Okay, here we go.
I don't care HOW big a fan you are of <insert overplayed pop song/rap song featuring lyrics about how great a rapper you are/anything with a metric ton of bass>, everyone else at the gas station doesn't want to hear it. Everyone trying to sleep at 2:00 am doesn't want to hear it. If it has explicit lyrics, my kids in the same parking lot as you don't NEED to hear it.
I don't want to hear it.
Just because you like it doesn't mean EVERYONE likes it. You don't have to share. I understand that you believe this is YOUR universe, and everyone else is an NPC in your video game of life, but the reality is THERE ARE OTHER SENTIENT LIFE FORMS OUT THERE WHO ARE DIFFERENT AND HAVE TO SHARE SPACE WITH YOU. Unfortunately, you apparently escaped school without learning anything about playing well with others, and your teachers can't follow you around the rest of your life, putting you in detention every time you blast "Ella Es Mi Fiesta" at the drive-thru.
That's what the Public Manners Patrol is for. It's too bad it only exists in fictional form. I'd sleep better at night.
Don't tell Harold, but I've been known to pump my car stereo beyond tolerable levels. And by "known", I mean that I do it all the time.
Granted, I keep my windows up (don't want to mess up my hair smile emotico), and I don't have one of those bass cannon things, but still . . . I'm bumpin'.
But promise me you won't tell Harold, okay?
I fear that if he knew, he may do something rather drastic . . . and I'm not a big fan of pain. So as far as Harold is concerned, I keep my volume at a respectable level and listen to nothing but Slim Whitman.
We good with that story?
I mean, I can trust you all, right?
Why'd everyone go so quiet?
Steeven is history's greatest monster.