From where I sit at my desk at work every day--YES, I have a full time job that I LOVE!!! WORD!--I see a guy Hoveround down the street. I've affectionately nicknamed him, "GuyWhoIsTooHeavyToWalkSoHeRidesDownTheStreetEveryDayToTheDollarStoreTo
Now, he is not to be confused with "GuyWhoIsTooOldToDriveACarSoHeHoveroundsToTheStoreEveryDayOnThe
Every time I see GWITHTWSHRDTSEDTTDSTVBJF I wonder what his life is like. I wonder how old he is, if he has family. I wonder what kind of junk food he buys. I wonder who the sap is that WALKS along side him every day in the sweltering heat.
Lately, when I see him--GWITHTWSHRDTSEDTTDSTVBJF, not GWITOTDACSHHTTSEDOTMHAPIAC--I have this overwhelming urge to run outside, jump on the back of his Hoveround and yell "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" all the way down the street and into the dollar store because YES!! he drives INTO THE STORE. That is so unfair that my lazy ass has to WALK through the store while his drives through. And remember how the cops confiscated MY Hoveround and put it in that horrible impound lot when I drove it on the highway? Why doesn't GWITHTWSHRDTSEDTTDSTVBJF's get confiscated? Granted, I did have two of my offspring hanging off the sides, but STILL that's no reason take take my beloved scooter away from me and force me to walk like a poor person. I have rights! And the right to get too fat to walk is one of them!