Dear guy who almost ran me over despite having a red light and only a red light,
If I ever see you again outside of your vehicle, I am going to almost crush your testicles with the force of my kick. Almost, because you almost killed me. Despite having ample amounts of warning time that a.) yes, it was a red light, which is generally understood to mean you must come to a stop, and b.) there was in fact someone, someone wearing a bright yellow shirt no less, running in the crosswalk you were swiftly approaching. After you screeched to a stop with half your car sticking out into the intersection—you know, where my mutilated body would be if I hadn’t stopped to shake my fist at you—you didn’t even have the balls to look me in the eyes as I glowered at you with all the scorn you deserve. You just sat there looking to your lap in shame. So I don’t even know if there’s anything left down there to kick, but rest assured, if there is, I will kick it. Understand that I have been through this once before—some jerkoff ran his stop sign and I dislocated my own arm in my efforts to leap off my bicycle as it went under his car, totaled. He did not even call an ambulance for me. But I will not tolerate that kind of bullshit again. Had you in fact hit me I would have shoved your cellphone so far up your ass that you would have had no choice but to call 911 for me by sheer force of sphincter cramping. If necessary I would have plucked a shard of bone from my shattered pelvis and slashed your pretty tires with it until you bothered to look me in the goddamn eyes. So try using them next time, okay?