Tuesday, September 20, 2011

An open letter to Everything That Is Bigger In Texas.

Dear Giant-Ass Truck In Front Of Me, et al.:

It has come to my attention—largely through your maniacal, potentially homicidal veering—that you are Unnecessarily Huge. If you are unable to make a turn at an angle wider than 90° without swerving a full lane's width out of your way (and into everyone else's), you are Too Damn Big. To be sure, the terrain in a city with a median household income of $93,000 is unforgiving, but after having outfitted my Ford Focus with a bit of technology that I call tires, I find that I am able to handle anything this Wild West town throws at me: lanes, speed bumps—even corners! You can get them at pretty much any store with the word "tire" in its name. There's probably one within a couple miles of you right now. I bet you can even see it from way the fuck up on the eighth floor of that monstrosity you're driving.

You're welcome,


P.S. My friend Sigmund Freud was wondering if you could get together with him to discuss some of his theories regarding your apparent obsession with size. However, even he thought the testicles dangling below your hitch made the metaphor too obvious.

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