How DJ TECH Roadkilled my Mittens

Good morning DJ TECH,

For the past week now we have been sharing a highway in Canada. You might have not noticed the fact that you are sharing this road with other people, because you drive like a douchebag. Not only is this highly annoying for everyone else on the road, it also eventually led to the demise of my poor little kitten, Mittens.

Here is what happened:



Sir Leaps-a-lot: Upgraded to Sniper



As a crocodile wrangler in Canada I have a lot of spare time, so I decided to pick up a second job to make some money on the side. With my broad range of skills and expertise, it didn’t take long before the Australian Government hired me to lead a secret program that they are piloting here in Canada for legal reasons.
Every day, I have to drive from my underground lair to a super-secret location that I cannot disclose to train Kangaroos how to wield and operate shotguns. We call them Death Leapers and they will eventually be a decisive factor in the War on Terror. However, this is a secret program, so I’ll have to send to send a Death Leaper your way to convince you to forget what you just read.

Now, ever since I invented the wheel, I’ve had a passion for driving. I liked the scenery, the sound road kills makes when I splash through a raccoons insides at 100 k/m an hour and sometimes I even listen to the radio.
However, since Ford (not Harrison) stole my invention and started to mass produce these “cars” of his, my pleasure in driving has been dwindling down significantly. Before this blatant intrusion on my patent, the roads were empty and I got to work relatively fast and I didn’t even had to invent the word “Traffic Jam” yet.
Fast forward 296 years and we have douchebags like you on the road. Instead of carelessly flattening squirrels and enjoying the wind in my hair, I have to actually pay attention to my surroundings and make sure my Davemobile doesn’t get butt raped by other cars who actually think that driving a $5 dollar footlong behind me qualifies as car bonding. It’s not,… it is the mechanical equivalent of sexual harassment. Now your Douchemobile seems to misinterpret the signals my Davemobile is giving out, or my rear bumper seems to have an undeniable attraction to your front bumper.   



DAVE SMASH!



Now let me tell you this Frank (let’s call you Frank) you are lucky I just completed my “How to deal with Anger and not send a Deathsquad of drunk Shadow Warriors to the people who piss you off” course.  Before this, you can bet your ass that every time your Douchemobile would be in arms lenght of my (Utterly Awesome) Davemobile, I would have opened a hatch of Angry Drunk Ninjas on you to peel off your eyebrows. However, every day we meet on the road, the words of my Anti Angry Sensei are getting foggier and foggier. I already had to upgrade my steering wheel from Granite to Adamantium because it kept crumbling up in my Rage fueled hands. Yesterday we met again and luckily enough, I was driving behind you at a distance dictated by the 3 second rule. This gave me the opportunity to observe your asshol’ish ways a little better because my eyes wouldn’t cloud up with Pure Anger this time. I noticed that it is not MY rear bumper that seems to attract your front, it is EVERYONE’S bumper.  Not only that, you seem to have taking pleasure into not breaking just the speed limit, but also the sound barrier when you try to pass someone on the shoulder.
When I saw you zipping in and out of traffic, dryhumping cars going slightly over the speed limit and cutting off at LEAST 3 little old ladies, you finally got out of sight. Although I hoped to pass you later on with your car flipped upside down and on fire, I wasn’t so lucky. I did pass you, but it was at a traffic light down the road.
Here I finally got to look upon the hideous face of the Douchebag driver that had been pissing me off for weeks.



Frank the Douchebag



Frank, you are not a pretty man.



I did stare a little bit, but that was merely so I could have my enslaved composite artist draw a picture so I could throw shurikens later that night towards a drawing of you.





When we drove off, I also got to take a good look at your license plate.
To my surprise your Douchemobile sports a vanity plate with DJ TECH written on it. Now, here is a free piece of advice. If you drive like a drunken maniac and you have a vanity plate with some shitty nickname on it, it will take a Bonafide Internet Savant like me about 1.9 seconds to find your ass on Google. You seem to be a “DJ” that basically plays shitty music at shitty parties and I would not be surprised if your day job is just as shitty.
Since you are obviously going nowhere in life, I do not see ANY reason why you would have to drive like you are some kind of important person.  Please stop for the sake of all that is slightly pleasant!
Although your annoying manners on the road are reason enough to Wake the Dragon, the real reason I send you this letter is because you are directly responsible for the death of my poor little kitten, Mittens.

Last frame of the security footage

During my research on your persona (don’t you just love Google) I came across a “Demo Track” that you uploaded somewhere on the Internet. I was hoping that MAYBE you would have some redeeming qualities as a human being, so I decided to play the audio file. Frank, the garbage that you call music was so horrible, that it literally shattered all the windows in my mansion. It takes no explanation that I use bullet proof black obsidian glass instead of your regular shitty glass, but the downside is that WHEN it shatters, the shards are sharper than Thor’s razorblade. Luckily for me I am nigh invincible, however, my poor Mittens got ripped to shreds.

If you would have been a decent driver, I would never have to research you and this would never have happened.

As you can imagine, I am not amused.

-          Dave Stevens

p.s.

Since I don’t own a shovel, I was unable to bury my mittens. I do however own a food processor so I turned her into a Mittens-Shake and froze it into little cubes. Next time you are “Deejaay’ing” in my vicinity, I will pelt you with little furry globs of Mitten-goo.