Because I have such a long commute from work, I often find myself fantasizing while driving. I thought I’d share one of them with you today:

It’s 5:30 p.m. I’m on the road and I look around and I see. . . nothing. Not a fucking car in sight. Do I get scared? No. I chuckle to myself and hit the gas. As my car accelerates towards the intersection, the light turns red. But I don’t even slow down. I fly right through it without a care in the world.

I glance over and I see Nicole Kidman riding shotgun. She’s dressed in some lacy Victoria’s Secret number and I appreciate it. She places her hand on my thigh and leans over and whispers in my ear, “Faster,” in that Aussie accent of hers. So I punch the gas, but it’s already all the way down. “Faster!” she demands, this time in her Russian accent from Birthday Girl. I push my foot down as far as it will go, but the car is already going 115 MPH. “Faster!” Suddenly, she’s goddamn Irish.

“I heard you the first time, you stupid bitch! Look, the goddamn pedal is all the way down! It’s not going to go down any farther unless I punch my foot through the fucking firewall!”

“Faster!” she yells, in what sounds like a Southern accent. Where the fuck is that from? When did she play a Southern woman? She’s just showing off now.

I turn to her and see the scenery whizzing by. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you a goddamn moron? I told you, I can’t go any goddamn faster! And pick a fucking accent and stick with it already! Jeeze! You’ve proven yourself. You’re a fucking amazing actress. I’m impressed, okay? Fuck!”

She just looks at me for a moment and then, yeah, she says it again, “Faster.” I swear it sounded Pakistani. That’s when I slam on the brakes and kick her ass to the curb. Fucking bitch. No wonder Tom Cruise dumped her.