Don't tailgate me. I drive on this road every day and I know for a fact that as soon as we cross this bridge the traffic will come to an immediate halt and while slowing from 55 mph to 0 mph is possible, slowing from 70 mph to 0 mph is not. You will end up with your face in your dashboard, and your dashboard up my tailpipe, and I don't care how hurt you are, I'll come out of my car and beat you with your own broken arm.
Don't run me out of the passing lane. This is a two lane highway and for the next five miles, major interstates will empty into the right-hand lane like one steam engine after another. It ain't no use driving in the traveling lane; just drive in the passing lane or you'll be under the axles of a dump truck or touring bus in no time flat. And don't tailgate me, per above, etc. etc.
Sincerely, blah, blah, blah.
That's an awesome hot rod ya got there! Does Mom know you have it? I'm guessing not. I'm guessing Mom would not let you borrow her souped up little ride knowing that you can't drive a stick shift; knowing that you'd be sitting in the middle of a 45-degree incline grinding the gears like so many pounds of pork sausage. Listen, Darling: go find yourself a nice girlfriend with an old VW, and if you're real nice, your awesome girlfriend will teach you how to drive a stick shift. Until then, get out of my damn way.
With affection -
It's called an accelerator pedal for a reason. Use it. Drive your car. There are Amish buggies passing you. Wars have been won and lost and new nations formed. 3,000 generations of fruit flies have been born, lived, mate and procreated, and now have gone to meet their maker in the time it's taken you to get to the next stop light. You're killing me. You see me? I'm being killed by you. Oh sweet, merciful Dale Earnhardt, put the damn pedal to the sacred metal and drive. your. car.
Your friend (who isn't even in a hurry, still I'm chewing my leg off trying to get from behind you)