An Open Letter to Those With Whom I Share the Road
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.