Baaaaaaah

To the miserable cretin who opened his vehicle's door into my shiny new car, allow me to take this moment to extend both middle fingers in your direction.

Today concluded two days of motivational seminars in downtown Dallas. These no doubt scintilating and epiphany-inducing events drew hordes of people to the Dallas metropolitan area. While this was no doubt good for the city's economy, it was decidedly bad for those unfortunate enough to work downtown. The traffic choked streets and parking lots, including the one I usually pay $3 a day to park in during the week.

On my way to work today I passed hundreds of bleating conventiongoers, vapid smiles plastered on their enlightened faces. They were probably on their way back to the land of platitudes after a nice, bland lunch. After reluctantly paying the $10 event rate to park my car in my ordinary lot, I trudged into work, desperately hoping my day would improve.

Several hours later, I emerged to move my car to the company lot, where the powers that be so graciously let night employees park after 5 p.m. What should I find? Not one, but two conspicuous chips in my car's paint -- and no note accepting responsibility. Was an apology too much to expect, phucker? Did you not want to spoil your newfound positive energy? Did your life coach not give you the tools you needed to reach into your glove box, grab a pen and scrap of paper and admit what you'd done? At this moment, I loathe you, anonymous sheepman. May you be turked by a syphilitic bear, and may your progeny meet a similar fate.