Before I went to bed last night, I dug through my storage closet (which also doubles as a secret passageway to Narnia) to find the small window fan that I use in my bedroom. I plugged it in and turned it on but the fan would not turn. So long, little buddy. You served me with honour and distinction over the past five years. There were some hot summer nights that I couldn't fall asleep without your cool, oscillating breeze.
So, today, I went to my local grocery/furniture/electronics/clothing hypermegastore to procure a fan for my bedroom. I found a fancy schmancy one, with a remote control and all. It's called "The Blizzard", so its gots to be cold.
Oh yeah, and to the douchebag driving the souped-up Ford Mustang with the tinted windows (which screams "overcompensating", by the way) idling in the pedestrian crosswalk area at the store's front door, unless you're pulling some kind of heist, just park your damn car or at least pull out of crosswalk area.
Okay, I'll stop now.
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