If you’re going to pull up alongside me at a red light, you better damn well be making a right-hand turn.  Because if you’re simply positioning yourself to gun it and cut in front of me when the light turns green, you have sorely misapprehended the situation.

I may drive a Civic, but I’m quicker on the gas than you are.  I will totally Fast and the Furious all over you until you’re forced to drop back, humiliated--your tailpipe between your legs.

And the bards will sing of my victory and my name will live for centuries in the annals of song, and they will hoist tall mugs of mead in my honor.  Or, rather, since this is the East Bay, tall cans of Foster’s.