I probably would have gone the rest of my life thinking, "I was supposed to be a race car driver." 

I reached under the seat and got a firm grasp on the glock that's kept under me.  Just as I'm about to put the fear of God into my fellow driver by waving the 9mm out the window, my ears start to bleed by the southern drawl of Dr. Phil's voice on the radio. 

He says, "Do you have a problem getting from Point A to Point B without getting angry or upset?" 

I lowered the glock, and continued to listen.

He went on to say, "...eighty percent of woman suffer from, 'Hurry Sickness.'"

Yes folks, you have heard me correctly, Dr. Phil has just referred to Road Rage as a medical condition called "Hurry Sickness."

I like to drive fast. So what? Who cares if I get a little huffy-puffy when someone gets in my way of driving recklessly

I don't need Dr. Feel Good putting any more ideas in my head that I might be fucking crazy. 

I pointed, aimed and shot the radio at point blank range.


Drive
–verb (used with object)

1.	to send, expel, or otherwise cause to move by force or compulsion: to drive away the flies; to drive back an attacking army; to drive a person to desperation.

Most of the events are true... kinda.