Five reasons to honk your car horn, all of which are that you're a prick

THERE are many important reasons to sound your car horn, even if you’re in a quiet residential area, and all of them are linked to being an arsehole. These are the top five: 

Because you’re a prick and the car ahead is slow

The car immediately ahead of you is driving at the speed limit or, intolerably, up to 2mph slower. This may add seconds to your journey time. You are, therefore, fully justified in beeping your horn but only after checking in the mirror and seeing a total wanker staring back at you.

Because you’re a prick in traffic

A queue of cars stretches off into the distance. The road ahead on your in-built satnav in your company knobhead Audi is all red. Everyone around you is, clearly and indisputably, stuck in the same traffic and powerless to progress or change their situation. This is an ideal opportunity to lean on the horn and demonstrate what a twat you are.

Because you’re a prick in an unforeseen sitation

Ahead of you on a narrow street, a car has unexpectedly slowed to a halt with its hazard lights on. The driver has looked under the bonnet and now, with the help of passers-by, is pushing the car forward and out of the roadway. As a bellend, you must consider this to be a wilful and deliberate obstruction. Honk away.

Because you’re a prick to pedestrians

The horn isn’t just a signal to other motorist. If a pedestrian is on a zebra crossing – a section of highway you have paid road tax for and they haven’t, and which you stop at only as a courtesy – then a good few beeps will remind them of their lowly status, speed their crossing and leaving them in no doubt as to your status as a complete tool.

Because you’re a prick at night

It’s 2am, your street is quiet and all your neighbours are asleep, but you’ve still got a car horn and you’re still a prick. Beep beep!

The 18 most depressing situations to see someone wearing a Santa hat in

A SANTA hat teamed with hi-viz on a worker down the council recycling centre unaccountably fails to lift the spirit. As it does on these other occasions:

On a Big Issue seller you feel even more guilty for ignoring than usual

On a retail employee for whom this period is a hell where every key change of I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day is embossed upon her brain

On your grandfather in a care home who hated Christmas but no longer has the strength to fight

On your partner asleep in the front room after vomiting lavishly in the downstairs toilet, unable to explain where it came from or how he got home

On your child, crying with disappointment because this was all they got in the lucky dip at the Christmas Fayre which you subsidised to the tune of about £60

On somebody’s f**king Staffy straining at its lead to bite while the owner explains she’s never like this

In blue-and-white varieties on Man City and Everton fans for who the very existence of the colour red is a grievous insult inciting violence

On a grim-faced manager demanding extra work from everyone because there’s only a fortnight until end-of-year results

On a grim-faced manager at the North Pole demanding extra work from all his elves because there’s only a fortnight until Christmas Eve

On the staff at your work canteen dishing up dry turkey and bullet sprouts for the mandatory Christmas lunch

On a hammered bloke down the pub clearly up for a fight in the car park

On a barmaid serving the far-too-pissed, clearly counting the minutes until her shift ends

On a scowling girl on a night out with her friends who has had the hat removed by drunk blokes as an overture to romantic advances once too f**king often

On your own reflection in the mirror as you try to sober up, wishing the pisshead colleagues you’re with would agree to a taxi home

On the bloke you’ve just kissed in a desperate attempt to stop him droning on in the pub

On the bloke you’ve just snogged outside the club when you realise how ropey he looks

On your bedroom floor when you wake up wondering who the f**k this guy who stinks of gin snoring next to you is

On Instagram, where your fumbles with the bloke have been thoroughly documented by your  colleagues who apparently weren’t as pissed as you thought