Monday, May 22, 2006
I had been planning a big post, updating my current situation on a number of fronts (my bum leg, my job, my recurrent yearning to make another film), but all that has been pushed out of my mind by the fact that, while I was in Canada this weekend, our van was broken into.
I will grant, we have been pretty lackadaisical about locking the doors; the driver's side lock won't accept the key, so most of the time we skip it. But this means that some little shit (or shits) from the subdivision where Shellswicks family lives were just going around saturday night, trying car doors and grabbing whatever was in easy reach.
There are a number of names for someone like that; I'll stick with little shits, and I'll offer this helpful message: If robbing cars is what you do for fun on a saturday night, then you are a complete waste of space in this world, and the world will be vastly improved on the day that you die in an alley of an incurable venereal disease that you will contract by sucking off a diseased rottweiler for meth money, you little fuck.
Relax, I'm not gonna turn into some rabid, ship-em-all-to-gitmo gun fetishist. I'm still your unrepentant, soft-on-crime, blame-the-victim liberal. I'm just telling this little cuntsmear something he needs to hear.
So here's the tally: they got my MP3-CD player, the one Mowrer got me for my birthday. They got Shelly's MP3 player, which is just the right amount of music for the trip between Seattle and Vancouver. They got my brown leather coat, which had in the pockets my cellphone, my keycard from work, and my SOG, the multitool Shellswick got me for christmas, and has practically replaced the penis as the most useful accessory a man can own.
They also got the CD that was in the player, an audio care package I had burned for Shellswick less than two days before, with both Mitch Hedburg albums, a couple of Bill Hicks, and the George W Bush Singers. I can't imagine a little ass-eater like that would be too into Bill Hicks.
The good news is, I can buy a new phone and keep the same account. The bad news is, since the phone didn't include roaming in Canada, I can't call the little shitstreak and fuck with his mind, telling him I'm going to drag him into a bomb shelter and cornhole him with an AK-47.
Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen
I will grant, we have been pretty lackadaisical about locking the doors; the driver's side lock won't accept the key, so most of the time we skip it. But this means that some little shit (or shits) from the subdivision where Shellswicks family lives were just going around saturday night, trying car doors and grabbing whatever was in easy reach.
There are a number of names for someone like that; I'll stick with little shits, and I'll offer this helpful message: If robbing cars is what you do for fun on a saturday night, then you are a complete waste of space in this world, and the world will be vastly improved on the day that you die in an alley of an incurable venereal disease that you will contract by sucking off a diseased rottweiler for meth money, you little fuck.
Relax, I'm not gonna turn into some rabid, ship-em-all-to-gitmo gun fetishist. I'm still your unrepentant, soft-on-crime, blame-the-victim liberal. I'm just telling this little cuntsmear something he needs to hear.
So here's the tally: they got my MP3-CD player, the one Mowrer got me for my birthday. They got Shelly's MP3 player, which is just the right amount of music for the trip between Seattle and Vancouver. They got my brown leather coat, which had in the pockets my cellphone, my keycard from work, and my SOG, the multitool Shellswick got me for christmas, and has practically replaced the penis as the most useful accessory a man can own.
They also got the CD that was in the player, an audio care package I had burned for Shellswick less than two days before, with both Mitch Hedburg albums, a couple of Bill Hicks, and the George W Bush Singers. I can't imagine a little ass-eater like that would be too into Bill Hicks.
The good news is, I can buy a new phone and keep the same account. The bad news is, since the phone didn't include roaming in Canada, I can't call the little shitstreak and fuck with his mind, telling him I'm going to drag him into a bomb shelter and cornhole him with an AK-47.
Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen
