This morning, as I was driving to work, my attention strayed for a millisecond to check the traffic light ahead of me, rather than remaining resolutely glued on the space between me and the car in front of me, or rather the space that was suddenly filled with solid matter in the form of a dark green Jetta. You’ll have to pardon my inability to brake in what you apparently believed was the appropriate amount of time. You’ll also have to excuse my reaction to your digital display of displeasure. My own verbal and visual communications were perhaps a tad overly expressive, and I’m sure that you really don’t engage in fornication with your mother, biological or otherwise, that you’ve never performed oral sex on someone who has “outie” reproductive organs (unless that’s your thing, in which case, more power to you), and that feces are not generally on your menu.

Someone does, however, need to tell you that you’re an asshole, and I figure that you’ll be my random act of kindness for the week. This is done, of course, with only the best of intentions. Acknowledge that you’re an asshole. Get in touch with your inner asshole. Revel in your assholiness. And then tomorrow morning, when you’ve realized that only a higher power can help you with this condition, throw your car keys in the nearest sewer grate and take public transportation. Everyone will thank you.