People - don't like them, too lonely without them!

Ok, that doesn't sound very Christian I know. But I've developed a serious contempt for drivers in Baton Rouge, this being the only place I drive. Besides the fact that the volume has tripled in "road ragers" since Katrina, it has been noted in a local survey (me, Roger and an anonymous client) that all of these people are seriously borderline psychopaths !!!! What the hell happened to people using their blinkers and giving you that little smile ASKING politely if you would let them in? Somewhere those well-mannered, raised outside of the barn people have vanished. They are defunct, departed, expired, GONE! I can speak for them, I know, because I was once one of them. A metamorphosis has exchanged me for one of those who can no longer leave a "2 second" safety space between me and the car in front. That guy on the insurance commercial counting as cars pass...1 thousand 1, 1 thousand 2.....please, yeah well he's never had to drive the Rat Race Inndianapolis on our interstate. Not only do the angry over-the-edge psychopaths cut into a claustriphobic space between you and the car ahead of you but they do so with such skill and agility that while you've taken a breath, checked your rear-view, and adjusted that annoying strap rubbing across your neck (otherwise called a seat belt, but that's another blog) HE IS THERE in front of you. You squeeze whatever muscles come to mind, give an "Oh my God" squeal and then start cursing. He is sly and quick and he comes in under the radar. I have now tuned in my radar and am quite accute at picking these guys out WAY before they have their chance to possibly run me off of the road or worse to make me swerve into the car next to me. So now I see one coming, he's a typical smart-alec , red hot-rod (although moms in BIG suvs are the worse), bright blue-blinding lights on, and blackened windows so you're cursing a "black hole" no pun intended. I cut my safety space in front of me to 2 feet. He gets P___ off and moves closer to intimidate me, I look straight into his nothingness, with great fearlessness since I can't see him or her, and yell at the top of my lungs NNNNOOOOOOO! He got it. Wasn't happy, but he got my message. I felt like Tawanda in Fried Green Tomatoes. I felt much better. Although having a cop pull him over for crossing the double white lines up ahead would have been whipped topping on my Mocha Expresso.