Hurry up and die

Dear asshole man(s)
If you want to kill yourself on Hastings of all streets, in a 1980 blue Camaro, in front of the Dolphin Theatre, be my fucking guest. But I do not wish to die for a long time, not in an ’88 Tercel, not within 4 blocks of my highschool and not on a Sunday when all I’m doing is returning some movies. Ideally I would like to die at 90. Of natural causes, real ones, not a cocaine-induced heart attack or because I got smashed into by an idiot who probably just got stoned watching the sunset. Go away asshole man(s)! Go race with SUVs on the railroad tracks. Go play macho-tag with the jerkoff in the jeep with tires filched from a tractor and a stereo blaring “Have you Ever Seen the Rain?” so loud my fillings knocked together. What-evah. Just go fast into that good night and get out of my road.