Now we go to parking lots to see Red Bull pester, well, us.
Ah well, no one’s forcing you to drink that elixir they’ve got that tastes like a suck on Beelzebub’s couch cushions. You can just stand there and watch the
monkeys on the unicycles juggling the guy on the motorcycle getting nowhere fast.
He’s got mad skillz, it’s true, but he’s still no match for a blue-hair in a Crown Vic who throws their door open too quickly after parallel parking.