Dear Assface,

You don't know me, but I know you.

You see...I'm the poor bastard who had the privilege of driving behind your car today...

...on my motorcycle...

...on the highway.

And I hate you.

I hate the fact that I had to stare at your two kids in the backseat.

Not because they looked like the redheaded spawn of Satan...

...and not because they kept doing the "Beep your horn with the pull-down handle" arm-motion (seriously...I'm on a motorcycle and NOT an 18-wheeler...do your kids actually go to school?)

After the cigarette, Before the wiper fluid.

This means I know at least one thing about you without ever meeting you:

You're stupid.

As such, I should have seen what was coming...

...when you expelled your lit cigarette out your driver's side window.

*THUNK*

Nice.

Right off my facemask and onto my lap. 

Thank you. 

Nothing like catching on fire on the way to work to start your day.

Were you done?

Noooooo.

Apparently - and, oh, lucky me - your windshield was dirty.

What better time to clean your windshield then on the highway at 80 miles an hour...with me behind you? Yeah, I can't think of one, either.

On the bright side, I now smell lemony.

Plus, you managed to douse the cigarette with the cascading waterfall of windshield washer fluid you hosed on me.

Many thanks.

I, in turn, have repaid you in kind.

When you ask your little kids where they learned how to give the finger to someone, you'll have me to thank.

You're welcome.

Drive safely. 

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