Dear Vehicular Imbecile:
I am not sure what was going through your gnat-sized brain when you reached the end of the on-ramp to westbound I-475 and stopped your Acura this afternoon, but I suspect your mental activity at the moment bordered on the sub-cognitive. Still, even a drooling simpleton has enough common sense to figure out that the best way to merge onto freeway traffic is to attain a rate of speed equal to or slightly in excess of the other vehicles on the interstate.
This, of course, ignores the fact that most sane drivers anticipate that the person in front of them on the on-ramp understands how to properly enter the freeway, like I did. Luckily for you, I noticed your brake lights a few seconds before my Hyundai slammed into the rear end of your almost-parked car, and I skidded to a halt six feet or so before creaming you.
I cannot even blame cell phones or new technology for your stupidity - you simply stopped, looked around, waited for a break in traffic, and accelerated onto the now-empty freeway.
Thus, I curse you: May the hairs on your arse turn into nail-studded clubs that beat you into a bloody pulp, you mindless cretin.