Road Rage

Road Rage. I don't have it, except perhaps for people that have it.

It's almost NEVER justified in my opinion. And is usually about losing between .5 seconds and 3 seconds of time off the drive to your destination. Which really is life or death isn't it? I mean, these moments of people cutting you off really could add up to being five minutes late for a job you hate anyways. You will probably get fired for it and not be able to pay your mortgage not to mention there goes your fivebucks latte fund. The stress of not knowing where your next paycheck will come from will give you the mother of all ulcers that keeps you home crying on weekends. Eventually your significant-other will become bored of your incessant rantings about the ulcer and inability to secure another job and will leave you for someone younger, better-looking, who also happens to be so much better in bed than you ever were and all of your friends are talking it up behind your back. In fact, they are no longer inviting you to their parties because they can't find any encouraging word to offer you and the awkward silences might cause people to leave before they are drunk enough to have any serious fun.

Alone, you will take up addictions to substances you only heard rumors of people putting in their bodies for recreational purposes. You will become addicted to these substances and your addictions will drive you to steal and perhaps even murder to get your next fix. You will be found guilty for theft and murder and after a long excruciating trial that drags your family's name so far through the mud that your poor mother's heart can't handle it. You are unable to attend your own mother's funeral because of your conviction and subsequent incarceration. Within a few days your body will be found in your cell, having been beaten to a bloody pulp by a 300-pound guy known among fellow inmates as 'Junior' who is in for killing a cop. He didn't like the way you looked at him last night before lights-out and now it's lights-out for you. Yes, it IS life or death. And all this, because of that bastard who cut you off.

So go ahead and honk. Honk really fucking loud and long so everybody in a three mile radius knows that you're the boss and nobody fucks with you.

Really, people...