The Ultimate Irritation Machine

Self-aggrandizing tripe

I am tempted to urinate on the only other car parked on the sixth floor of my garage.

Problem is, I don't imagine the owner would notice, given that the ugly little BMW's color could best be described as "piss."

Please understand -- I park on the sixth floor every day because I am old and will surely lose my little Sonata if I don't. Really, I've been known to drop 30 minutes at the mall looking for my car. I have a lot on my mind. Like 37 years of deposits from cooking in aluminum pans.

Anyway, this ass -- I've seen his squirrelly little carcass leaving at 4 or so -- parks his BMW M3 across two spots in what is an otherwise vacant floor of a large gargage. (The facility was built in anticipation of an e-boom commercial district that obviously did not happen; after the third floor, it's clear sailing.)

I checked -- the M3 lists for $47,000 or so; in general, the thing reminds me of a mid-'80s Dodge Charger rehash. It packs a whopping 3.2 liter V6; my '03 Sonata pulls a 3.3 and cost me a cool $16,500. Of course, this thing is so ugly they probably had to throw in a couple UK football tickets to get some clown to drive it off the lot.

I'm a mess, to be sure. But I'd hate to have such a low opinion of myself that it was wrapped up in such a lame status item.