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.