I break for Tailgaters

Oh Tailgater,

Doth thine eye not see my mini Golf?
Art thou blissfully unaware of mine horseless carriage?
For thine ability to clog mine intake with yonder shit-pile makes me wet hen mad.

Cantst thou tell I am on the road?
Or is it that thou art able to stop before needing to?
If this be true then tell me,
Where comest thou by this magical breaking technology. For truly it is witchcraft.

Tailgater, oh tailgater, in thine Davine rush.
Dear wandering soul whom is insistent on doing 90 in the city,
I must inquire as to thine preparations. Thou must be well advanced in wealth or surly thou would'st never endanger you or my livelihood by following so close.

Is't thine auto unable to break pre-emptivly?
For truly I mean thou seest me enter yonder thoroughfare... yet thou insist upon crawling up mine posterior. Verily thine insurance company must be the greatest in all the lands. For thou hast no quips about a possible future as an invalid

Must I warn thee that I have no tolerance for thou?
Shall I do it in signs? Riddles?
For thy common sense is beyond compare with rationality.
My car is not so small you must endanger my life to see it. The plates that it dons are not of any foreign variety... save that they are from the east of this village. Thou dost not need to be so close. Thou art not mine wife!

I do not ask for much. I seek only what I give'st thou in courtesy when'st thou art in my view. I plead for space and thou respondest not with kindness but with thine hand. Surely thou must know this will make me madder. Art thou not aware that a single touch of my breaking lever and thou may meet thine maker?

Dear brethren I beseech thee,
Make yonder crap trap 2 seconds slower. Thus I shan't need to kill someone to avoid being terminated by thine fuckwitted driving habits. I mindest not making thine company and thyself pay for yonder future.