Curses to hurl at fellow commuters, should the need arise (and it will)

20 Sep

May the debris on the shoulder riddle your impatient and self-important tires with dozens of slow leaks that result in a flat tire the Sunday morning of your upcoming cross-country vacation when no repair shops are open and your spare is nowhere to be found.

May you sit for many moons at the very end of the truncated lane about whose shortened length all the signs you did ignore.

I bite my thumb at you, [UNKIND EXPLETIVE]. A pox on your household.

May the plug for the blinker you never use malfunction and trigger your check engine light and a several-hundred dollar trip to the mechanic for their twenty minutes of labor.


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