When Dirt and I want to make fun of Metamuville geriatrics, which is often, we invoke our best Gabby Hayes voice and cackle "They wuz goin' a HUNNERD MILES AN HOUR!" Why? Because that's how they describe every driver who maintains the speed limit. Never 70. Never 110. 100, every single time.
Today I legally passed just such a coot. He was doing 42 in a 50. Importantly, it used to be a 55 mph road, but after the geriatrics killed three people in a year, they decided to force the county to lower the limit. So they organized as only Old White Farts with Overdeveloped Senses of Entitlement (OWFOSEs) can, and now instead of driving 42 in a 55, they drive 42 in a 50.
A few minutes later, I stopped at the Metamuville store. And for the third time in my life, a Metamuville OWFOSE saw fit to chase me down and chew me out.
"You wuz goin' a HUNNERD MILES AN HOUR!" he concluded.
"A hundred miles an hour. In a Prius. Uphill," I responded.
"I don't care WHERE you wuz goin."
Touche.