By Jay Thomas

Dear Ignorant Cunt Who Ran Me Off The Road,

I hope this letter finds you well, as you were obviously too preoccupied with some personal problem to check your blind spot before merging into my lane. Elementary physics tells us that two objects cannot occupy the same space simultaneously. Obviously you don’t quite grasp this concept, as you attempted to disprove it with your mid-80s-model Tercel.

This blatant disregard for the core tenets of physics and basic spatial relationships should have come as no surprise to me, as you were somehow able to wedge your cellulite-addled girth into that poor compact car despite the fact that, to the naked eye, there should have been no way to force your way through the rusted red door. I have my own theories on how you were able to manipulate the enumerable rolls of lard, like those that hung so heavily from your bulldog-like jowls. These theories involve manipulation of cabin pressure by way of a large vacuum. Regardless of how you managed it, the feat remains impressive.

Even as I veered from the road and made my way onto the shoulder, I was able to take note of your Cheeto-stained fingers grasping a cellular phone. By the faraway look in your eyes, I assume that you were ordering a minimum of four large pizzas to stuff into your eagerly awaiting maw. I can only hope, for the good of humanity that you were on your way to a beauty salon, or in the somewhat likely event that you were a bear, a groomer, as the Caucasian afro-mullet combination, or “frollet” is rightfully frowned upon.

There are WAY more image search results for "bear driving a car" than you think there are.

As my car neared the concrete safety barrier, I noticed a rainbow of paints on your driver side. These streaks of paint (possibly the dried blood of pedestrians?) were displayed prominently as if your car were a decorated soldier returning from the front lines, only instead of fighting for your country, you’ve slammed into dozens of innocent people’s vehicles. Not nearly as noble a cause, I can assure you.

Your one working taillight illuminated a series of bumper stickers. Though I have never been formally introduced, as just the mere sight of you left a taste in my mouth I can only describe as bile-y, I know just what kind of person you are by the opinions stuck haphazardly to the back of your car. Stickers like:

A picture of the solar system with the caption, “14 planets.”

This little gem tells me that you probably listen to shows like Earth and Sky and then parrot what you hear to coworkers who absentmindedly refer to Pluto as a planet instead of a planetoid.

FUCK YOU $CEINCEtIST$

“Teach your kids science, not science fiction”

This bumper sticker tells the reader that you are an “intellectual” whose satisfaction comes only by telling people that their views are wrong unless they agree with you. Ironically, the opposite side of the trunk was home to a sticker that read, “COEXIST” spelled out using a variety of religious and cultural insignias. Perhaps this was some kind of commentary on the dichotomy of science and religion, or much more likely, you are fucking retarded.

FUCK YOU, 6Od

Finally, the classic: “My Kid Is An Honor Roll Student”

I wrote this one off as a prank, for the simple fact that only the most well-endowed man would be able to stab through the layers of mayonnaise-filled lard to impregnate you. And assuming that at one time you were thinner than a medium sized elephant, your face would still make any self-respecting heterosexual man’s dick as limp and soft as the most delicious pasta from Olive Garden.

FCUK U

In conclusion, I would like to say that I dislike you and everything that you stand for.

Die In A Fire,

Jay