Liquid Pretension

If I could find a way to concentrate pretension, bottle it, and market it with a clever slogan, I'd be a fucking billionaire. No, I don't think "billion" quite covers it. Multi-billion seems a bit noncommittal, and trillion seems like I'm reaching a bit. Fuck it.

I spent some time constructing a nice bullet list of general people I want to say "fuck you" to, but things got a bit unwieldy. Seems I've lost what little patience I had with most groups. The list of particular people is hindered by a lack of names. I don't know who these people are, only how they appear to an outside observer.

One specific "fuck you," though: To the couple who was draped across my car Thursday in a rather enthusiastic session of... "heavy petting:" An equally enthusiastic "Fuck both of you!" You're in a rather remote section of the parking lot, so it is not unreasonable to assume you arrived in your own vehicle. Prop yourself up on that vehicle. Likely the one parked next to me. Leave my car out of it. And throwing me the evil eye when I ask you to get off my car? Did you not see how I blocked out the sun itself? I could crush you both without a thought. I think this is different than waving a walking stick at whipper-snappers running across my lawn. This is directing my rage at adults who ought to have a modicum of sense.

This incident capped what had been a gradual building of vitriol and spite that increased in pressure until it had to be released somehow. I hope that this is akin to volcanic activity, and I will be dormant for a month or two before some particular asshattery prompts me to find a tall building and a high-powered rifle.