On the Massachusetts Turnpike Authority

I've been sitting on this topic for a few days now; wanting to cool down long enough to give the Massachusetts Turnpike Authority, hence forth referred to as MTA, a fighting chance in this blog.

The story begins with a beautiful Tuesday night in the glorious city of Boston. After getting my shisha fix at Nile, and enjoying the company of Big Mama (Danielle) and various other characters. Upon my departure, I back my car out of the snow bank I'm forced to park in due to the fact that the plow workers apparently believe in letting nature do the work for them. Once free from the clutches of the Snow Miser, I spin the snow off my tires and continue down Commonwealth Ave. While driving, watching out for kamikaze Indie bikers, and embarrassingly trying to skip over Birtney Spears' Womanizer on my iPod, I also have to avoid crater like pot holes that make the grand canyon look like Joe the Plumber's butt crack. I grin and bare it, and proceed to Storrow Drive via the Boston University bridge. Cones, three police cars, and a detour sign barring my entrance and mock my very existence; forcing me to cross the Charles and proceed down a self guided tour of the MIT campus. I finally reach the on-ramp to 93 south and proceed down into the Thomas P. O'Neill Jr. Tunnel, or as I call it, the anilingus-money pit-asbestos filled dungeon of Boston. Thinking I'm in the clear as I come around the corner, I'm greeted with the flashing lights of over six troopers spread generously through the two left lanes. I being to feel my blood boil.

Herded like a sheep to the slaughter, I'm forced to flee the tunnel, most likely for fear of falling debris, for some imaginary construction that is taking place SOMEWHERE in the tunnel. Thankfully we pay those fearless police officers overtime to guard the tunnel against anyone able, or willing, to break through the barricade. As I continue on my journey, a ride that should only take thirty minutes, I'm forced to breach the surface in the Harbor District. What do I do now? Follow the detour signs you say? Well, funny you should mention them, but apparently in their haste to complete the Big Dig they forgot to place any detour signs directing poor lost sheep to their destination. After gallantly parading around the beautiful Harbor District and removing my fingernails from their death grip on the steering wheel, I've forced to take the Mass Pike. Now, being a person of the 21st century, I very rarely carry cash and I usually throw change out the window. I found myself wishing I didn't give Zeek that 75cents to wipe my window down with spit and newspaper. I manage to fork up the $1.25 toll at the first booth with some change I found between the seats and start to rummage for more while driving to the next money-sucking-leech at the next booth. 53cents is all I managed to find so I began flushing the anger from my face in order to attempt to be nice to the over-payed gate keeper. After pulling up I immediately began to wish I had a vagina and a set of double D's. The man, like most toll takers, was marginally unkept. In about his forties, his hair looked like bad bed head with enough grease to power a small car. Staring at him, covered in black soot, from wiping his face after handling dirty money all day, I began to explain my predicament to the man in power. Upon receiving my grandly delivered and beautifully articulated speech, the man grunts and says "I didn't force you to come this way".

The flood gates opened, and the wraith of God was unleashed from my mouth. After telling the man that I was now entirely supportive of him losing his job to the Fast Lane technology and that I hoped an oil tanker would careen into his toll-kingdom setting him ablaze, he proceeded to tell me that I needed to mail a check within fourteen days or I would receive a $250 ticket in the mail. Clutching my 53cents in pennies with the grip of death and the fury of an abusive Chris Brown, I demanded the man take the pennies so the toll would be for only 72cents instead of $1.25. When he began to taunt me with "You're going to send in a check for only 72cents?" I thanked the state of Massachusetts for having strict gun control laws because I would have taken natural selection into my own hands. As if writing a check for $1.25 is any better then writing one for 72 cents! After wishing him farewell, and a horrible case of tertiary sifilis, I sped off onto 128 South with complete fury.

What is with all of the construction across Massachusetts? Every night half of 93 has lights, cones, and cruisers with NO ONE working. 128 has been undergoing construction at the median for over two years with hardly any progress. Since when has it been common practice to begin every construction project at the same time? Don't even get me started on the Big Dig. After some research I discovered that there is not a single state highway not currently under construction with a project that has been taking place for less than two-years. Thankfully Deval Patrick and President Obama are homies; so we should see some of that stimulus money finally helping to complete the ample projects underway before our roadways crumble underneath us.