Your Husband Drives Real Fast.


So. If you are the kind of creep who acts inappropriately toward married women with kids* and who goes to your job to look for “babes,” maybe you are also the kind of fucking asshole who insults people’s driving and does so when they aren’t around to punch you in your ugly fucking face.

Apparently, this little prick has a problem with the way that I drive and felt the need to bother my wife with it. Sorry I scared you, Little Dude. Next time, just jump in front of the car, and it’ll all be over soon. Sissy.

*More on this later, as this was not my intended introduction to Bradford McDick.

(Caran d’Ache Blackwood on Field Notes Redblooded edition paper.)

Firehouse Asshole.


This guy, a suburban fireman, barked at my toddler for touching the curtain that covers the guts of a large train garden at the local firehouse. Mind you, he didn’t pull it, wrench it, take a piss on it – no. He touched it. So this bald fucker yells, literally yells, at my kid. Like a wimp, I didn’t kick him in the stomach while he sat there frowning at happy children. Instead, I drew a mean picture of him and let him watch. I didn’t say shit to him, and he didn’t stand up to a grownup with hair. We each went home intact.

(I’m not saying where it was. If you think it was you and your house and Big Fucking Toy Train Table, you were probably mean to someone. Go put your head in the toilet, and count to ten.)