Dear Mr. Yoked-out-on-roids furniture store owner: My husband and I were outside when you came out of your store and started dropping F-bombs at us because you didn’t like the way we had parked our truck. Instead of asking nicely, you just dropped more F-bombs in my 11-month-old’s face. When my husband did what any good man would do, you suddenly pussied out and called the cops. You can run your mouth pretty hard until somebody makes a move. Anybody that would call out a big kanak with a hunting cage on his truck must have a couple screws loose–just like your crappy furniture!
Illustration by Ron Pitts