Dear Raging Rectal Regurgitants on the Road Today,

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.

Hate,
~Mare

PS….This missive is only directed at those who drive like they are the sole occupants of the road.

10 thoughts on “Dear Raging Rectal Regurgitants on the Road Today,

    1. “üntz üntz üntz üntz HAAAAAAAAAATE üntz üntz üntz üntz KILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL üntz üntz üntz üntz”

      You know it has been a stressful day when all your music sounds like this.

  1. That does not bother me as much as the jerks who, when I am driving happily at 75 in the left lane of I-35, get behind me, tailgate me aggressively, ignore me tapping my breaks, and then, when I pull over into the right lane after passing who I’m passing, REFUSE TO FUCKING PASS ME.

    1. I hear you on the guy who hangs when he should be passing. We shall call him Faily McHangsalot.

      I was mostly annoyed with Cougar Town because a.) on the cell phone in traffic, going slow in the left lane and b.) had enlisted Faily McHangsalot to trap me behind her.

      (see previous response re: üntz üntz üntz üntz

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