There are few things on this earth that piss me off quite like driving. In general, I am a fairly laid-back kind of guy, save for the obvious hot-button issues. However, behind the wheel, I Hulk out. Every time. Ripped purple pants, the whole shebang; my T-shirt budget is enormous. It baffles me that normally halfway-intelligent people can instantly morph into completely bewildered, oblivious, and even pompous dumbfucks the second a one-ton steel killing machine comes into the picture – you know, the perfect time to not be a complete
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