10 Reasons I Fucking Hate Seatbelts

As is often the case, I have to start with something of a disclaimer, here: Seatbelts save lives. Nobody's questioning that. In the event of a serious, flaming, life-threatening wreck, lashing yourself to the very goddamned frame of the vehicle is a proven-reliable method of drastically upping your chances of survival. This is not up for debate.

However...

The price we ultimately pay for the privilege of our lives potentially being saved? Constant fucking annoyance the other 99.999998% of the time spent in the car. Y'know, those stretches when it ISN'T actively colliding with a fellow high-velocity quarter-ton of steel. Of course, it's worth it. But that doesn't excuse the auto manufacturers' obvious dedication to making the rat-bastard things exactly as fucking irritating as it's physically possible for them to be, while still affording them enough function in order that they operate properly. The sad fact is, seatbelts are just barely worth the effort it takes to endure their many infuriating flaws.

So, may I present to you: the top ten things I fucking HATE about seatbelts.

10) Seatbelt Sweat:

"I'm SO hot."

Contrary to popular belief, it's not always a deep-freeze in the upper Midwest. Believe it or not, it gets REALLY WARM here during the summer months. But unfortunately, despite what Golden-Age Hollywood would have us believe, death takes no holidays. So, we still have to wear our seatbelts, even when August is all, "hear, you can has 95° + 100% humidz LOL." And our gift for being safety-conscious? The trademark sash o' sweat, even if we run the air conditioning full-blast. I mean, sure...nobody can really make fun of you for it, because it's sort of a big, wet badge of social consciousness, but seatbelt sweat is still a sticky, hot, ugly, nasty, rank pain in the ass.

9) The Plastic Strap-Straightening Doohickey:

$#%&*@!!!

Y'know how the buckle-catch on the belt has that plastic gasket thing on it, so it lines up right as it slides up and down the belt? And y'know how it's supposed to stop the belt from getting twisted in the slot? And y'know how it not only doesn't work properly, but actually DEFEATS the fucking purpose by being JUST wide enough to let the belt twist up and get jammed up tighter than your high school girlfriend's chastity belt? FUCK you, plastic thing. Fuck you HARD.

I can't even tell you how many times I've gotten into the car, only to have to wrestle with the stuck-fast buckle-catch for five minutes, pushing and pulling and yanking and swearing, just so I can get my belt on. In point of fact, the plastic piece of shit is actually worse than useless. And I know this because on ONE of my cars, the plastic housing cracked off, leaving just the metal catch. And the belt-slot in the catch is wide enough that if the damn thing winds up facing backwards, it literally takes a half-second to spin it into the proper orientation for secure buckl'age. And how did the housing get broken off to begin with? Why, I'm glad you asked...

8) ...This Bullshit:

The housing on the belt cracked when that happened one too many dozen times. And as I said, the functionality improved after that, but seriously. What's the definition of a "less than useless" car part, if not: "the car actually gets better once it breaks"?

Besides, this has to be intentional: the belts in both of my cars are sized to be JUST long enough so that when you unbuckle and get out, the catch flops into the door-frame, and directly into the path of the closing door. And there it sits, in the precise perfect position to cause the door to not close properly once you slam it shut. And of course, it never jams the door half open (or even prevents it from closing at all) when I've just popped out for a leisurely Sunday jaunt. No, certainly not. It's always when I'm fifteen minutes late for a doctor's appointment, the parking lot is icier than Ann Coulter on a date with Michael Moore, and I've got my hands full juggling a shitload of paperwork, and a week's worth of stool and urine samples.

7) The Fucking Buckles Themselves Are Also Impossible:

"Click, you little pain in the ass. Dammit...GET IN THERE."

The idea of the seatbelt is simple: You pull it out to the desired length, "click" the catch into the buckle and violá...You're strapped in, theoretically safer than you would be otherwise.

Of course, the reality is rarely that effortless. If you're wearing a thick coat, trying to balance a bunch of shit you're carrying, or have on gloves, that seatbelt buckle is an ASSHOLE. On those days, it is 100% guaran-damn-teed to flop around, dance merrily out of the way, or get stuck open with the release button permanently depressed. That is, if you're lucky enough that you can even FIND the fucking buckle. Because if it's decided to cram itself between the seats, and pull a shy-turtle act like your cock in a swimming pool? You're pretty much fucked. You have to get out of the car, go spelunking, and start over once you fish it out of the seat crack like the world's worst wedgie.

