A brief epistle to spell out my feeling for you:
Today was apparently the day that all the local cum-monkeys who own Beemers and Infinities felt it imperative to clog the highway with their special brand of chode choked chicanery. I got cut off, blocked in, and witnessed my personal favorite: the cougar in a sporty spendymobile doing 45 in the far left lane of the highway. Why was she going so slow? Because she was chattering on her cell phone (lodged between shoulder and – presumably – her ear; it was a bit hard to tell under the shellacked blond hair) while she gesticulated wildly with the other hand.
Oh, for forward-mounted LAW rockets.
At any rate, I just wanted to drop ya’ll this note to tell you how much I fucking loathe you and my sincerest wish for you to be dropped into a vat of something caustic. Preferably said vat will also be full of robot monkeys with pinchers and frickin’ laser beams.
PS….This missive is only directed at those who drive like they are the sole occupants of the road.