I drive like a maniac. Well, I don’t think I do, but I’ve been told that I do by passengers and the pedestrians that narrowly escape my car’s fender. I think I drive passive-aggressively. I speed, but only to get out of the way of other drivers, because hell is other drivers. In attempting to get away from other drivers as fast as I can, I curse at anyone incompetent enough to get in my way. Usually this is the moron who decides to ever so slowly slide into the left lane on a three lane parkway. Idiot! But, in the heat of the moment, I usually yell something different, questioning their sexuality, which, of course, has nothing to do with driving ability. In my normal day-to-day sedentary existence, I couldn’t care less about the ways in which we swing. Anyone can stick anything into anyone as long as all parties involved are happy with it. So I’m making an effort to change the invective that I fling uselessly at the driver in front of me. Steve, a coworker who sits beside me at work, often calls people “crackhead.” I like this one, because, really, crackheads aren’t a demographic that should be worrying about what people are calling them. Words flung at them are the least of their problems. I have made it my mission to bring “crackhead” into my vernacular. So if you ever hear, “F-ing crackhead!” whilst driving in the left-hand lane, give a friendly wave with your middle finger. The person you’re flipping off just might be me not questioning your sexuality.