I believe racial slurs are reserved for Republican rallies these days.
Thankfully, I've only been hit by one of you native Kentucky/Indiana residents. In September of last year, I was at a red light on Poplar Level Road, and a woman in a mustang, circa 1990-something didn't put on her breaks and tapped my back bumper. Luckily there was no one ahead of me, and she was going slowly.
We decided that nothing was to come of it, as I wasn't hurt and our cars weren't damaged. But I did ask her to be careful in the future.
That is all I ask of you, Kentuckiana.
And don't shout ignorant shit at me after you cut me off.
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