odd time signatures

Dear lead-footed, testosterone-drunk SUV Driver

Warning: What follows will not be safe for work or little kids. Just sayin’

Dear asshole who just rolled down a private street no wider than an alley at 25 miles an hour, completely oblivious to me and my dog…

Fuck you.

Yes, YOU. The guy in the SUV so busy texting while you were driving that you didn’t notice that you were moving at breakneck pace through a PRIVATE STREET where CHILDREN PLAY.

You. Evidently you’ve never had the unique heartbreak of seeing your child knocked flat in that very same goddamn street bleeding and bruised because another idiot just like you was so concerned with his own deal that he didn’t bother to see little kids crossing the street.

In a crosswalk, I might add, just like I was tonight.

Asshole, you missed me and my pug by about a hair. Even if you had noticed us, you wouldn’t have been able to stop in time because you were too fucking busy with your little text conversation or whatever to see that there were people who had been in the crosswalk longer than you had been on the street, since you wheeled around the corner like you were on the Indianapolis racetrack. If I hadn’t pulled back the dog, tossed my own phone in the process, and lunged, she’d have been dead and I’d have been injured.

The thing is, I’ve actually stopped you in the street and TOLD YOU OVER AND OVER TO SLOW THE FUCK DOWN. This is not the first time; it’s just the closest.

I would publish your address but I don’t believe in stuff like that, because I’m not quite as big an asshole as you are. But I swear to God, the next time you put my life, the life of my dog, or any CHILD’s life at risk again with your idiocy, I will not only publish your address, I will publish your name, your license plate and your fucking cell phone number if I get hold of it.

Do you get it yet? If not, come on over and let me educate you in person. I can even show you the photos of what it looks like to have that cute teenage girl run completely over at the ripe old age of five and 12 days after a van rolls over her front to back. Yeah, that’s right, we’re the house on the corner down from you, with the crazy pug and the PTSD-ridden woman who shrieks at you to slow down about six times a day.

Please, learn it this time, so someone isn’t killed because you are the biggest selfish prick I’ve ever seen. Either that, or plan to pay for a lifetime supply of Xanax to calm my constantly jangled nerves from your lunacy.


(This happened in Lakeside Village, Camarillo, East side of the lake, just in case anyone happens to fall on this post via Google.)