I’m driving through Westwood looking for parking when I see a bitch walking down the street. I can’t tell if she’s hot or not. I have to know if she’s got decent tits or a redeemable ass. I have to know. So I take a good three-second stare at her. She’s probably about forty-five, droopy tits, flabby ass, and haggish in the face.
I look back to the road just in time to see my front bumper make contact with the back bumper of the car in front of me that’s sitting at a red light. We both pull over next to the Fatburger and get out to check the damage to our cars and exchange information.
The guy who was driving the other car says, “I was stopped at a red light. What the hell were you doing?”
“I was looking at a woman walking down the street.”
“What?”
“Sorry.”
“Sorry? You had your head so far up some woman’s ass you didn’t see my car stopped right in front of you, and all you can say is sorry?”
“Your car looks okay.”
He looks it over, sees I’m right, and says, “It might look like superficial scratches, but who knows what damage we can’t see.”
As the guy keeps talking about the cost of what possible damages I might have done to his car, I see the woman who caused this whole thing waiting for her crosswalk sign to turn green. She’s worse than I originally thought. She is hideously ugly and her body is absolutely repulsive. I smashed into a car for her.
The guy’s still talking about something as I try to think about all the times I’ve been in near wrecks because I was trying to see if some bitch walking down the street was hot. There are a lot, and in most instances the bitch is not worth the possibility of a wreck.
The guy says, “Here.” He’s waving something in my face. It’s his insurance information. I take his, give him mine, and wish that old hag would have at least been a hot college bitch wearing tight pants.