An Open Letter...

...to the driver of the Toyota 4Runner behind me at the traffic light at Old National Pike this evening:

You lame excuse for a human being:

Your automobile lists for half again as much as mine.

If your fragile ego is unable to withstand comparisons with innocent people sitting in front of you at traffic lights, may I suggest the following procedure?

1. Direct your gaze to the space between your legs.

2. Locate the two vaguely globe-shaped objects hopefully situated somewhere in your trousers.

3. Go home and tell your wife in no uncertain terms what you want and why. Tell her you want to trade in the 4Runner for a less-expensive sports car. Or even a more expensive one, if you can afford it.

If you are unable to locate the aforementioned globular objects (or if the prospect of facing the Little Woman fills you with terror) then please *do* refrain from peeling out from behind me, hitting 70 in a silly attempt to cut me off before your lane closes off, then slowing down so I'm left practically inhaling your bumper while you almost drive off the road because you can't corner your vehicle at speeds over 35 mph.

Thanks ever so much,

The disgusted chick in the red car

Was there some sort of escape from the local asylum this evening?