So last night I had a dream that my buddy Mitch came over for a weekend when his dad came to pick him up in a race car. They were driving away and, while I was watching them go, they suddenly turned and tried to hit me. I rolled out of the way and they crashed into the house and died in a fiery explosion. The police said it wasn't my fault, but the next day we got a letter written in crazy ass cursive from the local branch of weeaboos claiming that it was our fault Mitch died in a fiery explosion while trying to kill me.

So for the next three days the weeaboos started shooting up my house in drive-bys, killing various people, and general being gangsta as fuck. Finally my dad brought a ton of heavy firepower and I woke up before we had an epic standoff with a bunch of my friends and I holed up inside our house with tons of weaponry.