Features

I can take four years of an socialist administration squandering my hard-earned dough on stupidities like health care and payouts for old and sick people. I can take a massive bailout of businesses too stupid and lazy to run their businesses efficiently. I can even take a morally bankrupt culture that prides itself on its rampant pornography and psychopathic video games. But the one thing I refuse to choke down is how you, personally go out of your way to piss me off each and every day. You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?

I'm driving to work yesterday, for example, and there was a cold, freezing rain. We were going up a hill, as I recall, and for no reason at all you suddenly decided to ride your brakes like a recent rectal surgery patient on his way to a colonoscopy. Why, for the love of God, did you do that? Crawling at 4 Mph -- yes, I clocked it! -- we slowly went up the hill, my back tires spinning wildly to maintain forward movement, while the 18 wheel semi-truck behind me (a Fed-Fucking-Ex van on top of it!) rode my ass like a debutante on her first Minnesota Vikings cruise. You damn near killed us both, you idiot. What the fuck were you thinking?

You damn near killed us both, you idiot. What the fuck were you thinking?Now imagine my fury when I got to work and saw you parked sideways in front of a snowbank, because you couldn't be troubled to drive the extra 500 feet to find an actual parking spot. You left a whopping 7 feet clearance on your left side, too, for my Suburban to eek past, you putz. In retrospect, it would've been worth the paint job just to scrape your white Buick from bumper to bumper with nice, hard-to-buff black enamel tracks about ten or twelve times, you fucking moron. I should've at least broken your mirror or pissed on your hood, jackass.

It may astonish you to learn that you, in fact, aren't alone in the world. This isn't the fucking Matrix, dickhead: other people really do exist! How about you pull your drooling, fat fucking face out of your breakfast burrito and fucking cellphone long enough to glance around at the world surrounding you. We don't find your antics "cute." Mostly, you make us want to wrap a tail pipe around your throat and choke you until a substance resembling guacamole runs out of your fucking ears, dickweed.

Speaking of guacamole, what the fuck was your problem at the grocery store last Tuesday, while we're on the subject? Did you have to run up a $345 bill, pay with a bad third-party check drawn from a bank in Iran, leave your driver's license with the last crack whore you banged on the way in, and then make sure your crying two-year-old screamed like a banchee in my ear for the 38 minutes it took you to sort it out?? Did you? Here's a hint, Gilligan: Visa. It's everywhere you want to be, trust me. All you need to do is stop moving for a few seconds and some fuckwad bank or other will give you one. Use it. Quickly. And then get the fuck out of my way!

You're a real asshole, you know that?