Thursday, December 09, 2010

An Open Letter To Teenaged Drivers on Staten Island...

Especially the three young...I hesitate to call them"men"...who treated me to lunch this afternoon while I waited to cross the street at the intersection of Richmond and Amboy Roads.

I did soooo enjoy the chocolate shake -- and what appeared to be the remnants of a Whopper-with-cheese -- and was especially grateful for the means by which they were delivered, i.e. the passengers in the front and rear of a vehicle waiting for the light to turn green opening their windows wide and throwing this bounty at me, while Douchebag Number 3, behind the wheel, floored the gas just as soon as the light changed.

You laughed. You also called me a nasty name as you ran off like thieves. Little girls, more like it. But that's okay; I can deal with an unflattering epithet, and I'm certain that from your point of view, your actions were rip-roarin'-pee-in-your-pants-hy-sterical. People without the same sense as a brain-dead Golden Retriever typically find such things funny.

Except that you forgot one thing. Actually, because I'm a reasonably-observant person, two things.

The first problem is that I have the license plate number of the car involved. On the off-chance that you idiots may actually read this (I question whether you can read at all, however, at least one of you managed to pass the notoriously-easy New York State Driver's Certification exam, which I'm told, has been constructed so as to allow illegal Mexican immigrants with 3rd grade reading skills to obtain a barely-passing grade) I would like you to know that I'm not going to call the Police. Because that would be too easy.

No, instead, I'm going to use some of the mad computer skillz at my disposal and track down the address attached to that license plate. It's ridiculously easy to do, and it can be done legally. No, I don't want the cops involved; I'd rather settle this personally. See you soon.

Your second mistake was committed by the passenger in the back seat. If you wish to remain anonymous, you really shouldn't wear a (local High School ) varsity football jacket. Especially one which has your uniform number embroidered on the front with four-inch-high numbers. Numbers easily seen by someone standing about 6-8 feet away. Someone other than Santa might be dropping down your chimney this year, Asshole.

I won't be violent, I promise. I will simply ask you to clean or replace the clothes you've messed up/ruined, and to be given the opportunity to return the favor, i.e., that I be allowed to throw food at you. Mind you, I'm not much for chocolate shakes and Whoppers; I prefer good Whiskey and Steak, and if you're really lucky, I might remember to remove the former from the bottle and defrost the latter before I launch them -- with as much velocity as I can muster --in your direction.

It's bad enough the authorities seem to give a drivers license, and stupid parents a deadly weapon, to every irresponsible walking bag of zits and baby fat on this island. It's even worse when you all do the same stupid shit: talk on your cell phones, run lights, race each other in and out of traffic, and play that God-awful-I-hesitate-to-call-it-music of the sort that sounds like a migraine must feel, and which causes every loose piece of metal to vibrate on your vehicle. You certainly don't need to be throwing things out the windows, too.

And certainly not at unsuspecting a joke.

Be warned: I will find the little bastards who did me this way today, and they will pay for my dry cleaning bills.

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