I’m a reasonable person. I don’t ask for much in this godforsaken life. I get up every morning, put on a pair of pants I probably washed a week or two ago, funnel a cup of coffee and go about my day. My commute to the office/prison of my own making is 15-20 minutes, and not one minute longer. Don’t ruin that for me. If you want to hold a roster spot on my enemies list, make me wait a few seconds for you to get the fuck out of the way. When I’m behind the wheel, you people are ants. Do not stop moving. Go find some bread crumbs to drag home to your queen before I turn my windshield into a magnifying glass and focus my road rage on your stupid face with the white-hot fury of a thousand suns.
Case in point – this dude eating breakfast in the middle of the god damn street.
Let me be clear, guy. Once the stoplight turns green, I’m plowing through your table and those bacon and eggs are getting splattered on the asphalt from here to the corner gas station. The intersection’s gonna look like the end result of a Denny’s Grand Slam after a half hour stomach ache when I’m done with it. Period. If that were my only quarrel with this gentlemen, the blog would end there.
What I really have a problem with is the fact that this self-righteous asshole has the audacity to scarf down a full sit down breakfast in front of people who ate barely anything besides their own farts all morning. You know what I had for breakfast? Air. I swallowed the fucking air. I didn’t have time to pour out pancake batter because I was too busy dreading the rest of the day. The goal is to get through this shitshow as fast as humanly possible. I can’t be getting slowed down, swimming in viscous maple syrup and appetite-satisfying deliciousness. That’s what the weekends are for, when I can take my ass inside an IHOP and stack butter like a normal person without the constant threat of oncoming traffic turning me into a concrete dusted crepe.
I hate this guy. His jammies are fire, though.