 Every time I decide to go in a car, drive somewhere, you know, like the store, a park, a church. Nah, just kidding. Y'all niggas know I don't go to church. In fact, God messaged me a week ago and was like, My nigga, you not making it into heaven, bro. Enjoy sucking on Satan's toes, bitch. That's besides the point. I'd be driving and wondering which failure of a mother decided to raise these bad boons. Just in case any of them are watching. Nigga? Okay, well, I'm driving on the left lane on the highway. I expect you to at least be going five miles per hour over the speed limit. Okay, fuck it. You know, I expect you to at least be going the actual speed limit. Why are you driving minus seven under the speed limit? Go to the right lane. You know what? I forgive that. I would as long as you're driving faster than the nigga in the right lane, so I can at least pass you. Sometimes cars will do this thing where they're going exactly or almost exactly the same speed of the person to lay next to them. And I end up getting blocked in like there's a Snorlax in front of me. I wish we had tools or items like they got Mario Kart. I'd send a green shell, a green shell forward with so much precision and accuracy into a slow ass motherfucker so quick, bro. Fuck it. Blue shell that nigga. I want to see his car go down in flames. Hiroshima that nigga. And people think it's only elderly people. No, okay. Why is your young ass deciding to drive slow? Where's your testosterone at nigga? Woman got testosterone too. Okay. Don't think I'm only talking to the guys, ladies. Where's your testosterone at? Huh? You might forget to secrete that shit while using the womb. Here's some tips I can give y'all for driving. This right here. This right here. This yellow light. That does not mean slow down. Okay. What it actually means is speed up nigga. Speed up because I'm behind you and we can both make it if you accelerate even just three miles per hour faster. But no, niggas want to stop. That's what the red light is for. You know what? I'm happy. I'm happy you slow down. I am because if you would have made that yellow light, your useless ass would have found the love of your life. But you missed her. You missed her by 20 seconds nigga. The 20 seconds you could have had if you just stepped on the gas. She would have changed your life too late now. Good luck reproducing in a subpar relationship. Cheating. Divorce. I put all those curses on you. Yeah, bitch. This right here. Okay. This right here. I think it's called a yield sign. No idea because I don't ever pay attention to them bitches. All right. These are just a suggestion. Yes. They're just a suggestion. It's not telling you to yield. It's actually asking you yield. They should put a question mark on this shit to fully portray what it means. They honestly need to just take them down and like replace them with a traffic light that's always green because that's essentially what it is littering. Y'all already know how I feel about littering, but I need to make myself clear. If I catch any of y'all dusty ass pollutant ass wieners throwing trash out your window when I'm behind you, just know that there will be severe consequences. In fact, it happened today. I still have blood on the back that I used to rehabilitate that nigga. Don't worry. He'll be able to walk again after 29 years. Lastly, this might seem a bit contradictory to one of the tips I've given, but some of y'all niggas need to slow down. Not because it's safe or anything like that. I couldn't give a shit about anyone's safety. What I mean is that I'm the king of the road. I don't allow my speedometer to go anything below a triple digit number. When I see you speeding, I take that as you want to challenge me. You're trying to humble me. Sometimes I see Teslas doing that shit like what the fuck? I thought those were autopilot. If I see a Tesla pass me one more time, I'm copying down your plates and hiring a hacker to just malfunction your shit while you're going 75 miles per hour. Honey, honey, I can't slow the car down. I can't turn the car either. We're going to die. And I'll be there looking out my passenger window, smiling at your panicked faces as you crash into a pine tree and your bodies get flung, flung out your windshield like a fucking major league baseball.