Dear Everyone Apart From One Person On The Slipway From The End Of Deansgate Onto the Roundabout At The Junction Between The A56 And The Mancunian Way At About 4:50pm Today,
I am deeply sorry if the crazy tourettes man on the bicycle used language that you found offensive or inappropriate as he cycled down the road. He did not mean to upset you, or to appear unduly crazy or unbalanced. But the fact is, he had just come within about 20cm of being run over by a smug, braying, coiffed-and-besuited twat in a Range Rover Vogue with a fucking customised numberplate who, upon seeing that he’d nearly killed a cyclist, decided this was the funniest thing in the world and drove off fucking laughing. So I feel quite justified in pulling alongside him at the next set of lights and screaming through his open window that he was, without doubt, of questionable parentage, and resembled a part of the female anatomy in an irredeemable fashion.
I hope your children aren’t going to be too scarred by the experience.
Dear The Braying Twat Of Questionable Parentage Who Resembled Part Of The Female Anatomy Who Was Driving The Most Hateful Vehicle Known To Mankind,
I hope a massive 18-wheeler fails to see you at a junction, despite the fact that he’s clearly staring straight at you and you are the only, very visible, vehicle approaching him on that particular stretch of road, and ploughs straight into your stupid twatmobile. I hope your stupid hair catches fire and your ridiculous overpriced suit melts and sticks to your skin and you are forced to tell people forever after that you are being punished for being a vapid, hateful human being who exists solely to waste space and serve as a warning to others.
No love, Chris
Right, I need a drink.