🔔 The Darwin Awards Have a Cathedral — Its Nave Is the East-West Arterial
By someone that doesn’t dare drive past sundown.
They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. On Grand Cayman, it’s paved with crumbling asphalt, expired inspections, and just enough government press releases to pretend something is being done.
If you’re looking for the spiritual center of Cayman’s nightly carnage, look no further than our very own Darwin Cathedral:
• Its presbytery is Shamrock Road — where a thousand near-misses bloom nightly between Prospect and Savannah.
• Its nave is the Easterly Tibbetts Highway — long, straight, and engineered for maximum kinetic idiocy.
• Its bell tower is Eastern Avenue — tolling in sirens, stretchers, and the soft flicker of vigil candles taped to poles.
Past sundown, we don’t drive anymore—we audition for an evolutionary exit.
This isn’t just a demolition derby. It’s a Darwin Awards battle royale, where the prize is posthumous fame in CNS comment sections, and the referees are either asleep or waiting for shift change.
Let’s be blunt: some of these collisions aren’t accidents. They’re accomplishments.
You have to override basic physics, reason, and self-preservation.
It takes dedication—or intoxication—to die at 2 a.m. in a Fit with its third VIN and a ghost history longer than its odometer.
And yet, we call this bad luck.
We say “it’s tragic.”
No.
What’s tragic is that it’s predictable.
And nothing is being done—at least, not by the people paid to do it.
Where is the enforcement?
Where are the inspection protocols that actually inspect?
Where are the consequences for the rolling coffins, the gutted Altezzas, the license-plate twins parked side-by-side like a punchline?
We banned old imports, then failed to repeal the ban.
We made speed limits advisory, and inspections discretionary.
Now we have an altar of impact sites, all lit by brake lights and bad judgment.
The island doesn’t need thoughts and prayers.
It needs action.
It needs shame.
It needs to revoke licenses AND the license equivalency deals with countries where a driver’s permit costs less than a tank of gas.
It needs adults behind the wheel—and in the legislature.
Until then, welcome to the Cathedral.
Services are held nightly.
And the bells toll only for the ones who still believe they’ll make it home.
To the speeders, rage merchants, and straight-pipe prophets:
If you want thrills at Mach 2, join the air force.
There is no golden throne waiting for you on a 100-mile loop of bad pavement.
Just a candle.
And a coroner.