Dear Lyft Driver of My Midnight Horror Ride,

Dear Lyft Driver of My Midnight Horror Ride,

Thank you for the smooth pickup tonight. Unfortunately, my gratitude evaporated the moment I looked up and made eye contact with the nightmare creature dangling from your rearview mirror.

Sir, that Labubu is not “cute.” It is not “quirky.” It is pure chaos in collectible form—a demonic little gremlin grinning at me like it knows exactly when my soul expires. Each swing of the car sent its haunted gaze right at me, like a cursed metronome counting down the seconds until my demise.

I’ve seen fewer psychological threats in The Exorcist. If your goal was to make every bump in the road feel like a jump scare, congratulations—your dashboard décor now qualifies as paranormal activity.

By the time we reached my hotel in Nashville, I wasn’t sure whether to tip you or call a priest. That Labubu belongs in a locked museum display labeled “Do Not Touch (or Summon).”

Sincerely,

Emotionally Unstable in the Back Seat (now burning sage in my hotel room and sleeping with one eye open)