And then when you try a second time, the tail of your shirt or coat will install itself in front of the hole like an over-protective dad cock-blocking his teenage daughter on prom night. This fabric-flap will slide back into place no matter how many times you try to move it. Then, when you finally DO manage to pound the fucking catch in? You'll discover that the slot had previously hoovered up a hitherto-unseen nickel from the seat crack. And because you were frustrated and forced the catch in, the coin is now crammed in there deeper than a conspiracy theory, rendering the mechanism completely inoperable.

At that point, if you're lucky, you only have to drive unbelted, thereby taking your own life into your hands. However, if the catch got stuck once it was IN there, you're now trapped in your seat for all eternity. Congratulations! Now you're equal parts sweating, suffering from acute-onset hypertension, and late for work.

6) Seatbelts Never Fucking Fit:

Boi-oi-oi-oinnnnnggg.

Look, I know this isn't gonna be easy, but do me a favor, and stop staring at her tits for a second. Look up. Up. C'mon, do it. UP, asshole. Yes, I KNOW they're nice, but humor me. Up. UUUUUP. A liiiiitle further. There. See that? That spot where the seatbelt is digging into her neck, leaving a raw, chafed spot that makes it look like she just went on a date with Hickey McSuckneck? FUCK, I hate that shit. I HATE IT.

Seatbelts don't fit properly. They just DON'T. EVER. And car makers get a good-will pass on this, because seatbelts save lives, so you're not allowed to criticize their design any more than you get to bag on the free medical care your charity-case kid got at the Shriner's hospital.

If seatbelts even remotely fit properly, I wouldn't have a number five. But, of course, they don't. So I do. And number five is...

5) Ridiculous Seatbelt Accessories:

Something for everyone. Provided they're someone who
couldn't even BUY taste. At gunpoint.

As if we needed any more evidence that seatbelts don't fit worth a shit, witness the billion-dollar cottage industry that's sprung up around after-market seatbelt add-ons. You can buy cushions. Spacers. Extenders. Extra-long pull handles in case you're too much of a tub of crap to even reach across and grab the belt in the first place. No matter what the inherent design flaw, there is a tacky, cheaply-made third-party thing-a-ma-shit designed to half-assed'ly "correct" it.

Although there is one in particular that's SO asinine, it warrants its own mention. Which brings me to...

4) "The Tiddy Bear":

Oh, sweet and salty Peter Graves on a Triscuit. REALLY?

Apparently, as I am so frequently forced to say, this is a real product. The "Tiddy Bear" is a twee li'l plush neck cushion that does what many do: wraps around the seatbelt, and prevents irritation from pressure and chafing. Fair enough. But, rather than create a product that would allow the user to maintain the faintest shred of decency and/or self-respect, the manufacturers of this piece of shit felt it was of essential importance to instead make sure that the fucking thing was shaped like a teddybear. So, in essence, they're charging you for the privilege of trading comfort for dignity. It's up to you whether or not the exchange rate is equivalent.

Even as outright stupid as the Tiddy Bear is, I might even have been tempted to let this one go under different circumstances. I'd consider letting it slide because kids are usually the ones who are most irritated by high-rise, sized-for-adults belts, and would therefore seem to be the target demographic for this thing. It's kinda cute, I guess. Has that feel of a toy about it. Yeah, I maybe could have given this a pass...except for the marketing.

See, the geniuses who sell this abortion only grudgingly tack kids into the ridiculous infomercial as an afterthought. As it is, the ad largely consists of footage of pseudo-attractive, youngish women in tight halter tops, all of whom just can't seem to get enough of nuzzling this fuzzy little fuck snugly against their full, heaving bosoms.

"Sadly, this is the closest anyone's gotten to my tits in months."

And it's only at that point that the lusty cries of, "Oh, wait! I get it! 'Tiddy' bear!" erupt from the collected residents of the group home. Oh, you're so SMOOTH, Tiddy Bear people! You just put one over on Standards and Practices by combining "teddy" with "titty" and coming up with "tiddy!" Looks like you can get away with on-air utterance of a not-so-subtle variation on one of Carlin's seven words by merely changing the LETTERS, even if the pronunciation is the same! You bloody RASCALS!

