Dear sir,
If you had a severe case of diarrhea this afternoon, please disregard this letter. As there was no pregnant woman in your car and you did not appear to be bleeding profusely from the jugular, diarrhea is the only justification for your "driving" today. I forgive you, but to be honest, I still kinda hope you didn't make it. My infant daughter, the one you almost killed today, occasionally blows out of her diaper and onto her clothes...I find that OxiClean works very well for shit stains. I hope your day improves. You can stop reading now.
Assuming you did not have diarrhea, as I suspect you didn't, I have a few things to add.
I understand. You're busy. Clearly, you have somewhere to be, and soon! You're obviously extremely important, as made evident by your overpriced car and the Fast and/or Furiousness with which you drive it, and don't get me wrong ...we're all VERY impressed. I'm sure you have an enormous penis, and I'm genuinely sorry that you have to share the road with the rest of us underlings.
If you keep working hard, maybe someday you'll be rich enough to afford to afford your own private highway. Or better yet, your own island! Ooooh, you could invite all the other arrogant, Hummer-driving pieces of shit to your island!! Let me know where I can send a donation to this cause or assist in organizing a fundraising event.
In the meantime, here's a suggestion - since apparently, the police don't scare you, and the likelihood of dying engulfed in flames hasn't inspired you to be a more courteous driver, how about this?...Try to imagine that every car you run off the road has a baby in it. If babies don't inspire any warm, fuzzy feelings in you, imagine dogs. Don't care about animals either? Fine - I know you love your money. I bet you've acted out that scene in Indecent Proposal (however brief and sweaty your version may have been). I bet you sneak dollar bills into your salad and close your eyes in orgasmic bliss as you chew. I bet you own one of those cheesy novelty towels that looks like a giant dollar bill, don't you? Well then, imagine a huge sack of cash in each car you run off the road. The car could burst into flames! Protect the money!!!!!
One more thing - you don't get to avoid my glare when, after all your rushing, mouthing of curse words and overdramatic throwing up of hands, I pull up next to you at a red light. You don't get to pretend you don't see me after you've vehicularly raped my car, finally had your chance to speed ahead obnoxiously loudly, and cut me off one last time. Once I've calmly and safely arrived next to you at the red light, I get to look at you as if to say, "Oooh, look at that...we're in the same place now, bitch." It's my right. You will look at me. Bitch.
Sincerely,
Sharon
p.s. You look nothing like Vin Deisel. Sorry to disappoint you. Maybe Bill Murray with the Gout...
