Dear Fuckless Wonder in the Parking Lot,
Driving around the HEB parking lot for 25 minutes looking for up close parking, hmmm? Are you perhaps, broken? Do you have a metric ton of childrens what needs herding into the store? Do you need to return 10 bags of wet QuickCrete?
No?
Then fucking park, already. I know that on the extra 10 feet into the store the wind may actually rufflie your shellacked in place bouffant hair-do, you cretinous gas-knobbling, Expedition-slut but, that’s the price we pay.
And slamming on your brakes because you just passed someone who is pulling up to their car with their bags of groceries also falls under ass-marmotry.
Die on Fire,
~Mare
~~~~~~~
Hi Universe. Its me, Mare. You know – one of your favorite entertainments? I gotta admire you for your diligence. Asshole.
I painstakingly arranged my schedule to make it to the OB/GYN at 9AM for my yearly prod & scrape. Sending my period at 5 AM in a gushing torrent of omg, someone killed a pig is Not. Funny..
Kiss my bleeding crotch, fucker.
The Process 
Well…I suppose it it nice to know that I am not the only one who has my ..er…colorful phrases for that. Bleeding like a stuck pig is a particular favorite.
I am sorry that the universe is conspiring against you but it sounds like you will get to come to dinner and get hugs and possibly chocolate.
Until then….*hugs*
Apologies on not coming out tonight. The gods with the rubber hammer of napping whapped me upside the head.
Rur?