Notes to My Fellow Drivers
To the Old Goat in the Boxster:
I will have you know that I am severely traumatized. I saw the sleek, sexy hood of your car approaching and I slowed to let you pass hoping for a glimpse of the hottie in the driver’s seat. Instead, I saw YOU, a balding, fat slob with more wrinkles than a Shar-pei (and I am appalled that I was a little wet expecting a cutie). Here’s a free clue for you: You are NOT hot by association and your cool car doesn’t transform you into a Stud-of-the-Month. Get a fucking sedan and STOP TEASING ME!
To the Old Goat in the Ferrari:
None of the above applies to you. I love you. May I bear your children?
To Make-Up in the Rearview Mirror Girl:
Mornings are rough, aren’t they? I know. I can totally relate. You hit the snooze one time too many, your coffee fails to inspire you, and now you’re late. But, I gotta tell ya, m’dear, that there isn’t enough Maybelline in the world to cover the scarred horror your face will become after you slam at 70 mph into the car ahead of you. Watch the goddamn road and put on your paint when you GET THERE. I promise you, your coworkers will survive the shock of seeing your real face, you conceited bitch.
To the Speeding Lane Weaver:
I saw you in my mirrors, whipping between cars, going twenty mph faster than the heavy traffic you were tearing around. When you zipped to my left, preparing to cut into the small gap in front of me, I sped up to close it. Yes, I did it on purpose, you arrogant prick. It amused me to no end to watch you turn red with frustration. Listen up, asshole, there is NO appointment, date, or deadline that’s worth losing MY life. Here’s a deal for you: You leave earlier and drive at a SANE speed, and I won’t block your way. Do y’see how that works, you self-inflated dick?
To the Retired Granny and Gramps:
Life’s a bitch, isn’t it? Just when you’re able to enjoy some freedom from work and family obligations, your body betrays you with its decline. You can’t see, you can’t hear, and your reaction time is somewhere between two days and two weeks. Accept your limitations. Embrace them. And please, please, please take the bus. It moves at YOUR pace, and lord knows, you’re not getting there quickly no matter WHICH way you go.
To the Semi Truck Driver in a "Hurry":
Going one mph faster than the semi to your right does NOT constitute "passing". You are blocking traffic and it’s causing a left lane jam from people going only slightly faster than you are, who see a semi in the middle lane and inherently think, "Semi truck…can’t stay behind it.. MUST go around." If you are going to pass your slower brothers, then by god, hit the fucking gears and PASS. You were dangerously close to making a sig alert, you dumbass.
To the Blonde on the Cell Phone:
No, I wasn’t giving you a lesbian flirt. While you were busy dialing your Very Important Phone Call to who-the-fuck-ever, your SUV nearly tapped my driver’s side door. I had nowhere else to go and I was frantically honking to avoid the collision that would have put a serious dent in my travel plans, not to mention ME. If you scare me like that again, I will bitch-slap your uncoordinated, sorry ass until the air filling your pretty little head leaks out and your face crumples in a heap. How are you going to talk on the phone THEN, you oblivious ditz?
To the Moron Merging Ahead of Me:
Step 1 - Speed up.
Step 2 - Find a gap.
Step 3 - Insert your car into said gap at the SAME SPEED that the traffic is going.
If you cannot manage that simple maneuver, you chickenshit idiot, then take the surface roads and leave the freeway to the drivers who have some balls. I am too young to die today.
To the Idiot Who Can’t Read a Sign:
It’s big, it’s bright yellow, and it repeats itself every 500 feet. It says your lane is ending. YOUR lane, nitwit, NOT mine. Do you really believe that I OWE it to you to let you in? After I’ve just sat here like a good little girl in this endless traffic while you’ve breezed by to the head of the line? Fuck you and the horse you rode up on. Sit there and stew.
To the Guy on My Ass:
You and your tricked-out, jacked-up, rally truck terrify me and I’m not ashamed to admit it. I saw the monsterous, sharp-toothed grin painted on your grill climbing up my trunk, and I became so limp with fright that my foot lost its stiffy and flopped to the floor. After I slowed to 20 mph and was no longer pissing my pants in fear, you were welcome to kiss my ass for as long as you wanted to, you motherfucking hemorrhoid jerk-in-a-tin-can redneck.
To the Courtious and Safe Drivers:
Thank you. God will bless the two of you with riches beyond your dreams.
To Everybody Else:
You are are going to hell (so don’t forget to buckle up). And if you take me with you, you should know that I have a deal with the Devil to force the cretins who kill me to spend their eternity on the 405 at 5 pm on Fridays. So, think about THAT the next time you want to act like an ass on the road.
And do have a good drive.