Xtra

I was stuck behind a big ol' piece of crap Chevy truck today, and I noticed that the owner had taken the time to actually make a hand-drawn "For Sale" sign. Clearly, this was a weathly, wealthy truckowner. He'd written that the truck he was selling had "tons of xtras." I can't beieve how lazy people have gotten. I'd bet my bottom dollar that the guy who wrote that didn't even know he was spelling anything wrong. He honestly believed that when your car has something that not all comparable models have, then it's called an "xtra." So sad. So very, very sad. He probably thinks you're supposed to spell other words like that. You know, like, xtreme or x-citing or xample or x-ema or bacon and x. I laughed out loud when I read it, but then it made me feel bad. I live in a country filled with retards. And not the cute, mumbling, easy-to-feel-sorry-for, drooling ones, either. I'm talking about the dangerous ones. The high-functioning ones. The ones who are allowed to walk around freely after dark. Those people scare the bejesus out of me. And I drive near and around them every day. They're allowed to teach classes at UCCS, they're allowed to handle my food with no gloves, they're allowed to make eye contact with me, they're allowed to come really close to me (and even brush up against my clothes *shudder*), and they're allowed to sit in a movie theater around all us normal people and yell at the screen and talk on their cell phones and laugh when there's nothing to laugh at. I must be having a bad day.