To the Asshole that Peed on My Car

I was headed to the fridge for a little late night snack when I walked past my window and saw you relieving yourself on my vehicle last night. You and you’re friends thought it was pretty funny.

Let me be the first to tell you that my turn-of-the-century Pontiac Grand Prix has a bad ass voodoo hex on it. Soon all your luck will turn for the worst. Your girlfriend will breakup with you, dumping your ass for somebody that doesn’t piss on cars, making you homeless in the process. You’ll start taking pills and drinking too much. You’ll lose your job and all your friends. You’ll be all alone in a very big and very terrifying world. You’ll eventually stab yourself in the eye with a shard of a bottle of Baby Duck and bleed to death underneath a dumpster. But not before you shrink to the size of a chronically ill cancer patient. Other homeless people and passing college kids will relieve themselves on you like you relieved yourself on my automobile.

You can look forward to a brief existence full of disappointment, shame and anguish.

Sincerely,

Fergis T. McGillicuddy

PS: It was actually me that peed on the Grand Prix…I’m really sorry. Please don’t curse me.

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