Some dude designs a car park, right? Not rocket science, a big ol’ piece of asphalt, (or concrete, if that’s your bag) – slop out a few tins of white paint and carefully delineate the parking bays, making them car-sized. Easy-peasy lemon squeezy, right? Right. So far so good. Then along comes Johnny Motorista. So full of himself is he, oh yeah, he’s the f*cking man, and EVERYTHING he does is more important than anything all you other poor swamp things out their in la-la land have in your miserable little lives, he doesn’t even LOOK at the white lines, he parks across them, or diagonal, or blocks someone in, in fact he’ll do every goddam thing EXCEPT park between the lines, BECAUSE HE’S A TWAT.
Let me see if I can convey the depth of my hatred for these vacuous, self-important pieces of shit. If I watched them drive out of the car park, smash into a lamp post on their way out, and lie slumped over their steering wheel, broken and bleeding to death, I would walk over, point and laugh BEFORE I decided not to call for an ambulance.