To the lady who rode my ass this morning:

Did you have a crush on me or something? Maybe you were trying to read my license plate. But it doesn’t say anything interesting, so it must be that you just really liked me. I hope you appreciated that I was driving so slow. I don’t usually do that, but I was worried that if I drove too fast I would lose you. And it was obvious that you wanted to stay as close as possible. I hope you appreciated it. It made me a little late for work, but for you, it was worth it. You were so close that I could see the pores in your skin in my rearview mirror. Sorry, you’re just not my type. I go for brunettes. If I ever see you and your ice blue minivan again though, I’ll be sure to say hi.

On a much different note, last night I saw a commercial for a urine remover. It was called Urine Out or something equally disturbing. It definitely had urine in the name. Is this really a problem? They tried to play it off like their primary customers are the cat ladies who need to cover up all the kitty accidents on their shag carpet. But they were none too subtle about the “other uses” you may have for Urine-B-Gone. Kids wet the bed? Urine-Ex! Husband too drunk to find the toilet? Try the Urinator!

Urine. Urine. Yer in. Yeerrriiiinnn. Weird Al should write a song called Urination. Are ya getting it? As in… Rhythm* Nation. But it has the word urine in it. Maybe he already has. Anyone?

*I first typed “Rythym” and actually thought that was right for a minute