I don’t know if driving brings out the asshole within, or if most people who drive are assholes to begin with. But when another driver wrongs you, until the day it becomes legal to shoot them in the face with a firearm - there’s really nothing you can do about it. So I decided to write to all the bad drivers whom I’ve had the misfortunate of encountering over the years. I’ve separated them into categories, because like herpes, there are several types. Hopefully you are one of them and are deeply hurt by what I wrote. (And being morally superior to all of you, I feel I’m exempt from every one of these transgressions.)
To The Drivers Who Drove Slowly In Front Of Me But Sped Up When I Tried To Go Around Them:
This also applies to Drivers Who Speed Up To Prevent You From Changing Lanes In Front Of Them. As the great philosopher Aristotle once stated: You are a cocksucker. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you? That’s greedy, immature, and strongly suggests that you are the byproduct of rampant inbreeding. If you somehow feel that my vehicle being in front of yours makes you even more of a loser, than I strongly suggest you seek counseling for your pitifully low self-esteem. And by counseling I mean a hot cheese enema.
To The Drivers Who Drive Really Slow On The Fast Lane:
“Really slow” in this case is the speed limit. If you drive even slower than that, I believe there’s a special place in Hades for you filled with angry ferrets. There are three other lanes on the freeway for law-abiding people like you - why do you have to take the one lane that was set aside for those of us who choose to risk the consequences of going over 65? If your slow, constipated ass still insists on being in the fast lane, you must act like you belong with the big boys and stay at least 15 miles over the speed limit. Otherwise karma will take effect and you will be reincarnated as a condom in Justin Timberlake’s wallet.
To The Drivers Who Felt I Cut Them Off And Tried To Cut Me Off In Return:
Maybe you were often beaten as a child by classmates. Maybe your teachers joined in too. Maybe somebody killed your master and you were never able to avenge him. Whatever your tormented past may be, the streets and highways of America are not the appropriate places for you to seek revenge against the world. Instead I suggest you find a hornets nest somewhere in the woods and take a bat to it. It’s cathartic, and Harvard University psychologists have recommended this as an effective method of therapy for decades. Don’t worry about getting horribly stung, because hornets possess a great sense of empathy and will understand your inner pain.
To The Drivers Who Made A Right Turn Directly In Front Of Me:
This also applies to Drivers Who Cut Me Off. There’s a reason why you are the leading cause of freeway shootings. If you jump right in front of me knowing very well your crapmobile’s inability to properly accelerate will force me to brake, then I am entitled to crush you like the mentally deficient little bug that you are. But since you are obviously not worth denting my car over, I will merely content myself with the knowledge that you are most likely a sexual deviant who can only satisfy himself with frozen poultry, because you can’t even score with the live, unfrozen ones.
To The Drivers Who Tailgated Me:
Anyone who follows you at less than two car-lengths can’t be a decent human being. The Bible says so. And if the Old Testament God was still around, he’d cover you with boils and have swarms of locusts break into your house and steal all your shit. Listen, if you’re really in that much of a hurry to get to your NAMBLA meeting, Mr. Pedophile, do what smart people do and leave earlier next time. But of course I’m assuming you understand the ways of people who possess IQ’s above that of a jar of warm mayonnaise.
To The Drivers Who Are Old And Can’t Stay In Their Lanes:
I feel uncomfortable attacking the elderly, so instead I will address Drivers Who Are On The Cellphone And Can’t Stay In Their Lanes. It’s quite apparent that you can barely drive with both hands on the wheel, so why the hell are you using one of those flabby arms to hold a mobile phone to your strangely misshapen head? Next time you feel compelled to yap away, try pulling over and having a conversation with your genitals. Sure, it doesn’t have ears and therefore could care less about what comes out of that flapping mouth of yours, but neither does anyone else on this planet.
I’m sure there are more categories, but that’s all I could think up in the past hour. Feel free to add more.