Some human males look at the automobile and view it as an expression of their manliness; loud, obnoxious, foul-smelling, and the perfect vehicle to attract human females.
These human males are known as “boy racers” and they like to drive and do other annoying things like spitting in the street.
For human females, this can be useful if they want to get from A-B at an expedient and highly dangerous rate of knots. But what if that’s not for you?
The Romantic World of Boy Racers
Dear agony aunt. My name is Henrietta, I'm 18, and I have a problem with boy racers. I'm at college studying psychology, art, and media studies for my A levels. The boys at college are nice enough but most of them are boy racers and like doing things like: - Sitting in their car revving the engine - Doing handbrake turns - Doing that thing where they screech their tyres - Littering from within their car - Losing control and writing off their vehicle One of them, Kevin, I quite like. He was busy doing handbrake turns in the car park trying to impress me. He lost control, went into a ditch, and ended upside down. The fire brigade had to come and rescue him. While he was being wheeled off to the ambulance he yelled out at me, "Henrietta! WILL YOU MARRY ME!?" I could have been all like, "No, I want a guy who can do handbrake turns without ending up in a ditch." Instead, I dropped him a message on his TikTok account telling him he's an idiot and to stay away from me. In the weeks after the Kevin incident, though, loads more boy racers began trying it on with me. One of them, Bobby, said he was "hitting on me"... by hitting me! Like, he drove his car into me! I was knocked off my feet into the air and sprained my ankle. He just sat in the car guffawing at me and went, "Ahahaha! Give me your number, babe!" I gave him the evils, that's what I gave him. A more menacing stare I've never given before! But he just went, "Give me your Snapchat, babe!" So I gave him my Snapchat details. Within 30 minutes he'd sent me 12 dick pics and I blocked him. The boy racers kept on lining up to hit on me. This is how it's played out: - Ryan drove over my foot and threw litter from his car while yelling "Fitty!" at me. He lost control and careered off into someone's garden. The last I saw of him was when he was confronted by the angry bloke coming of of the house yelling, "What the bloody 'ell do you think your doin'?!" - Oliver kept driving past me as fast as possible while yelling out of the window about how fast he was going. "Babe, I'm doing fifty!" He was soon stopped by the police and arrested. - Kurt spent a fortune pimping up his car, including a horn that blasted out Ed Sheeran's song Perfect. He'd pull up next to me, do his best smouldering expression, flick his hair back, and ask me out. I agreed to a date with Kurt, but he took me to KFC and called me a "stupid bitch" when I said I prefer McDonald's. I didn't agree to a second date. The final straw was when one of my teachers, Mr. Wensleydale (who's, like, 40 or something) from art class, started tearing past me in the mornings at 110mph and flipping the middle finger at me when going past. He'd then get out of the car and wait at the top of the road for me to walk up, leaning on the car while chewing on a matchstick and wearing shades. He'd wait for me to walk past then go, "Give me your number, babe!" I reported him to the college principal and Mr. Wensleydale was sacked, but it's like flies around a cow pat. You get rid of one boy racer, but there's 1,000 more ready and waiting to pile in! Just this week another dozen boy racers have been hitting on me! One, Paul, ram raided an off licence to impress me. He gave me a two-litre bottle of cheap cider and a pint of Drambuie, all with this massive gash down his forehead and blood everywhere because he'd smashed through the main entrance windowpane. I agreed to date him just because, like, he'd almost killed himself for it. But before the date he sent me 17 dick pics and so I called it off. What's wrong with these boy racers!? I just want a normal guy who doesn't endanger society to be interested in me. Where are they all!? Thanks, Henrietta
Hi, Henrietta. Think of the human male as you would a peacock. They want to strut about the place and impress members of the opposite sex.
Unfortunately for human males, they lack the flamboyant plumage of a peacock.
Instead, they need to rely on external resources to make themselves appear more physically attractive. And many of them think a petrol spewing, fast moving, loud automobile is the perfect solution to such a quandary. Others also turn to wearing a pink shirt.
We can’t really think of a proper solution to your woes, so we have an experimental concept for you to try out.
Hazmat suits. Get several of these and wear them wherever you go.
That way, the boy racers won’t be able to identify you and also won’t find you attractive anymore. They’ll also presume you’re radioactive, dangerous, and will be keen to keep their distance.
Granted, this isn’t a permanent solution. But it is a solution and we don’t see you coming up with a better idea, huh!? So! Hazmat suit it is until you’re 90+ and then boy racers won’t bother you anymore.