That’s It! I’ve Had Enough!
WARNING: The following entry is intended for adult readers only. There strong language. I’m pissed off.
Soccer-moms, you can breath a sigh of relief. You’re off my list. So, who’s on it, you ask. Believe me, I’m going to tell you.
My blood pressure is a good 20 point higher as I write this than it was just an hour ago. Why? Because of three groups of F-heads and ass clowns I’m about to tell you about.
First up are the f-ing truckers who thing they own the whole damned highway. Get an f-ing life, assholes. The speed limit signs are meant for your asses, too. And, while we’re at it, a tractor with a 52-foot semi-trailer behind IS NOT a f-ing sports car. It does not stop on a dime. You can’t rip it through traffic like a Mini. And, no. You do not f-ing own the who road. The next one of you who has the nerve to come up behind me when I’m already doing 15 over the limit, get less than a car-length away, and flash your g-damned lights is going to learn first hand that it’s better to have your soul owned by the devil.
Second are you rice-boys, niggaz, sistas and wannabees running around in your stupid, re-chipped econo-boxes with the idiotic spoilers and resonator tips, or other various micro-penis-car you happen to think you hot shit in. Here’s your clue. Your and asshole and you look like one, too. Cars and highways are not the latest, greatest PlayStation/Nintendo/X-box game. This is a couple thousand pounds of real-deal your playing with, asshole. Grow up. The next one of you who tries to play cat-and-mouse with my little gray mouse of a stock Hyundai is very quickly going to see it get to be about 24 feet wide. Yeah, we’ll trade paint, f-head. F-you very much.
Finally, COPS. Yeah, public f-ing servants. You sit in your Crown Vics and whatever the big Chevy is now and watch the aformentions assholes try to kill us and themselves while you chomp on your g-damned Dunkin Donuts and slurp some sort of crappy coffee. Get of your ass. Do your f-ing job. You say you’re cracking down. On what? Jaywalkers? F— off. And next time you see my little car zip past you at 20 over the limit, don’t even think of trying to pull me over. Oh, never mind. You’ll be too busy getting your sugar buzz. Unless, of course, it’s a holiday weekend, or the end of the month and you haven’t made your f-ing quota.
F— all of you!
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Geren…………………check your blood pressure……….relax…take a deep breath…………..then shoot the mother f–kers.
Now I feel better
Geren, Read this open letter to Ricers.
I am right there with you my friend.
Motor on,
–Will
I tried making it into a link. Feel free to edit the above comment to make the link work and then get rid of this post.
http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/por/80077215.html
Gee, from the looks of that, traffic in Portland wouldn’t have been any better than here. I guess I’m really glad we didn’t move there when we almost had the chance.
BTW, Tom. I feel much better now. The act of writing the vent actually helped a lot, though I did get fired up again when I recounted the incidents to Donna when she got home from the store.
It’s days like this that I feel I really need to throw Geren into a booth on the range with a stack of toys that make a really big bang, and put some riceboy calendar pics on the target hangers.
What I really get a kick out of are the little stock Civic DX hatchback asshats with a 6″ exhaust tip who think they’re just the hottest shit around because they just got a new pair of shades. You know the little 1.6 liter buggers that barely turn a hundred horses, usually so ill-maintained they’re lucky they’re making 70-80? My freakin’ CR-V has more balls than these guys, and it must be really embarrassing when they have to tell their buddies that they got smoked by a grocery-getter.
Hmmm… nitrous and a re-chip on a 2.4 liter iVTEC in a completely unassuming cute ute…
Don’t even bother with the nitrous. Just re-chip it and run it on 93 octane. You can pick up an extra 10 horses easy. Keep the stock exhaust. No one will be the wiser.