¿Cómo se dice "twat swat"?

Okay, so here's the deal.  I love immigrants (legal and otherwise). I don't care if you spent years dedicated to the paperwork and interviews to gain your status or if you rode here in the trunk of a Subaru. I don't care if your parents were illegal but you were born here.  I don't care if you gave birth while running across the border and dropped one twin in Mexico and one in Texas and they both wave the American flag, congratulations and bienvenida.  Here is the only thing that I do care about, if you live in America please speak just enough English so that when I tell you to "Go fuck yourself" it'll really hit home.  It pains me to spend time out of my day telling you what a jackhole you're being only for you to smile at me and murmur some variation of "No English."  
If you ask me, there should a one page Citizenship test with only three simple questions. 
#1. Please translate "Go fuck yourself" (native slang is permissible).
#2. A picture of the middle finger extended. Beneath it put a smiley face and a frowny face. Please circle the corresponding emotion.
3. If someone threatens to punch you in the vagina, would you say you're being a good citizen or total fuckwit?  (You can write on the back of this page).
You're welcome, America.

Ugh. A Blog. How Douchey.

Seriously.  Another fuckwit who thinks that their musings are so important that others need to know?
Actually, that's not true.  What IS true is that I encounter a ridiculous number of jackholes on any given day.  Ridiculous. And in the event that I can't properly tell them to kindly take their bullshit elsewhere, I need a place to express my anger.  Example: I motion for a guy in a jaguar to merge in front of me today on Ventura...he accepts and then flips me off.  Really, guy?  After I LET YOU IN? With my kid in a carseat?
As we get to know each other you will realize that I'm not one of those meek women you see who can't seem to confront anyone and then go home and cry over their keyboard.  That's not me. 
I'm sort of a prick.  I say "prick" because during an altercation in a parking lot last year a young Hispanic man called me that.  I have to admit I was sort of flattered.  I had transcended bitch altogether and wound up a "prick". 
But I digress, as I was saying...I'm not meek.  I'm half Spanish and half Sicilian.  At the age I am now (mid-30s....okay fuck you, late-30s) I rarely get physical, but I have to admit that I look forward to verbal confrontations.  Maybe that's my problem.  I sort of expect a fight with each turn and in this city of failed hopes and pure desperation, I'm rarely disappointed. Example: last Spring in Nordstroms I watched an otherwise normal woman lose her ever-lovin' shit when a salesgirl informed her that the dress she had called and put on hold had inadvertently been sold.  Now, sure when you're upper-middle class this sort of trauma will necessitate an extra therapy session, but I think what really irritated me was that this dingbat sort of looked like me.  Not physically, but accessory-wise.  She had a stroller, designer sunglasses, Coffee Bean, and barely there lipgloss.  Maybe that's what set me off.  That in an alternate universe I could be this cunty nitwit and yell at some poor girl who makes $12 an hour.  So, I marched up to the front of the line and said "Excuse me, but whenever you're done showing this girl what a little bit of money and a whole lot of free time look like....the rest of civilization would like to go on with our morning.  Unless you're trying to work out some sort of monologue for some acting class for the forgotten?  Oh don't look so shocked, you should be shocked that no one punched you in the vagina for being so ridiculous."  And then I went back to the end of the line. 
I can't be sure, because she was only 6 months at the time, but I think my daughter looked pretty fucking proud.