Dear Fucktard: (and I call you that not because I don’t know your name, but because you’re a fucktard.)
I just wanted to drop you a little line to let you know where your behavior strayed from socially acceptable boundaries. I suspect the first strike was when you thought “Gee, I’ll just wander in here and insinuate myself in a space far too small for my giant chairs. Hmm, right on the very front edge of this blanket seem right, that should make it impossible for the guy who waited in line for hours to see”. The second was what I can only imagine was your “doing me a favour” by actually moving my entire blanket so you could complete your first thought. The third was your questionable taste in music, but I’m not going there today.
No, today we’ll focus on number two. I understand that we’re at a folk festival, and that we’re all supposed to be groovy and loving. I even get that the park belongs to everyone, and just because I put a blanked on the ground, that doesn’t mean it’s “my” space. And I could be all rational and accept these things, and shrug it off, or even present logical reasons why your actions were a mistake. But instead, as it’s Sunday, and I want to keep this brief, I’ll simply say that it’s because you’re a noxious asshole, a fucktard (I think I mentioned that already) and, newsflash, growing your thinning hair longer doesn’t hide that bald spot. Enjoy the rest of your life, and I can only dream of a day where you plunk down in front of the wrong guy at Ragefest.