Ode to the Stupid Ass Head Who Hit my Car with a Shopping Cart.

May all your body hair be infested with crabs,
and your nose rot off from syphilis.
I hope your flesh gets covered with scabs,
and someone laces your coffee with piss.

Maybe you'll get a kick to the groin,
or a hammer to the back of the head.
A neighborhood mongrel attacking your loins,
and scorpions infesting your bed.

I hope you're bent over the front of car,
as inbred rednecks breath on your neck,
leaving presents in your chocolate brown star,
And making a mess of your personal poop deck.

And as you bleed from an orifice down south,
leaving slick trails behind,
and something is rammed right into your mouth,
the tube sausage on which you will dine.

And I'll laugh, and I'll laugh and then laugh some more,
as I imagine you dripping and bleeding,
leaking sewage from out your back door,
knowing my revenge is succeeding.

I wish whoever hit my car was out there when I came out, then I wouldn't be writing this blog entry. Of course, I might be in jail.

Boy, my OAC writers craft teacher sure would be proud of me now. I should write for Hallmark.