Traffic School - He Deleted His Headlights To Feed His Turbo - 09/11/2026

Traffic School returns with Lieutenant Crain, although apparently the relationship between the hosts has deteriorated to the point where one person doesn’t even remember the other is supposed to be coming in, and the other arrives slightly late just to prove a point. The show immediately spirals into a discussion about a man in San Francisco who tried to punch a guy walking his dog, only to discover that the alleged victim was a former Marine and martial arts instructor, leading to the timeless public-safety lesson that you should probably investigate the character sheet of the human being you are about to fight before initiating combat. From there, the conversation somehow mutates into cowboy fashion, fake Yellowstone cowboys, real cowboys, farm clothing, tennis shoes protecting cowboy boots, and Lieutenant Crane revealing that his wife once announced she hated cowboys shortly before discovering that the man she was dating was, in fact, extremely cowboy. Marriage: where your own opinions eventually become evidence against you.

Then it is officially Traffic School time, powered by The Advocates Injury Attorneys, and the first major legal crisis arrives in the form of a windshield that has apparently been defeated by a construction-zone leaf blower. A caller traveling through the Highway 20 construction between St. Anthony and Rexburg says workers were using giant blowing machines to clear debris when a rock allegedly launched itself toward his vehicle and damaged his windshield. The question: can he sue Knife River? Lieutenant Crain explains that while someone can file a lawsuit or claim, actually proving responsibility is the difficult part. Was the rock directly blasted into the vehicle? Did another vehicle kick it up? Was it simply a road hazard? Was the leaf blower secretly a military-grade rock artillery system? Nobody knows. The caller does not have a dash cam, which is immediately identified as an unfortunate absence of evidence. The windshield damage is reportedly going to cost hundreds of dollars, creating a deeply American courtroom fantasy in which everyone briefly considers litigating over a rock launched by what may or may not have been the world's angriest leaf blower.

The windshield discussion then somehow becomes a commercial for windshield repair, a scientific investigation into whether Viktor's enormous leaf blower could launch rocks, and an opportunity to discuss the miserable reality of Idaho driving: even after getting a windshield replaced, you can apparently get another crack almost immediately because Idaho roads have apparently declared war on glass. Another caller later adds an important wrinkle, explaining that road contractors may have provisions in their contracts or insurance arrangements for windshield claims. Lieutenant Crain recalls a previous Highway 26 construction project where road material caused numerous windshield breakages and the contractor's insurance ultimately covered the damage because there was substantial evidence that the construction itself was responsible. The practical takeaway becomes significantly less entertaining but much more useful: document what happened, contact the contractor, contact your insurance company if appropriate, and perhaps begin with a polite conversation instead of accusing a road worker of reenacting the Williams sisters with industrial landscaping equipment.

The show then veers violently into vehicle-modification territory when a caller asks about something called a “headlight delete,” because apparently there are people who intentionally remove headlights from their vehicles and use the opening as an air intake for a turbocharger. Lieutenant Crane confirms that if a vehicle was manufactured with two headlights, both are required to be working, while motorcycles and certain other vehicles can have different requirements. This produces one of the most magnificent sequences of the episode, as everyone attempts to understand why anyone would remove a perfectly functional headlight to feed air to a turbo when the front of a vehicle already contains approximately seventeen million places where air can enter. Hood scoops are invoked. Grills are questioned. Windshields are briefly declared unnecessary. The concept of simply removing the windshield is floated as an aerodynamic alternative, despite the obvious problem of receiving a rock directly to the face. The caller then casually reveals that a large percentage of his automotive activities are misdemeanors, with perhaps two percent reaching felony territory, inspiring the proposed fashion statement: a jacket identifying him as a “98%er, 2% felony.”

Then comes Chester's legendary traffic Bermuda Triangle. The discussion turns toward dangerous passing on Highway 20, impatient drivers attempting to overtake other vehicles even when a four-lane section is approaching, and the maddening phenomenon of passing someone aggressively only to arrive at the same stoplight in Ashton immediately afterward. Lieutenant Crain and the callers discuss traffic congestion, road improvements, Idaho Transportation Department planning, environmental studies, future roadway projects, and the eternal human struggle to convince drivers that waiting behind another vehicle for a little while is preferable to attempting to turn a perfectly ordinary commute into an audition for a disaster documentary. The caller wants to know how to make people more aware of upcoming passing lanes, while Viktor eventually proposes the only traffic-safety solution that has apparently survived eighteen years of research: tell people to stop being stupid.

And then the show achieves its final form. A potential public-service announcement is invented on the spot: “Don’t be stupid,” allegedly courtesy of the Idaho State Police. The segment closes with the realization that the entire episode somehow disappeared in an instant, despite beginning with uncertainty over whether Lieutenant Crain was even expected to show up. Between windshield artillery, illegal license-plate covers, headlight removal, cowboy marriage traps, military-base security, radio contest callers, suspiciously dedicated workplace avoidance, and a proposed PSA consisting almost entirely of one sentence, this edition of Traffic School manages to answer actual driving-law questions while simultaneously making it sound like everyone involved should probably be supervised around heavy machinery.