To whoever stole my spare tire:

I'm assuming you had a flat tire during an attempt to get your pregnant wife to the hospital. You began to freak out as the contractions got closer. Then out of pure desperation (and love for your wife) you stole my spare to finally get her the medical attention she needs while she's in labor. I also assume, that after the greatest moment of your life, you will return my spare tire to me and name your first born (whether a boy or a girl) John Magallanez (Your last name here.) And yes, I want his middle name to be Magallanez.

If this isn't the case, then you have made a fierce enemy. I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want. If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don't have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very short career in comedy. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you let my spare tire go now, that'll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not joke about you. But if you don't, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill on stage, with not just one joke but multiple bits about you.