I step outside.
A bright, beautiful spring day.
Gazing around, I notice that my vision isn't marred by the monstrosity that is Beavis' pickup:
I look to the right:
Ah, there's that peesachit now:
I quickly turn away, not wanting to wreck my semi-good mood, my face wrinkled in disgust.
I turn to face the other direction, usually unmarred by Beavisitis:
But....wait...what's that I see down the block?
No...
NO!
It can't be..?!
YES IT IS!
That damn worktruck.
Apparently Beavis didn't sell it after all, but is "storing" it down the street:
Holy shiiiiiott, what nerve.
What a nice stroller hanging out the back of the damn thing, too:
I'm very tempted to let the latest parking victim know that they have options, but I've never spoken to them before, so it'd be weird to approach them now. Maybe I'll leave a handy-dandy note with a phone number or two for them to use?
Hmmmmmm...
