The "ick" factor of a person, place or thing shall be determined as follows...
1) The amount of bleach it takes to leave oneself feeling clean again
2) The size and manner of the vein popping out in my forehead
3) The minimal period of time in which I may discuss said "ick" factor without retching or lapsing into a rage fueled black out.
The categories shall be judged out of a possible ten each.
0-10: Mosquito level irritation
9-20: Driving by a pig farm with a stiff breeze
21-30: Rush Limbaugh and the American Right
Let us begin. An innocent walk to the river valley in celebration of the city finally emerging from the bowels of winter suddenly taken over by lecherous fiends. No sir, slowing down to a crawl will not give you more time to look at me, as I will take this as a signal to flee. Also, you are on a busy road, and by slowing you rust-riddled heap of scrap metal to a crawl you will only offer yourself up to the mercy of the other drivers. No, the concern is not for your safety, merely that scraping your repulsive face off the pavement with a spatula will ruin someone else's commute.
On a scale of 30, you score a 12. That's right swine, it is where you belong.
Huzzah for Highlevel ice tea.
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