I feel like a fucking moron.

There's always a low point where you just say to yourself, "I am a fucking idiot?"

Maybe it's after a bad gambling loss that you thought was a sure thing, but in retrospect, was a fucking TERRIBLE idea.

Maybe it's as you are hunched over a toilet vomiting and praying to whatever God you used to follow that you will never do shots of brown liquor again.

Or maybe... Just maybe... You are driving West on 29th Street in Manhattan, and up ahead of you, someone is parallel parking on the left side of the street while a makeshift dining area is jutting out on the right... Directly across from the parking car.

You feel like you have plenty of room to squeeze between them, so you actually speed up, just in case the parallel parker does not make it into their spot on the first try and potentially slows your commute down by 15 seconds if they need to pull out and give it a second attempt.

So you gun it just a touch... Not enough for anyone to say, "Hey, why is that asshole gunning it down 29th Street for no reason?"... But more than enough that one of the brackets that are holding the wooden dining area together impales in your front bumper like a Chinese fucking star as you scrape the whole front corner panel of your brand-new truck along the side of the wooden structure.

I can tell you first hand... THAT is the moment when I feel most like a fucking moron.

(And yet... Somehow I at least partially blame DiBlasio.)

Take a report.

-Large