If numerous clearly visible signs, nearly a mile’s worth of orange construction barrels, and the giant flashing LEFT LANE CLOSED AHEAD – MERGE RIGHT aren’t enough notice for you to GET INTO THE RIGHT FUCKING LANE, do not expect me to let your stupid, speed-along-the-side-and-try-to-get-over-at-the-last-possible-second ass over in front of me. Do not get pissed off and give me the finger and tailgate me until you have the opening to gun it and speed around me, only to have me CATCH BACK UP WITH YOU at the next light. Under those circumstances, I wouldn’t even let my grandmother merge in front of me – not that that would ever happen, since she’s not an ASSHOLE.
There is a special kind of hell reserved for you, full of narrow, unpassable, single-lane roads filled with old people in Lincoln Town Cars going 20 mph, their turn signals blinking “Fuck. You. Fuck. You.” May you rot there forever, the veins in your head never quite bursting in release to allow the end of your suffering.