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Posts Tagged ‘morons’

Whoomp! There it is..

“Hit the gas, Harold!! The feral cats have hammers and they’re coming for us!!”

What do you mean the mailman won’t deliver now??

It’s the most dangerous intersection on Whidbey Island.

If you’re a mailbox.

Trying to live as a receptacle for bills and political ads?

Don’t park your tuchus where Sherman Road drops down to meet Madrona.

Three times now … THREE TIMES … someone operating a motor vehicle has hit the mailbox serving 165 Sherman, otherwise known as Coupeville Sports World Headquarters.

The first time, the tourist with the too-wide turn stopped to apologize and arrange to pay for the damage.

The second time was an Island Transit bus, and SPOILER ALERT, Island Transit has yet to make good on its promise to repair the damage.

Now, as of Thursday night, I’m pretty sure this mailbox is finally down for the count.

Did Moron #3 stop? No, they did not.

Did they scratch up their vehicle nice and good? One certainly hopes so.

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After busting through a chain to gain access to Rhododendron Park, someone tore up Central Whidbey Little League ball-fields.  (Christi Messner photos)

Tire marks dot the infield.

The deeper the tread marks, the fewer brain cells the driver owns.

A broken chain gave the driver(s) access to the fields.

Mark of the morons.

Morons being morons.

Someone, or several someones, recently broke through a chain to gain access to the Central Whidbey Little League ball-fields at Rhododendron Park.

The mouth breathers then spent some time ripping up the area, taking advantage of soft grass to leave a variety of peel-outs.

Why? Because they’re morons, and when their little pea-sized brains jiggle around in their otherwise empty heads, they momentarily forget how much of a loser they are in every part of their life.

And, if you’re the ones who did this, and you’re offended at being called morons, idiots, simpletons, or the kind of people who give lead paint lickers a run for their money, there’s an easy way to deal with it.

Step forward and accept responsibility. Claim credit.

Course, if you do, I kind of hope a bunch of little leaguers line up and repeatedly knee you in the crotch.

But that’s just me.

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