Oily Homer keeps on Ranting!

The other day I'm driving down the freeway, minding my own business, when I see an old VW bug in the lane next to me. But my sense of nostalgia was replaced by loathing disgust when I saw the bumper sticker: "Meat is Murder".

Looky here you vegan chuckleheads, Oily Homer's ancestor's fought an uphill battle to the top of the food chain, and no candy assed, excuse me... carob-coated assed prissy idiot is going to equate my dietary choices with murder.
Oh, and for the record, I have friends that are vegetarians, but they practice it in private along with any other disgusting personal habits they may have and don't bother me with it.

Now, if at that moment, I'd had a magic genie in my pants, instead of just being happy to see you, I would have spent one of my wishes for a big piece of steak, fresh from the butcher, dripping with bloody juices. And I would have pulled along side the aforementioned veggie-muncher and watched his horror as I bit off large chunks of steak, tugging and growling like a dog shaking a fresh killed bunny. And I would have watched the tears stream down his vegetable tinged face and smiled with the certain knowledge he was wetting himself.
But instead, not having any raw meat at hand, I pointed to the back of his car and yelled, "Your back wheels are going forward!"

"What dude?"

So I mouthed each word, making it seem vitally important..
YOUR... BACK... WHEELS... ARE... GOING... FORWARD!!!
And of course I used my finger to describe the direction I was talking about.

The look of confused panic on his meat starved face was almost as good as my steak chewing scenario, and as he pulled over to the breakdown lane to check his car I thought to myself, meat isn't murder, but messing with Oily Homer is.