Yeah, you dumbass, the stupid shit-stain heading west on Powell, weaving his bike between cars in the eastbound lanes on Tuesday afternoon.
No helmet, no light, nothing but your cheesy porn actor wannabe mustache that almost matches the black shoe polish dye job you use on your hair.
I don't give a fuck if you live, or breathe your last pinned under the front end of some Prius. But I suppose your momma might. Mother's love and all.
I do however give a fuck about the poor schmuck who has the misfortune to not see you, as you slalom through on-coming traffic, and manages to squish your worthless ass into the pavement.
And the poor EMS folks that have to scrape your drippings into a body bag. And the Firefighters that have to hose down the street to wash away the goo that was once you.
And clearly you don't give a rat's was about them...
But maybe you do about your momma. Not enough I imagine to behave like an adult, but maybe enough to carry id, and perhaps have your mother's phone number tattooed on your useless ass, so that the medical examiner can let her know where to pick up the bag of goop that was once a moron.