Dear Brewcycle Riders:

Fuck you. Fuck your horrible taste in music and fuck you for forcing it into my ears while I try to enjoy a peaceful, Aerosmith-free weekend. Fuck your drunken screams that make my cat flip shit and ruin my mood, regardless of what activity you interrupt as you creep by every 15 fucking minutes. Fuck your embodiment of everything that is wrong with millennial drinking culture. Every time I watch you run the two-way stop sign at 20th and Overton right outside my window, I pray to Satan that a distracted speeding Pearl douchebag plows into you with his fucking BMW. Or at least that you get so drunk that you vomit your fucking Rogue burger and fries all over your fucking loved ones. I despise you and everything you stand for. And fuck you, Brewcycle, for enabling these fucking drunks to ruin my peace and fucking quiet. Fuck you. Fuck. You.