At least be dead if you’re going to demand a moment’s attention!

When I used to drive down Route 6, I often became saddened at the site of the many white wooden crosses by the roadside. “The poor families,” I would often think. I wouldn’t even touch my Coolatta for a few minutes as I thought about the emotional devastation so many must have felt at what happened here.

One day, during a traffic jam near the Snelling St. exit, I was able to read the inscription on one of the crosses. “You will walk again!”

“You will walk again?” “You will walk again?” They’re still alive? They weren’t brutally decapitated by a pickup truck? Their motorbike didn’t roll under an 18-wheeler? They weren’t ejected from their car because they weren’t wearing their seatbelts, getting impaled by the chain link fence?

How dare you generate sympathy within me? How dare you summon my daily sadness under false pretenses? Do you know how quickly a Coolatta tastes like a dead hobo’s anus? You owe me $3.27 for each commute I’ve made to my night shift job restocking shelves at Costco.

From here on in, these are the only acceptable guidelines for roadside memorials

1. 1. Dead person who done died dead on that spot in some kind of horrific death you wouldn’t wish on anyone, EXCEPT for a person being honored with a roadside memorial on that spot.
   2. See #1.

That is all. No exceptions for disfigurements or amputations. No “beloved pet” roadside memorials. No “this is where I lost my childhood innocence” meta type of shit.

Violators of this rule will be required to meet me at their roadside memorial, where thanks to some “stand your ground” type shit I can finally finish the job you forced me to finish, instigator.