To the timing of would-be car thieves...

The BBQ Pit
1

So I’m sitting in my apartment this fine holiday season, without a car, because it’s sitting in a dealership repair shop with a broken window (small triangular one), not to mention a large scratch on one of the windows, broken window subseal, metal run channel sash, and run channel, and I ask myself: were these people vandals, amateurs, or just plain stupid? If they were trying to steal my car, they did a piss-poor job of it, especially in the whole shattering of a window that didn’t offer easy access to the door locks. If they were trying to take something, well, joke’s on you: I had nothing of value inside! (I forgot to check the trunk, but I have reason to believe that they never got in in the first place). If they were random vandals, well, that sorta speaks for itself, no?

And I muse on the timing. This being the holiday season, of course, it’s going to take longer for the repair shop to get parts, for the insurance company to send a claims adjuster… My uncle and aunt, who are gracious enough to help me out once Christmas Day hits, surely appreciate the extra effort they’re undergoing on what’s really the vandals’ behalf.

Do not think I am afraid of profanity. I am not. But right now, I am so angry that any attempt at spewing foul language would be a Yosemite Sam-ian string of “fricks” and “rassa-frassas.” In the paraphrased words of Al Sharpton (ie Tracy Morgan), I’m so angry, I’m starting to make words up.

Someone else do it for me, please. I’d much appreciate it. Thanks in advance.

(Beep and boop-boop!)

2

You must have one of them drive-in apartments, if you routinely sit inside it with your car.

Other than that: shit, feck, arse. And good luck on the hopefully speedy repairs.

3

Ahhh, the wonderful world of car and car radio thieves… Nothing like going out to the car in the morning and suddenly realizing your back window doesn’t normally look like that, and there’s a big hole in the dash where your radio used to be.

Oh, and you’ll find little pieces of glass wedged in unlikely places for the next few years you own the car.

4

Ah, reminds me of the time an old girlfriend of mine had her car broken into; someone shattered the window and (apparently in an attempt to steal it) drilled some spiky looking bit into the ignition keyhole. It broke off, they fled, and a very nice police officer spent half an hour wiggling the bit out of the ignition, wiggling the key in, and wiggling the key until it turned. Still had to replace all that stuff, though.

So, in the name of all car break-in victims everywhere, to the car breakers:

Fuck you. You are more than the scum of the Earth, you are the ring of shit surrounding the unwiped, unwashed, hairy anus of the universe. You are stinking residue, clinging so tightly to the hairs of the cosmic asshole that you couldn’t be worked loose with a crowbar the size of Andromeda and a blowtorch as hot as Sirius.

Yet it is not sufficient for you that you hang on to that mighty asscrack with such tenacity – no! You are parasites on it, as well. A weighty and mind-boggling puzzle it is, that shit should consume resources, but there you are. You suck on the aeonic rectum as though it were the teat of the gods, and not the orifice that excreted you, as if you were its children and not its refuse.

It is only appropriate though, that your food should be the digested, polluted, and excreted waste that is your kin. Were you human, with assholes of your own, you would be licking them for nourishment, gnawing at your butthairs with your teeth so that these fecal morsels could be freed, only to be vacuumed down your agnathoid gullet.

Oh yeah, and your mothers dress you funny.

Howzat?