If my middle finger could tell stories you’d have to leave the room.

Couple plural eff-yous going out:

car insurance – I have what “they” like to call “bad credit.” Yes, I bought a condo this year, bought a car 2 years ago, have credit cards and student loans I pay well now (please excuse my irresponsibility of my early 20′s). With exception to 2 speeding tickets a couple years ago, my driving record is rather flawless. Although my current 6 month premium is more than someone with “good credit” … but that has a DUI. Can I get a WTF?

gas prices – Thank you for raising them as I’m about to partake on a 5 hour road trip this easter weekend. No really, thank you. Day-after-day this bus thing gets more appealing.

stadium half-empty (or half full?) – It’s the first 70 degree day in Cleveland and Jacobs field has less than 20,000 people in it. I single-finger salute you assholes that could give too shits about our team until your ticket becomes more valuable than Derek Jeter’s ass with a silver spoon implanted, that I, of course, shoved up there. As a matter of fact, it doesn’t have to even be silver. Plastic. Yes, a plastic spork. I’ve frozen, melted, and got 800 skeeter bites only to prove how loyal I am to my Tribe. I’ll be the one to stick through thick-and-thin… until we’re number one in our league and I have to donate embryos and bone marrow to afford just the gas and parking to stand by Gate A and beg/plead/suck for upper level, upper-level deck.

But Kenilworth, you have my gold star this week. You finally got a hand dryer.

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