I know you may not believe it, but other cars are occasionally on the road at this hour of the morning. Some of us need our first caffeine fix; others of us haven't been to bed. I'm guessing you were in that second category. You staggered, disheveled, antsy and reeking of Bacardi 151, out of your girlfriend's apartment about 15 minutes earlier. It was at that point that you realized that eventually your wife was going to be awake. She was going to wonder why she was without transport for the rat children you were trying to forget you'd made while you were pelvis deep in Kiki the "beautician". If the minivan and, more specifically, you aren't there when she gets up she's going to pack up the kids and take them to her mother's in East Koonunga. After she gets the keys back from you, that is. That is something you do not want. The child support you're already paying to the first wife is a pain in the ass and a second helping of "bitch-go-bye-bye" money is really going to cut into the ol' slush fund. No, that just will not do. So you're going to put pedal to the metal and get your ass home. She'll buy "I passed out on the couch". Maybe. If you can get the stripper glitter off. Let's not make that mistake again.
But, sir, I want you to know: I'm ok. My catlike reflexes allowed me to hit the brakes on my own poor '92 Geo Prism a mere two seconds before you would have plowed into the driver's side of my car. I'm sorry that my need for coffee that early in the morning almost interfered with your ability to avoid the wrath of your wife. What a horrid shrew beast she must be to drive you into the arms of another and then make you speed home, recklessly disregarding the safety of others like
I'm past being angry at you, sir. But, I do hope that you find something to bring the madness in your life to an end. I'm praying for you sir. I really am. I hope you find Jesus, sir. And that He kicks you squarely in the cunt.
All the best,