My car got keyed.

Someone keyed my car. Someone keyed my fucking car! My poor 95 explorer has been keyed. On the drivers side is a gigantic scribble, and written all big on my passenger door is PUAB, whatever the fuck that means.

I don't think this dude realized what I'm capable of doing when I get angry. I'm very coolheaded, but because I'm so coolheaded, it takes alot to make me snap, meaning that when I finally do, I SNAP.

I know who did it too. I was heading to my night class at SMC and I found a narrow spot between an X5 and a beat up Toyota, so I park there. The driver was still in the X5, talking on his phone. Some ugly Persian motherfucker who I hated as soon as I laid eyes on. I get out of the car making sure not to his gay X5 that mommy must have bought and I reach to the passenger side to grab my backpack, but as I sling it over my shoulder, the little plastic clasp-on things at the end swing back and tap his car. Not hard or anything, they certainly didn't scratch it. The just made a tapping sound.

3 hours later I come back and my car is fully keyed. Words can't even describe how badly I want to knock this guy's teeth out, and I will if I see him. The problem is that memory is mutable and I can never be sure I am knocking the right guy's teeth out. And even if i see the guy coming out of the X5 and I'm justifiably certain, I can never know 100% it was him that keyed my car. So alas nothing will be done and that frustrates me to kill.

But whatever, there is nothing I can do but let go and move on. I just hate the thought of driving around with a keyed up car. People are gonna look at me and think I'm a scumbag, and assume I did something to deserve getting keyed. When I'm just a loveable human being. Shit, I'm so loveable if a grizzly bear saw me in the woods he'd just want to cuddle. Fuck the haters man... Fuck the haters.