I know those lines that mark the spaces dictating the separation of cars seem rather similar to the cocaine lines you love to snort, but I assure you they're there for a freakin' reason.
You stupid son of a bitch, did you not learn how to park in Driver's Ed?
Oh wait, I forgot, the system in which the East Coast learns to drive parallels the budgetary ability of California.
I hope you enjoy that love letter on your window. But you're probably too stupid to realize my tactful manner of making fun of you since your highest level of education was probably Recess.
But next time, know your large ass Buick isn't a f***in' "compact" car. Or next time my real compact car will be shoved so far up your ass that you'll be blowing chunks of Oregon license plate out your ears.
And you're the same kind of person that should be sterilized to prevent procreation. We need less of you people in the world. More people with f***in' common sense. But alas, common sense isn't so common. Unfortunately we're back to square one.
You're lucky I drink to relieve my stress. Otherwise you'd have bash marks into your passenger side door. And your spark plugs removed. And I'd shove a dead baby in your tail pipe. And find a guy to piss on your tires. And I hope you hit a median tonight and flip your car.
So you're welcome for my not leaving a blazingly irate letter on your window.
Next time, I will.
Best of luck you piece of shit...
Sincerely,
Someone-who's-had-a-very-rough-day-and-is-now-enjoying-a-well-deserved-vodka-tonic-while-watching-Constantine-and-wook-carve-pumpkins
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