When Mattresses Go Uncomfortable

Allow me to be blunt. Fuck motorists. Fuck them. I can't be kind about this. Fuck them to infinity. Now I'd like to remove the blanket of that statement and focus my crosshairs on the particularly negligent and inconsiderate motorists, who though they don't quite make up all motorists do appear to represent a vast and stomach-turning majority. Yes, you, motorists who find it of the utmost importance and urgency to whip out directly in front of me, deciding that no, the leftmost lane is not sufficient, nor is the middle; you want the rightmost lane, and not just the rightmost lane, the rightmost meter of the rightmost lane. Well now we've got a predicament, kind sir or madame, who as far as I can tell thinks rearview mirrors are for pussies. See, that's where I am, obeying traffic laws as a cyclist, and when you pull in front of me in such a way like that, allowing barely enough space between the two of us for a fingernail to pass through you unload the burden on me to decide whether to crash into the side rear-passenger door of your pretty silver Pontiac, which I'm sure you'd cry over, and truly delve into the depths of your imbecility as we argue; or to choose the sweet, black pavement as my crash pad. 

Which would you think I'd choose?

Okay then. So when I do choose to avoid you - because I am, after all, a man of logic and reason - thus suffering the public ignominy of hitting concrete and enduring whatever physical ailments and fiscal ramifications come as a result of this, the least you could do is offer a wave, a polite, "hey, thanks, good looking out; thanks for letting me continue on my ignoramus cocksucking ways", as I'll be spending a good few nights in a once-comfortable bed struggling to move because my bones feel as if they're going to tear through every layer of my skin thanks to a soreness that has spread throughout my body with an infectious tear the likes of which you'd have expected the Swine Flu to have already eaten through at least the lower half of America based on the media's overblown hype. Is that sentence too long? Fuck you.

If you ever wonder why your car is randomly keyed, keep it mind that it probably wasn't random.