I was taking a pleasant Sunday drive down a scenic Georgia highway with my wife, Debbie, and our puppy when, without warning, the Rav4 in the next lane swerved toward us, forcing me onto the shoulder. It’s not cool to piss off the Alpha Dawg. I stepped on the gas in hot pursuit, fully prepared to give some fool a piece of my mind. Believe it or not, I can be a scary individual when the suppressed redneck in me bubbles to the surface. Have I mentioned I grew up on Jacksonville’s Westside and I’m always heavily armed?
We caught up to the offending perpetrator and I prepared to unleash a man-sized portion of verbal road rage on them. I rolled down the window and — Whoa! It was just a teenage girl, staring at her phone, texting away with both thumbs and, presumably, using her knees to steer.
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