I’m in the drive through line at a fast food restaurant last night hungrily anticipating my bucket of chicken when a white F-350 comes roaring through the parking lot, screeching to a halt 10 feet away from me. Out stumbles a fat, middle aged, white-haired, surly looking Neanderthal of a man in khaki shorts and threadbare collared shirt who slowly ambles toward the front door with a vacant expression on his face.

Pay no attention to the fact that you took up 3 of the lot’s 6 parking spots with your gas-guzzling beast, you lazy thoughtless turd. I’m sure the handicapped person who might have needed that spot won’t mind parking in the lot across the damned street. Just a thought—less KFC in your diet might mean less belly for you to have to cart around in your penis-compensating ride. Seriously start considering salads you fat bastard.