"Hi there. I don't know you, in fact I know nothing about you other than the fact that you ride a motorcycle, which somehow offends my delicate flower sensibilities. Instead of merrily going about my life, I thought I would tell you about my second cousin's next door neighbor, who in 1979, lost his left leg and right testicle in a bloody motorcycle crash that left him able to speak only in Three Dog Night song lyrics for 32 years and blind in his right eye."
Seriously? How about this one:
"I used to ride, but one day I grabbed the front brake and went over the handlebars, knocked out all my teeth. My wife wouldn't let me ride after that because she got sick of having to put my dinner in the blender."
"My grandson died riding one of those crotch missiles. You know how dangerous those things are? You're going to get yourself killed. Have you got a light?"
Should I start walking up to people in their cars and tell them about a car accident I saw on the news where a mother and her three children burned to a crisp in a fiery wreck on the highway?
Or should I knock on your doors in the morning while you are doing your hair and remind you that at least 4 people a year die in hair dryer related accidents?
Stand there in the hallway outside of the operating room as you go in for your face lift and show you pictures of staph infections?
Maybe I will come up to you fat asses in line at McDonald's and tell you about my morbidly obese uncle that ate nothing but 1/4 pounders whose heart one day decided to up strangle him? How would that go over?
The truth of the matter is, we are all going to end up a statistic of some sort or another, and frankly I don't give a rat's ass which kind of statistic your narrow little mind thinks I will become. Let me go about my day in peace, put down the goddamn cell phone, pay attention to your shitty driving, and keep your yap shut.
|How far underwater do I have to get for you people to leave me alone?|