An Open Letter to the Sociopath Tailgating Me

Sure, go ahead and read this while you're driving, it's not like it will make you any more dangerous.

You know who you are: the distant speck in my mirror at 10:39:28 a.m. that transmogrifies by 10:39:51 a.m. into what seems like a spare vehicle strapped to my trunk, your headlights so close they are blocked from view. Judging by your flagrant disregard for not just the law, but basic human welfare, I bet it's safe to assume this situation makes me your worst sort of nightmare; a rolling roadblock who seemingly shares none of your desperate need to attain near-earth-orbit velocity. Since you are close enough to read my speedometer over my shoulder, please have a look to confirm I am already travelling double-digits over the speed limit as I try to complete my own pass on someone more law-abiding than even I am. 

Trying to strike that delicate balance between pleasing unpleasable people like you and pleasing that officer up ahead who's aiming a radar gun at me would probably be easier if I could just make myself invisible. That's it - something James Bond could likely pull off. In fact, at times like this I often wonder, What would James Bond do? Something explosive usually pops to mind, but that's like a cop-out (no matter how gratifying), plus I'd worry about it affecting that innocent 18-wheeler dude sandwiching us along the guardrail lane. Same goes for an oil slick: skewy vehicles and highway speeds often spawn 6 o'clock news highlights. Now, an ejector seat for your sort might be just the ticket. If I could just figure out how to trigger it when you start up your motor in the garage...