$500 Parking Spot - or - Away I Say Thou Yeasty Swag-Bellied Foot-Licker

When I got home the other night from some much needed excess and relaxation, I thought that I would have to move my car as it was parked on a major street. Parking in my neighborhood is never easy to find and vexes me quite often, except for this night. Much to my surprise, I was legally parked in one of those unbelievably hard to come by and highly coveted, totally free parking spots. It was well lit, in a good neighborhood, across the street from the green house in which I work, in front of well lit fountain dedicated to a surprisingly manly woman named “Peaches”, and all in all a conveniently located and more over an exceedingly legal parking spot. I remember commenting to myself, “isn’t it great that there are still these free parking spots her and there around my neighborhood? It makes my life so much easier, and simultaneously decreases the level of world-suck by ensuring that I won’t get some bullshit $50 parking ticket, which in turn frees up my capital to invest in wind power generators, or solar panel technology, or environmental protection lobbyist, or beers, and as a result make the world a better place for everyone forever, or just me for an hour or so until my twitch comes back."

Regardless.

The next day I went to lunch. I had to deposit a pay check during my half hour lunch break so I phoned in an order at my new favorite deli, piatto pronto while walking out to my car. When I was about 15 feet away, I stopped dead in my tracks. This is why.









Someone in my quickly gentrifying neighborhood practiced an act of random aggression against my car, my new car, the one I just got in October for thousands of dollars that I don’t have. Someone ran a lap around my car, in a well-lit area, on a constantly busy street, scrapping a key against my paint job. Deep. I don’t think that I’ve pissed anyone off this badly, ever. I think it’s a pointless and random act of vandalism against my paint job. Now, I am not a materialistic person, and I try to avoid connecting happiness with inanimate objects but I choose to buy this car and I really like it and I don’t want a scratch circling the entirety of it, reminding me every time I go to my car that some impressively insignificant heap of human bullshit thought that it would be fun to scratch up my paint job. So now I have to shell out the $500 insurance deductible so that it can get repainted. The entire car must be repainted, except for the roof. Yes, every single piece of metal on my car was scratched up by this rancorous douche-ass. My last vehicle was a pick-up truck. I miss that truck. The more dings, scratches, mud, rust, and holes on it, the better it looked. That is not true with the scion. So I have decided to do the noble thing and insult my car’s aggressor with the finest of Shakespearian insults.

To the loathed issue of thy father's loins;

In civility thou seem'st so empty. In fact, thou art i' th' worst rank of manhood. For your offence, thou shall stand in fire up to the navel and in ice up to th'heart, and there th'offending part burns and the deceiving part freezes, thou bootless sheep-biting scut! Bathe Thyself, thou villainous half-faced ruttish flap-mouthed coxcomb! Thou frothy pox-marked nut hook. Thou art a dull and muddy-mettled rascal. Thou art a fishmonger. Would the fountain of your mind were clear again, that I might water an ass at it. May the worms of conscience still begnaw thy soul.

Forever yours,
Obsquatch