suppose the metaphor ran in the other direction. suppose the highways were like the net...
a highway hundreds of lanes wide. most with pitfalls for potholes. privately operated bridges and overpasses. no highway patrol. a couple of rent-a-cops on bicycles with broken whistles. 500 member vigilante posses with nuclear weapons. a minimum of 237 on ramps at every intersection.
no signs. wanna get to dubbo? holler out the window at a passing truck to ask directions. ad hoc traffic laws. some lanes would vote to make use by a single occupant vehicle a capital offence on monday through friday between 7:00 and 9:00. other lanes would just shoot you without a trial for talking on a car phone.
aol would be a giant bus spewing diesel fumes with hundreds of ebola victims on board throwing dead wombats and rotten cabbage at the other cars, most of which have been assembled at home from kits. some are built around 2.5 horsepower lawnmower engines with a top speed of 9 miles an hour. others burn nitroglycerine and idle at 120.
no license plates, ww2 bomber nose art instead. terrifying paintings of huge teeth or vampire eagles. bumper mounted machine guns. flip somebody the finger on this highway and get a white phosphorus grenade up your tailpipe. flatbed trucks cruise around with anti-aircraft missile batteries to shoot down the traffic helicopter. little kids on tricycles with squirt guns filled with hydrochloric acid switch lanes without warning.
no off ramps. none.