I hate you, you stupid fake-disabled POS, but even more, I HATE THE GODDAMNED WHITE TRASH THAT HANGS AROUND YOUR HOUSE. You, with your scraggly old arse parked on a chesterfield (!!) on the front porch, sleeping like some old drunken bum, I can stand. I can walk away and forget I ever saw you, or at least until the nightmares come. When I’m working, however, and it’s a beautiful day to have the windows open, YOU NEED TO TELL THAT LITTLE SHIT THAT THE REST OF THE NEIGHBOURHOOD DOES NOT WANT TO HEAR HIS GANGSTA (C)RAP MUSIC. I don’t care if he’s washing somebody’s truck (it’s not yours–I know that much) and I don’t care if he’s the little shit who mows your lawn. This is a neighbourhood, and you’re not the only person (if, indeed, you are actually a person) who lives here. Look around you…what do you see? That’s right! You see houses BECAUSE THIS IS NOT A FUCKING TRAILER PARK. I don’t know who you are or where the hell you came from, but I do know what part of town you belong in, and it’s not this one. Civilised people (well, mostly) live here. You are low-rent white fucking trash and you need to find another fucking place to be.