The Thinking Minority

Dear Charlottesville and Albemarle,

For the love of God and all that is holy, please stop hitting my f#!&ing car. PLEASE. I'm growing quite tired of getting that familiar smack in my back that says, "Contact has been achieved! Get angry now!" I have no need to enter my car into the world of social networking and no desire for it to have playdates.

Is there a problem with my car? No? Perhaps our cars had a disagreement? Not that either? Did someone mischievously slide a giant post-it that says "HIT ME" on the car? I don't see one and I'm pretty sure you won't see one either. So, the next time my car stops for one those newfangled lights, traffic, or those pesky pedestrians that cross without care, STOP YOUR DAMNED CAR BEFORE hitting mine. Those red lights in the back mean that I've stopped. C'est tout.