||Dear Bastard who Egged My Car Last Night:
You’re real fucking cool.
So cool I wish I could be like you and ride around on Halloween with a carton of eggs, throwing them at cars. Because Halloween is so the night where you do things like that. I mean, you’re really original.
Throwing eggs on Halloween- you’re sooooooooo Satanic. I’m so scared and yet intrigued by your Satanic rituals. Did you use Easter eggs? Yeah, that would really piss God off. You’re so hard core.
Man, I bet you must have thousands of friends. I bet that your phone rings off the hook constantly with invitations to go mail box smashing or perhaps rolling the girl you like’s house. Or maybe, maybe, sometimes your big brother, who still lives at home with you and your folks even though he’s 36 and works at Luby’s, will score you a wine cooler and you’ll drink it while sitting on the passenger side seat of a baby blue Dodge Mini-Van with old school Aerosmith blaring on the crappy stereo system while your friend who just got his license drives you around. Yeah, you’re totally awesome. Get your left ear pierced at Claire’s Boutique or The Piercing Pagoda so that everyone knows that you equals real cool mother fucker.
I bet your Mom gets pissed at you when you say the word "crap." I bet you call your father “Old Man” and get in fights with him where you scream “I didn’t ask to be born” at the top of your lungs. “I’d didn’t ask to be born!”
You are so misunderstood. You are such the loner. You are so rebellious.
I bet when you finished throwing that last egg you drove away, with your head hanging out the window, feeling the wind blow through your stupid hair feeling like the big man that you are. Then, I bet you went and hung out at the convenience store and shoplifted some pixie sticks to snort and totally got high of the orange ones.
You are such the bad ass.
I am so envious of you. I wish I could be as free spirited and unbridled as you are. I wish that I knew what it felt like to throw a chicken fetus at a parked Honda Civic. It must be exhilarating.
If I had mad Super Nancy Drew Sleuthing Skills, I’d be starting my next case, Ladee Leroy and The Mystery of Finding The Stupid Jackass Who Egged My Car and sleuth your ass down.
You won’t even know what hit you because once me, Bess, George, and Ned get ahold of you- were gonna mangle your ass Nancy Drew Style. We’re going to get all Clock Work Orange and wear jolly masquerade masks that my handsome lawyer father, Carson Drew bought for our cruise in the Bermuda Triangle that give Hannah the housekeeper the creeps because “anything of a mysterious nature makes her feels queasy.”
There would be an awesome picture in Chapter 19 with the caption “Ladee Leroy did not hesitate ripping the thief’s genitalia through his jeans.”
Let me take this from the eighth grade reading level and make it a little more clear for you, asshole. Let me put this in terms that you might understand.
I hate you. If you come near my car again, I will burn down Hot Topics.
I’ll burn your precious little Hot Topics in the mall down.
To the ground.