every time I park across the street from my buildink under the street lamp, my yachna neighbor screams ( sight unseen) BACK UP THREE FEET. THRRREEEEE FEET. THREE FEET! BACK. BACK. BAAAACK! GAAAAAAAAAHD. it would be a nice gesture if he said, you might want to back up a little. but, this is a demand, bordering harassment. I could be on the phone or in the middle of a conversation with a passenger. fuck. juice and I could be exiting the car and he's hockin. thanks for your concern, but what if I like bird shit? what if I'm too cheap to spring for a paint job or I'm going for an organic white with a green hue?! back-the-fuck-off, bitch. today, after berating my ignorant parking job, he wailed, when are you going to get that damn sunroof fixed?! I wanted to scream, suck my ovaries, pig fuck. why is my sunroof his business? it's my car and my choice. I happen to like the slide factor. so it doesn't close all the way. if I have a problem with it, don't I have the ...