Saturday, May 14, 2005
Pretty-boy in the Grey VW Bug with Tinted Windows
The light was red. I saw you across the street, creeping up on the left turn lane, making sure to go as slowly as possible so that you would hang back from the line, thus triggering the left-turn arrow.
It was 12:30 in the fucking morning. I'm sure you were in such a hurry you had to screw me like that, didn't you?
There's just one word appropriate for you, one epithet. It's one I don't use very often. It's a word my wife learned from her fellow meteorology students, back when I first met her. I remember thinking, upon first hearing it, "That doesn't make any sense." It means . . . almost nothing. It's foolish, really. But there are instances -- rare, undeserved happenings -- in which an individual such as yourself earns this curse, this title.
You're a cockmouth. That's what you are. There's no denying it. You're a fucking cockmouth for cutting off me and the rest of the end-of-second-shift traffic at 12:30 in the morning because you and your special little car just had to beat us all, didn't you? Didn't you?
Cockmouth.
It was 12:30 in the fucking morning. I'm sure you were in such a hurry you had to screw me like that, didn't you?
There's just one word appropriate for you, one epithet. It's one I don't use very often. It's a word my wife learned from her fellow meteorology students, back when I first met her. I remember thinking, upon first hearing it, "That doesn't make any sense." It means . . . almost nothing. It's foolish, really. But there are instances -- rare, undeserved happenings -- in which an individual such as yourself earns this curse, this title.
You're a cockmouth. That's what you are. There's no denying it. You're a fucking cockmouth for cutting off me and the rest of the end-of-second-shift traffic at 12:30 in the morning because you and your special little car just had to beat us all, didn't you? Didn't you?
Cockmouth.
