Quote:
Originally posted by SlaveNoMore
They had some San Francisco Grand Prix bike race running past our apartment this weekend.
On a sunday. In the fucking morning. And it was noisy.
Bells. Rattles. Whistles. Too much fucking cowbell.
I was tempted to throw scalding water at the riders/fans after the 10th lap.
F Lance.
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You lasted to the 10th lap before wanting to kill them? Patient!
Is it okay to refer to a Sunday morning as "fucking"? I'm pretty sure that is step one to eternal damnation, but I've gotten fuzzy on the details.
