To the lady driving in front of me at approximately 4:35 p.m.:
This afternoon, while attempting to merge onto southbound Highway 100 from Excelsior Boulevard, you ever-so-kindly would not move your ass, but with traffic whizzing past me at 70 miles per hour I was unable to get around you. This almost caused a series of accidents which I was fortunately able to avoid, but believe it or not, narrowly avoiding your own death does not do much to improve one's already shitty mood.
You were seemingly oblivious to the what was going on, and when I was finally able to get around you I saw the reason for this: the book you were reading was far more interesting than paying attention to your surroundings, which happened to be rapidly moving, extremely heavy pieces of metal that had the potential to turn your little green Grand Am (traveling at a rate of approximately 40 miles per hour) into your casket.
I'm sorry that I screamed the F bomb in your general direction many times, and that I called you a "dumb f-ing c-word." It was just a c-word kind of day, and also, that's what you are if you choose to put lives in danger by reading a book while traveling down the road.
There is a song from Sesame Street called "Put Down the Ducky." Today, I vote that they change the lyrics to "Put Down the Booky (and Pay Attention to the Road)."
Happy to be alive,