Dear Ms. Soccer Mom:
Yes, you have an SUV. Yes, it is big. Yes, it is shiney. No, it does NOT mean you own the whole farking road. Tough darn titties, but I am NOT going to allow you to barge in front of me. Get a life. And a fuel-efficient sedan. And get the fuck off the cell phone.
Dear Mr. Illegal Wetback Immigrant:
A) You don't belong here.
B) Go back where you came from
C) Go to a driving school when you get there.
D) This isn't Tiajuana - we have rules of the road here. Learn them before you apply to come back legally.
Dear Mr. Over-the-Road 18-wheeler Driver:
I don't care how much you pay in taxes, you still don't own the fucking road. Don't bother honking the millisecond the light turns green. I MIGHT could get so rattled that I stall the car from popping the clutch. Oopsie.
And that road construction? Well, you're about 8 feet above me, you probably could see the right lane was closed about a mile further away than I could. Too bad you didn't get to the left sooner. No, I am not going to sit still and wait for you to get in front of me. Deal with it.
I hate people. I need to be a hermit. I really do.