Which reminds me...I have an idea for a startup. Any venture capitalists who want to invest in a new bathroom tissue called "Schiddie Toilet Paper," please drop me a line. We'll do some bid'ness.

And, as long as I'm on the subject of chafing...

3) What Are These Pieces of Shit MADE Out Of, Fer Chrissakes? Kevlar?

Pictured: Pain.

Yes, the fabric needs to be strong, so it doesn't snap like a tortured diplomat every time it gets leaned on. But is it honestly directly necessary to weave the the straps out of weapons-grade space shuttle re-entry insulation? I've taken morning-after taco-and-beer shits that were smoother, and more pleasurable to feel against my skin. Getting out of the car after several hours' worth of this 80-grit bullshit grinding away on my sternum is almost as awesome as having my nipples sawed off good and slow by a Parkinson's patient with a rusty steak knife.

2) *H'GUUUURKK-!*:

Translation: "*H'GUUUURKKK-!*"

It's happened to everyone. You're driving along, minding your own business, when suddenly a ball bounces out from between two parked cars up ahead. Or, a dog breaks free of its leash, seemingly intent upon ending its life beneath your wheels. Maybe the asshole in front of you slams on his brakes just for funsies. No matter what the cause, from time to time, we're all called upon to stop our cars in a slightly more abrupt fashion than we'd prefer to under ordinary circumstances. At which point our seatbelt locks up faster than a circa-2001 486 Dell running Windows ME. And yeah, I know that's what's SUPPOSED to happen. Because it seatbelts *didn't* lock, they'd be about as useful as a submarine with a screen door.

"I'll see you guys later...I'm gonna head out."

But once the seatbelt is locked, the motherfucker is LOCKED. It's not moving, and neither are you. And somewhere between the point where your ribcage gets compressed to one-third its normal size, and the stage when you lose consciousness from the lack of air, you try to reach for the release...only to realize you can't move your arms anymore. Then, as the belt gets just a little tighter every time you exhale a few drops of whatever oxygen you left in your flattened lungs, you discover a new-found sympathy for anaconda victims.

1) The Fact That I Can Get A Ticket For Not Wearing One.

"You're no fun. Can I at least touch your moustache?"

At its best, the law exists to protect people from each other. If you get into your stupid head that you're going to rape, burgle or murder someone else, then it helps to know that the law provides stiff penalties meant to serve as a deterrent to these activities, and discourage you from engaging in them. Hell, I'm a good citizen. I even understand laws against certain criminal activities that would seem to be largely victimless (such as hard drug abuse, public drunkenness, and prostitution). I know even these ostensibly "only-dangerous-to-the-perpetrator" acts at least hold the potential to infringe upon the rights and/or safety of others under certain specific circumstances.

But writing me a ticket for not wearing my seatbelt?!? What the FUCK, laws? Even in the worst case scenario, the very most egregious example of scofflaw seatbelt-avoidance, the most that's going to happen to someone ELSE due to my negligence? They might suffer a spot of psychological trauma from seeing my mangled corpse tied in a granny knot around a telephone pole. In the great my-rights-versus-yours/personal-liberty argument, even fucking JAYWALKING poses a more significant risk of inconveniencing another person than my not wearing a seatbelt. Of all of the shit it's a gigantic fucking waste of time to enforce, this has got to be the most "protect-me-from-myself" piece of legislation ever enacted.

I mean, it's not like I DON'T wear my seatbelt, because I'm not a colossal retard with a death wish. But honestly, I think I'd be behind the relevant statutes a lot more if whatever regulatory agency is responsible for them would just come out and admit their real purpose. "Okay, you're right...You win. Seatbelt enforcement exists just to pad the bottom line with citation fee revenue. We don't actually give a shit if you eat windshield, or not...we just need to keep the cash flow up in order to pay the cops enough of a living wage that they're mostly-okay with having to risk their very lives going after the legitimate criminals." Frankly, I respect that kind of honesty.

What I don't respect is nanny-state molly-coddling of people with a self-destructive streak as wide as Rosie O'Donnell's ass. If it's not technically illegal to drink bleach, masturbate with a bungee cord around your throat, or bathe in kerosene and then light yourself on fire in the middle of a parking lot, why should it be illegal to drive 70 m.p.h. on the highway without bothering to lash yourself to your chair first? Darwin has a way of thinning the herd, and who am I to argue with natural selection?



Drive safe!