To the driver of the brand spanking new Explorer with all the sheet metal dinged or scratched or downright mangled? the one with broken glass? the one with the garbage bag window where the passenger glass used to be? the one with the bent bumpers fore and aft? I have a little help to offer you to allow you to get your finger close to the clue button.

YOUR CAR LOOKS LIKE IT DOES BECAUSE YOU DRIVE LIKE A FUCKTARD. YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS ON PUBLIC ROADS, AND IN FACT, I DON’T EVEN THINK I WANT TO CATCH YOU OFF ROAD. Turn yourself in to the idiot police, there’s no hope for you.

Off the expressway: To the woman who sauntered through the crosswalk while I sat stopped in front of Target, then decided you were going to stop three quarters of the way through and swing your purchases at me as i drove through behind you: THANK WHATEVER UNHOLY HELL BEAST YOU WORSHIP THAT YOU DID NOT HIT MY TRUCK, FUCKWEASEL, BECAUSE I WOULD HAVE HAD YOU CHARGED, AND IN CUFFS, AND SITTING COOLING YOUR HEELS AT THE LOCAL JAIL, WAITING TO BE CORNHOLED WITH A PLUNGER HANDLE. Real people have lives. If you want to stand in the crosswalk and prevent people from driving, do it in Tijuana, and see what it gets you, miss Krispy Kreme. Oh, and go fuck yourself with that folding outdoor recliner you bought. it oughta just fit your festering cooze.