An Open Letter To Dirty Bikers Everywhere

Dear Motorcycle Rider,

I've seen you all out on the roadways, long hair flowing from your immaculately neglected scalps. I know how you must feel. Sure, you've got the increased mobility that comes from owning a hog. You get to save on gas. You can slide between cars and ride in the shoulder in direct defiance to what "the man" tells the rest of us to do. "Surely," I hear you say through my clairvoyant powers, "I must be nigh unto a leather-clad GOD!"

Stop. Just stop for a moment and consider what providence grants you this supposed invulnerability. Remember that, for all the privileges granted to you by law, you are but blades of grass on the great lawn of life, and those of us who continue to travel, as God intended, in a high speed, steel and plexiglass boxcar of death, are like really big feet. True, you ARE that grass which the powers that be have asked the rest of us to be extra super careful not to roll over in our exhaust-spewing demons of the roadways, but there remains the inescapable fact that, if we tread on you, you WILL go splat.

So let's make a deal: I'll pay attention when you zoom through the blind spot on my right, and you'll use your turn signals and wear a helmet, 'kay?

Love, Braddy