Your high-speed wit
The other day, as I was strolling around the quaint old town I'd stopped to visit, I watched you zip by in your tricked-out Civic with your window down, and I heard you shout some of the most clever insults to everyone you passed on the street:
"Hey, FATTEE!" to the dumpy lady walking her dog.
"Wooo! Nice bike!" to the teenager on the bike.
"Awesome blog!" to me when you recognized me as the author of "Why I don't want to hang out with you..." (Actually, that one might not have happened. Instead, I think you commented on my thinning hair.)
What sharp wit! What biting rhetoric! What bravery! I mean, telling a fat woman that she's fat to her face is just so bush-league and childish. But shouting it at her as you ride by in a car shows true class, sophistication, and balls of solid brass. And you are actually performing a public service. After all, how else will the gawky kid with the glasses know he's actually wearing glasses if you don't call him "four-eyes"?
But seriously, have you nothing better to do? Has driving gotten so tedious that you have to spice it up by acting like a total dick to strangers that you aren't even bold enough to approach?
You don't seem to realize that your high-speed commentary is neither funny nor clever, and that is why I don't want to hang out with you.