Dear Men in the Huge Truck Behind Me This Morning,
Hi. It’s me–the lady in the tiny car you were completely up the ass of as I idled efficiently, attempting to make up for some of the fossil fuels you burn through like an ’80s coke-head on a weekend bender in L.A.
I was sitting at the yield sign near the exit of our neighborhood, waiting for the school bus 100 yards from us to signify all children were finished boarding and cars could legally resume driving past.
You knew this. Because your truck is ridiculously tall, in the same way your dick is most likely ridiculously small, I know you could see the bus, too.
But you had to be an asshole, didn’t you? You had to honk at me. Watch, I’m gonna make ‘er jump, Joe Bob. Yessirree, that’s funny, Cletus! I imagined you saying as you startled my kid and me with your pointless horn bleat.
Rather than risking my son having to watch his mom being shot by one of our nation’s “good guys with a gun,” I illegally pulled forward toward the bus and parked in front of a nearby house.
I wasn’t supposed to move, you see, because the bus had the STOP sign out and lights flashing. You knew this, but you didn’t care. This is because you’re a piece of shit, but I think you know that, too.
By pulling forward and parking in front of a house to get out of your way, I allowed you to get exactly one car length ahead of me before you also had to wait for the bus to tuck in its “PLEASE DON’T RUN OVER THE CHILDREN YOU IGNORANT ASSHOLES” sign.
I would like to think you felt stupid in that moment, but I’m pretty sure that would be giving you too much credit.
I mostly just wanted to say that I hope you were super late for work.
Sorry about your micropenis,