You were the road ragers who followed a single, senior woman from Seal Beach into Long Beach until I pulled into a gas station to call 911. At first, I thought you were yelling at someone else to make a turn, but, no, you were raging at me, hairy ape arms flailing through every opening, including the sun roof, your middle digit flying while hurling epithets about my age, attire, appearance and—oh, yes—my political bumper sticker. You said to find yours on your behind, but there weren't any on your bumper when I took down and reported your license-plate number. Jerks. If you don't like this one from 2012, wait until you see the next one—coming out real soon!
