They came, they saw, they pissed me the fuck off.
babybatch in a tux. your argument is irrelevant.
Is it bad that I can tell the Massholes who live just over the border from the Massholes who drive more than an hour to get into New Hampshire?
Seriously. I can.
It’s been one of those “I can’t even get half a mile down Route 1 without an asshole almost killing me because they have no idea where the fuck they are” days.
Must be summertime at America’s shortest shoreline.
Fuck. Me.
I make no apologizes for singing the following at the top of my lungs while stuck at a light surrounded by fucking tourists. (Except maybe to the Bosstones, since they wrote the original.)
They came to Hampton Beach on their vacation. They came, they saw, they annoyed me. They did it all: surf and sun! It’s best if they just avoid me. Rented a car to see the sights, but they found Route 1 confusing. Passed the packy* on 95, well I find that real amusing.
I was here before they came. I’ll be here long after. Don’t want to swear, but it seems clear that I’m gonna have to…
AWWWWW, FUCK!
(*packy = New England term for package store, aka liquor store, aka place where stupid tourists can load up on alcohol and make themselves even more annoying.)