Ramming Speed!

To the jerks who - either because they're lazy slugs and don't have the energy to walk from the parking spot not 20 feet away or are so pretentious they think they're special and shouldn't have to sully froo-froo shoes with the same dirt trod upon by us worthless peasants - stop next to the mail hut to retrieve their postal deliveries, thus blocking my lane of travel and forcing me to go around them while hoping I'm not clobbered by oncoming traffic...

So help me, one of these days, I'm gonna snap. When that day comes, I'm going down to Billy Bob's Rent-O-Rama and get me the crappiest, rustiest, nastiest POS that will still turn over. I'll max out the no-fault insurance options. When you pull your Pretentiousness-mobile/Slug-Sedan next to the mail hut, I'm gonna line that hunk of junk up, gun the engine for all she's worth and plow that sum-beech right up your tailpipe (having first loosened the brake lines just enough so when I make my token effort to stop, the brakes fail, thus achieving my desired goal of rendering into your vehicle into an abstract work of art while providing me plausible deniability. I did, after all, rent a POS.)

And if you're really unlucky, I'm going to arrange for a semi to have half-unloaded plywood, just so I can get proper hang-time. Beware horns playing "Dixie"...