I have a little Merry Birthmas wish to all you dirt-ignorant willfully mule-shit selfish and stupid Baton Rouge drivers whose refusal to understand the very simplest and most basic rules for merging lanes on a highway kept me in an hour-long traffic jam while my diuretic drugs tormented me with pee urgency so bad I probably now have a UTI: I hate you. I hate your families. I hope the only death longer and more drawn out than your own is your dog's slow succumbing to Congolese Slow Rot, followed by the whinging fartgoblins you pass off as children as they are eaten alive by sloths. I hope every one of you eastbound I-10 fuck knuckles gets critically injured in a long slow pile-up and Chupacabras emerge from the woods and tear your skin off in deli-thin slices while I fly above, in the arms of the Shitala, bringer of smallpox, filling your smoking, sightless eye sockets with pent-up urine so caustic it will effervesce though all 8 inches of your thick and unused skull, causing a breech and a biological China Syndrome that will swallow up West Baton Rouge parish in a sinkhole more unapproachably foul than the rectum of a fallen warrior god. Your testicles will stud my crown you worthless fucks.