All I want to do is to say fuck you, even though I dont know who you are

To the guy who called me a "fucking queer" at the stop light at Guilford road and Eden Brook Drive:

I admit, Listening to Sinead O'Connor's "Nothing Compares" with the windows open is grounds for being called a queer. No offense to gay people, but its just that, I mean, yeah, Sinead O'Connor is kinda gay. But hear me out. I didnt know at fist what I was listening to. I flipped to 89.7 because no other station was playing anything worth while, and 89.7 sometimes plays really obscure cool stuff. I heard some like japanese sounding flute which sounded kinda cool, so I figured I'd hear it out, see what it was. Then this chick starts singing, and I'm like "hey this sounds familiar", but I cant place it. Eventually it gets to the "Nothing compares.... nOthing compares to yooooooooooou" part, and then I realize who it is, but my brain starts churning with questions. "why did Sinead O'Connor tear up the pope's picture?" , "Is she on the same side of the whole Irish protestant/catholic thing as Bono? they're both Irish, but which Ireland? Where do the Cranberries come in? ", "what are they all even fighting about anyway?" , "Man, I need to hit up wikipedia when I get home". Ok, I may have sung along to a round or two of the chorus, but lets pretend that didn't happen. Anyway, out of nowhere as I'm waiting to turn onto my street, with all these questions going through my head, this douche calls me a fucking queer. I would have flipped him off, but by the time I reacted to what he said, the light had turned and he was gone. Fucking straight ass non-0Sinead-Oconnor liking mother fucker. I guess straight doesnt really work as an insult, especially when I happen to be straight. Ah well. Anyway, feel free to berate my poor musical judgement. Years of hearing "Dream Theater sucks balls" every five minutes have hardened me to any and all musical criticism.