I'm in a Pissy Mood

Sorry Kevin, waxing personal on this one. Skip if you please. Some homemade fudge delivered to my house will you absolve you.
First some housekeeping:
You have read in the past, and will most certainly read in the future that "I don't know. I'm just a crazy, beer-drinking wrestler who likes to fart".
It's not entirely accurate as I'm not a wrestler and I don't specifically like to fart. It's a bodily function, necessary but inconvenient (sometimes).
Anyway, said quote by the immortal (in literature) Henry Chinaski can be seen and understood in a clip to be seen here.
Clear?
Had an interesting cultural experience yesterday the occasion being: taking the whole fam damily to see "Battle Los Angeles". Okay flick but that's not what this is about.
Okay, being the gentlemanly fellow I am, I dropped aforementioned damily at the door and went to park the car.
It's what us guys do - along with hold the Missus' purse if needed and (occasionally) buy those monthly necessities.
If ya'll can't do either of these... MAN THE FUCK UP!
Anyway, I was off taking the rig (80-something Camry) to find a spot and ran into one of those insane situations where otherwise rational people will hold up car after car just so they can park close to the door and save their fat ass some steps.
Okay, to my right: a line of three or four cars. To my left: a brand-new (You'll soon find out how I know this) beige, Toyota Land Cruiser.
Now, dead ahead is a space.
Empty.
Land Cruiser could have taken it but didn't. Not my lookout.
It's close enough to the entrance for me and there's plenty of room between TLC (How the Land Cruiser shall be referred henceforth. It's got a nice ring) and the car ahead and I mean a lot of room - six feet away from each door as I drive through to claim said space.
Well, as soon as I started moving the line of cars did also - at the customary, parking lot crawling speed.
TLC honked at me but I'm out of her way so I waved my hand to acknowledge an awkward situation but - no paint scratched.
Then, the pleasant woman in TLC screamed: "YOU'RE A FUCKING DICK!"
I pulled in and she pulled in a few spaces to the right and my thought was to sit a bit and let Ms Hothead get out of the AO - while I finished my beer (Said beer didn't exist in reality of course but was a "virtual beer" provided by a caring professional).
Well, Barbie (The moniker by which she shall be referred from now on - and Skipper, her daughter, 17ish. I know, Skipper was Barbie's sister but let's keep the focus) climbed out of the "brand new" TLC and came over to my car.
Mom screamed more of the same "fucking dick" shit (Note to assholes: If you're going to engage people in public, get some fucking rhetorical material) and flipped me off which of course was an entirely new occurrence to me and left me aghast, aghast I tells ya'.
She came as far as the car window while I politely pointed out that the space was there had she wanted it and that, if I'd "cut her off" it was at a snail's pace and slowed her down by a second or two (I'm being generous).
"You drove out RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" She flipped me off again and headed off with Skipper - who was faithful to back her Mom's play but with even more paltry rhetorical ammo that Mom had.
So, Barbie and Skipper are off into the mall on some wild, terminal-blond-bitch shopping experience.
The virtual beer was finished and the dragon ladies were presumably off on their bidness so I ventured forth and, just because I've been an asshole longer than Barbie has been alive, I tossed the empty up onto TLC's luggage rack (PBR - nice redneck beer).
Boy-fucking-howdy!
They'd been watching, suspicious twits, and Skipper immediately confronted me with an unanswerable question: "Are you kidding me?"
Having no answer - I was anything but kidding - I brushed on past and Mom came right behind.
Now, here's where having one's rhetorical guns cocked pays off.
What was it that Mommy said but: "Are you kidding me?".
Not a very original family.
This is where it got fun though.
I pushed past her as well - I had to meet Momma and the kids at the movie - so she grabbed my arm and said "Go and take that down, you piece of shit!".
I said - give me a moment, it was memorable - "NO".
So she screamed: "Get that off of there! (Wait for it...) THAT'S A BRAND NEW CAR!".
Okay, another hint to would-be dickheads, from someone who knows: if you're going to be anal about your car - and an asshole in public - don't yell it out in front of God and everybody. Don't expose your vulnerability, idiot.
Why do you think I threw the can on your rig in the first place, dim bulb?
As an aside, this TLC was loaded (starting bucks for your bare-bones TLC: $68,000. Get 'em while they're overpriced!) with killer, aggressive tires and the whole "Off Road" package - including the rooftop safari rack - or beer can catcher.
For these idiots I think "off road" must really mean "in the driveway".
Anyway, I kept walking. She shoved me and things could have gotten far more interesting (for her) and far more lucrative (for me) until, behind me, I heard some calmer folks (lots of them about) ease the stupid bitch off.
Bummer. It would have been fun to stand in front of a judge with her had she taken a swing at me. Alas, lost opportunities.
I could have owned that rig - and I would have tested its off-road capabilities to the max (Do people say that anymore?).
Again, lost opportunities.
Okay, the flick was over and I looked forward to seeing what Ms Screaming Cunt and daughter had left behind (Hoping for an angry hubby or - better yet - cops) but alas.
She'd put the can on my aerial. Whoa!
I had to pick it up and toss it.
She'd had to climb on top of her rig to get it. Actually, I'm sure she made Skipper do that - chickenshit bitch.
Anyway, Eugene/Springfield area, "brand new" beige TLC.
If I see it again, I am so going to park my old shitebox six inches from her driver's door while I go off for... I don't know, a week or so.
On my return I'll open an entire six-pack at once, like the Coneheads, and upend it on her ride.
Hell, if I had her address I'd be busier that a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest ordering pizzas and magazines for her.
Everyone likes pizza, right.
And I'm thinking that she be just right for some skateboard mags.
I want to make it up to her.
I truly do.
More pissy shit tomorrow. I'm in a mood.