a message to the man riding his motorcycle over the mountain by west point

dear sir, you are obese.

i hope that this is not news to you, but if it is, i truly am sorry to be the one who had to clue you in.

i address you today, sir, because yesterday when i was driving behind you, just past bear mountain, your massive body weight tilting dangerously close to the surface of the road was enough to give me severe anxiety for the next 12 hours.

every time you negotiated one of the many curves in the road, i had to brace for the inevitable event of your massive self no longer defying gravity and wiping out right in front of my eyes, at 60 miles per hour. you must have developed the balance of a ballerina, because according to the laws of physics, as i understand them, you should no longer have any legs left to wrap around your hog. in which case, i must praise you for such an accomplishment.

that feat, however astounding, does not negate the sensation that overcomes me when i see you whipping around curves on the side of a mountain that i'm about to witness a real live death. aren't there laws and weight limits about this very situation? didn't they invent that harley trike just for this kind of thing?

just some food for thought sir, the next time you put on your tiny helmet and climb aboard your toy-sized motorcycle. maybe it's not such a great idea to push your luck so far.