No, seriously. Fuck you.
Fuck you and the cheap beer you had been drinking, fuck the cheap ass nasty weed you were smoking. I could smell that shit as you rolled past me, hee-hawing like a pack of braying jackasses, only louder and not as useful. Fuck whoever decided to light those bottle rockets and let fly at me, fuck you hard and straight to hell.
Fuck your miserable useless lives, and that pathetic excuse for a car. Fuck you for making my evening bad.
Fuck you for triggering a flashback. PTSD sucks motherfuckers, and I hope to ghods you all die screaming and in pain and that no useful, decent person gets hurt in your flaming departure from this earth.
If I had not been reliving some bad experiences, I might have been able to get your license plate number and call the cops. As it is, I know to be alert for you assholes and if I see/smell your reeking foul asses again, I will call first and report you for assult, posession, and DUI.
No goddamn love at all you useless cretins,
To the assholes in the white rustbucket camaro on Sherman Ave. who thougth it would be funny to toss firecrackers at me as I rode my bike home from work: