I am literally going to run over pedestrians from now on. Literally.

To the boob crossing the street yesterday who looked like he'd stepped out of a 1970s Lacoste ad:

I wasn't trying to run you, your mother or your fat wife over. I swear. In case your 6-inches-thick glasses were not up to par, you should be aware that I was more than 15 feet away from the pedestrian crossing you were about cross over.

Also, why don't you alert your rotund life partner that normally, it's not necessary to step out into oncoming traffic and put your hand up dramatically while mouthing the word "STOP". I know she's used to doing it for kids coming out of school, and I'm sure that one job that she's had her whole life comes with a lot of authority and respect. But, outside of school hours, that's really not needed and probably dangerous.

I saw you. All three of you. How couldn't I? And I stopped for you. For ages. When I flailed my hands in the air, it was out of sheer frustration at 1) the fact your wife kept mouthing "STOP" and 2) the amount of time it took you all to haul your asses from one side of the road to the other.

So, thanks you big f-ing douchebag, for flipping me off in the middle of the street...FOR ALLOWING YOU TO FUCKING CROSS.

I loved how you put your whole body weight into it, so much so that you nearly tripped. Awesome.

Please try and understand that it's not my problem if you and your overly large family don't know how to put one foot in front of the other.

Also, to the prick who left an open tin of cat food in the back of my car last night. Thanks very much for spilling it so decoratively across the rear mat. Congealed chicken in gravy smells wonderful after it's been cooking in the sun for five hours.