Listen you old bag. You have some nerve. I park my truck outside of your beach house, which is directly across from the beach access where I have parked a thousand times before without incident. I’m visibly eight months pregnant and you sit in your luxury SUV and can obviously see that I am unloading a stroller, my sleeping two-year-old, toys, towels, beach chairs, the works. I lock my truck and set the alarm and then you decide to get your wrinkled ass out of your car and yell at me for parking on “your” sidewalk, killing “your” grass and threatening to call the cops on me. I was caught so off guard I simply loaded all my stuff back into my truck and left. Next time, go ahead and call the cops; they’ll tell you I’m in the right. Or you could just lighten up.
Eh Brah! Beach Access Denied
April 14, 2011 By 3 Comments