I have this theory that hott chicks don’t commute. Before all the hot ladeez in the non-existent audience take umbrage, I respectfully suggest that you really understand what I am saying:

Hott chicks don’t commute.

They drive to work, yes; but commute? Listen I commute. I drive over an hour to work on four freeways, average a good -14mph in some areas, and have a crying baby in one ear and someone else blowing smoke in my face. (No, I don’t know where the baby or the smoker came from, I assume they’re a package deal). ADG, on the other hand, (a very hott chick) has to wrestle with clear backroads and happy motorists for maybe 20 minutes per week.

Further evidence: if given an hour plus on the freeway each morning and evening, a large portion of which you are actually driving in reverse, you have a lot of time to look around. If you don’t, you will, of course, go insane. After memorizing the license plate of the car predominantly in front of you (MH74PQY, Blue early-model Honda Accord), you tend to look around or play some games. My game at the moment? To carry a harmonica in the car and talk through it like the Cylon’s in Battlestar Galactica.

Voo va huck voo voo zink voo arrr…. vazzz-vole!

You think I’m kidding.

I’m not.

To continue: you have a lot of time to look around. Try this one next time you’re stuck in traffic: see how long you can stare at the person next to you before they eventually notice. When they glance over, keep staring. When they finally turn their heads and look back at you, suddenly shift your gaze. Another variant: keep staring. It’s family fun.
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To really continue: you have a lot of time to look around. In so doing, I have never ever seen any super hott chicks. Or, to be more specific, I have never seen any super hott chicks commuting. Ditching work to go to the beach, or in a car full of girls on the way to what could only be a lingerie pillow fight, or driving home from obviously partying all night at someone’s mansion, or even (like super hott ADG) driving the quick three blocks to work… those I’ve seen. But hott chicks with a glazed over, sad look, coffee in hand, talk radio on, and the weight of drudgery on their shoulders? No. Never. Guys I see. Unattractive she-males I see. But no hott chicks. Why? What is their secret? How do they do it? How can I do the same?
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All hott chicks, please e-mail me with your secrets to success.
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[EDITOR’S NOTE: The views expressed in this post do not preclude hott chicks from commuting. They instead mean that the author simply has yet to see any]