All right, pissant, have a seat. This is one talk you are looooong overdue for. Your driving? I hate it. Loathe. Despise. You wait until the absolute last possible second before you brake, take turns so close to other vehicles that I can inspect other cars' paint jobs in detail, dodge, duck, veer, and swerve between SUVs' and semi-trucks' blind spots as if a whole flock of angels were sitting on your shoulders. You think you're such a fantastic driver, and we should all clear the road in your honor as you drive by. Arrogant prick. You scare the hell out of me. And you know I'm scared, and like the petulant little punk-ass bitch that you are, you take more risks, cut tighter turns, slam on the brakes till they scream. Why? To scare me into not being scared anymore? No. Your whopping overdeveloped ego can't handle anything remotely resembling criticism. You throw a tantrum every time I ask you to slow down. And you think you're getting any sex tonight? This week? Think again, asshole. I hate Hate HATE your driving, you cretin! Sincerely, your girlfriend.
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