Thursday, November 20, 2008

dear douchebag in the pontiac,

Hi, I don't know if you remember me, but we were both heading South on 34th St earlier this week. As we approached a traffic light, you decided to pull ahead of me and cut me off. No worries though, I just pulled to your right and was up at the stop light right next to you.

You may recall my look of disgust and pity, when I looked over at you. Maybe you remember my brief chuckle when I eyeballed you, your troll-esque girl, and your shitty ride.

Certainly you must remember me rolling my eyes as you sat there at the stoplight with your windows down, your shitty rap music blaring, and your cute little engine revving. Yeah, I caught you looking over at me, giving me 'the eye'. And yeah, I was down to race.

Now I know you remember what happened when the light turned green. After all that engine revving, all your eyeballing me, and your girl checking out my ride..after all that...I know you remember me blowing right the fuck by you, like you were sitting still. Did you even hit the gas, motherfucker?

It is not my intention to embarrass you, I think we both know you don't need any help in that department - well, as long as you keep driving that cute little Pontiac around.

If you take one thing from this letter, please take this: if you're going to insist on racing dudes with faster cars than you, maybe instead of blowing some ching on those shitty rims, you might want to just go ahead and buy more car.


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