In other news. . .

. . . there is a special little place in hell for someone who calls about cars belonging to someone else's guests, parked on that someone else's property, before the time at which such calls may be legitimately made, and has those cars stol^H^H^H^Hillegally towed.

You would not believe how murderous I'd be right now if Shane hadn't given me a bag of Utz ripple sour cream and onion. The bright sunny spot that is glorious potato chips gives me the emotional resilience to deal with this in addition to the previously mentioned tremendous, world-spanning stupid.

Hate people.

But not Shane. Shane will be spared when I finally snap and go on a rampage. Shane gives me Utz.