I used to be an aggressive driver, but now I’m a passive one.  I changed that style after an offended guy got out of his car and pointed a gun right at my head.  All I could do was roll up the window.  Smart move, right?  Maybe the window tinting will stop the bullet.

     I can tell a lot about people by how they drive.  I can tell you the race, age, sex, and sexual orientation of any driver ahead of me.  By my calculation, most are old nigger cock-sucking fags.

     I can tell what a woman’s butt looks like just by looking at the bumper of her car.  That’s why I’m tailgatin’ ya, darling.

     You know how to guarantee you won’t be stopped by a red light?  Have something in your auto that will take you a minute to do.  Like unwrapping that cheeseburger or rolling that joint.  If the traffic department just gave everyone weed and papers, and encouraged us to use them, all traffic congestion problems would be solved.

     That idea would also solve the road-rage problem.  No one high on weed ever gave the finger to another driver.  It’s like, “Hey, man.  Go right ahead.  In your own time.  Peace.”

     The town I’m from has one stoplight.  People from the city laugh at that.  But we don’t freak out in traffic.  Or shoot at each other on Main Street.  We’re so backward ’round these parts.

     I like those drivers that callously risk your life jockeying for that extra inch going ninety miles an hour down the freeway, zipping in and out of the stoned people’s cars sharing the roadway.  They give me something to look forward to: a gruesome death wrapped in twisted metal.

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