Cybercuck'd

Dear the guy fucking my wife:

You got a lot of nerve, pal. And not just because you consistently do the thing to my wife I only ever do on her birthday. Well, on one of her birthdays. Sixteen years ago.

No, this isn't about how you've been sexually pleasuring the love of my life in a way I never could behind my back. This is about what you said about my Cybertruck when you saw it pulling into the driveway last Tuesday.

While you understandably wait until I'm not home to come by and defile the sanctity of my marriage bed, you didn't count on my buddy Craig’s kids getting sick and causing poker night to end early. But when I got there, instead of jumping your naked ass out the bedroom window to make a run for it like a decent human being would, you decided to stay and roast my beloved Cybertruck like so much Denis Leary at The Comedy Central Roast of Denis Leary.

You know, I think I heard he's woke now. Nevermind, that's beside the point!

What's not beside the point because it is the point is that when you should have been diving into my hydrangea from a second-story bedroom window to save yourself from being caught red-handed in the throes of adultery you apparently said something along the lines of “Holy shit, I think a dumpster from the convenience store up the street just rolled into your driveway!”

Not cool, bro! And that's coming from the man who emotionally and physically neglected his spouse so bad as to justify an extramarital affair!

“Is that your husband's car?” you continued, I'm told. “It looks like something a six-year-old who's failing art class would make out of cardboard and aluminum foil.”

Some things in this life are sacred, not that I expect you to get that, and the relationship between a man and his vehicle is one of those things. So when I hear that mere minutes after you've finished making my wife forget her vows of holy matrimony you referred to my Cybertruck as “the clown car from the douchebag circus” and speculated whether it “comes standard with a glove box full of roofies and an Axe Body Spray air freshener”, well buddy, that just makes you look like the asshole.

“I don't know what's more inadequate,” said you probably as well, “the cargo space of your husband's Cybertruck or his ability to please you, his wife!”

Your comments about how surprised you were that a guy who would drive a Cybertruck could even get a wife and saying you now fully understand why said wife needed to find sexual satisfaction outside the suffocating bounds of her marriage with the likes of you are just hurtful and unnecessary.

Honestly, your total disrespect for my Cybertruck is so much more offensive to me than the idea of unsuspectingly sleeping in the residue of you and my wife's repeated infidelity night after night. As if I'm not already discriminated against enough for my choice of vehicle and continued support of the great Elon Musk, the fact that I'd have to hear this from the dude nailin’ my wife in addition to all my friends, extended family, coworkers, fellow drivers while in traffic, strangers on the street wherever I park, my own father (God rest his soul), random schoolchildren, and the vast majority of Reddit is just salt in the wound.

Oh and you're one to talk, guy. I’ve seen your adorable, little car parked around the corner from my place, and I'm sorry they didn't have any man's cars available when you were shopping around, but please don't take it out on my awesome Cybertruck. Seriously, if I saw you in that car I'd swear you were gay if I didn't already know how well you'd mastered the art of bringing my wife repeatedly to orgasm by playing her sexual organs like some kind of vulva virtuoso. And I'm sure your car gets you from A to B, but what's the name of the billionaire genius working tirelessly to save our species who designed your Honda Fit? Oh yeah, that's right, there wasn't one!

See? Hurts doesn't it?

So the next time you come over to make tender, passionate love to the woman who once vowed to love and cherish me forever, please keep your comments about my car to yourself. I'm sure you get a nice a chuckle from saying things like how you know it's time to leave when you hear my side panel hit the ground, that my car makes me an even bigger dildo than the one my wife had to use before you came along, that my cat likes you better than me (that one's unrelated, but still uncool), or how you wonder how I’m even able to steer with Elon's malformed penis in my hand, but just know all those things are super hurtful, even more so than the fact that you said it all with my wife still on your breath.

So the next time you slink on over here, maybe use your mouth for the only thing it's good for, which is pleasuring the woman whose beauty took my breath away on the day of our wedding, and not for talking shit about my beloved Cybertruck! Dick!

Sincerely,

The owner of the sweet-ass Cybertruck whose wife you're sexing

PS: If I were to put a chair in the corner of the bedroom, is that a situation you think you'd be opposed to? Think about it.