To Whom it May Concern

First of all, anyone who hasn't seen the movie which shares it's moniker with the post you are reading, DON'T! It's probably the worst movie ever written, ever! (except maybe Titanic). That being said, today's rant is following a common theme that I like to re-visit from time to time, traffic.

Dear crotch rocket douche bag,

I know, I know, owning a crotch rocket is just so fucking cool. I mean, I just can't understand why, while flying down the road with your bad ass crotch rocket douche jacket, you don't get ladies just flying at you like you're the mall on the day after Thanksgiving! I am so extremely jealous of your bad assery that every time I see one of you, I go home immediately and beat myself up for being so damned lame. In case you couldn't tell, jackass, I'm being sarcastic. I'm writing this to let you know that just because you're a giant shit head and own a crotch rocket, doesn't give you the right to drive like a complete ass. You're constantly weaving in and out of traffic, driving in between cars and cutting people off just so you can get back up to 150 and impress the living shit out of... well, no one actually. If I was less of a person, I would ram my car right into your fucking side and watch you fly. I'm all about respecting motorcyclists and keeping an eye out for them on the road; however, you motorcyclists need to respect us regular drivers too. Otherwise, you lose all of my respect you douchy piece of rotting trash of a person.

Sincerely,
Chris Goretcki