Bone To Pick: Park This…

Alright.  Listen up, jerkholes.  I just got back from a quick trip down to the coast.  The quicker the better in my opinion, which this is.  Vancouver, the Terminal City of Glass.  You get two choices on how to die.  Get run down by an Escalade driven by someone more beautiful than you–thats the fast way.  Or you could wrap your lips around the tailpipe of a Humvee and huff back on those sweet, sweet fumes.  Give a hummer to a Hummer so to speak.  And they’re easy to find.  Everyone has an SUV, a one-ton or a monster truck.  These groinal appendages can be found speeding through school zones, tearing up boulevards and aggressively blocking HOV lanes.  Bigger is the new better.  The latest trend is to get your class 1 with air brakes and pimp out a new tractor-trailer.  Probably.  But, and here is my point plebes, if a Vancouverite were to be cruising down Robson Street in a Mack truck, rims a’spinnin’ and a sub blowing a hole in their testes and they suddenly spot a major sale on loafers at the Dolce & Gabbana store, that driver, ladies and germs, would be able to park that monstrosity in the parking spot provided.  One try, not one drop of sweat on their chiselled, sun-bed enhanced features.

Flash back to the sunny Okanagan where, in spite of having parking spots the size of small runways, a man is reduced to tears circling the town looking for a place to stop.  Don’t get me wrong, there is plenty of space.  It’s just that some waste of skin who managed to bumble their way into a drivers licence sometime in the last 80 years, has parked their Smart car smack dab in the middle of two spots.  Wow.  Serious?  A further attempt to park at the grocery store is foiled by some jackass who thinks his ’93 chevy deserves a coupla spaces.  Yeah, better preserve the paint job on that honey.  At least his parkjob was a concious effort.  At any rate I have plenty of time to ponder these details, idling away the hours, as east- and westbound traffic is shutdown on Lakeshore Drive while some turd takes thirty attempts at a parallel park job.  Somewhere in the world a butterfly has flapped its wings, causing an electrical storm to travel up the entire west coast of North America, causing this guy to think he’d better mince off to the store and pick-up some milk before the weather turned nasty and while doing so jams up the roadyways of our cozy interior town, preventing people from leaving their parking spots, raining misery down on me.  And the tit still ends up on the curb!  I can’t make this stuff up folks.