What the fucking fuck. You hit my car. Really hard. That’s a sizable dent, motherfucker, that’s a rear panel needing replacement. I can’t believe what a complete scumbag you are for taking zero responsibilty for your idiocy – whether it was driving drunk or just driving at all, which clearly might not really be for you anyway. That little car has given the world all it has ever been able to give, and it’s one of my few sizable possessions. I take pride in it even with its scam-shaped hole under the tail light. You have battered its wing and, with it, a little bit of my pride. And a lot of my general feelings about Others.
The least you could have done, since you obviously were completely unwilling to be held financially responsible for what you did, would be an apology. If you didn’t have a pen and paper, you should have written it on the windscreen in your own blood. Just because it’s in front of the Brotherhood doesn’t mean you can kick it around like you do the rest of the shit in their driveway. People who cannot own up to their own shit are the lowest motherfuckers on the planet.
Maybe you’re the same fuckwit who stole the table from our front stoop yesterday. If so, fuck you and your fucking entitlement. Hit-and-run. You goddamned coward.
If people like you are permitted to roam about the earth in your impractical white cars, then karma is dead. This drastically changes my outlook on the world, including my belief that street parking is just fine.
Fuck you and the white sedan you rode in on.