license from a cereal box

it seems every time we're driving down the trans-canada #1, the traffic's growing worse everyday it doesn't really help, when there's a bozo at the wheel slowing down cutting people, off i don't think it's funny. hit the gas, hit the brakes, in a traffic jam i think i'm late for work got your license, from a cereal box you don't know how to drive you're just a fucking jerk, it never fails getting on there's always something going, wrong a lot of cars a lot of smog, it's pretty hazy when a blowout in a tire becomes, such a big desire for idiots to watch, slow down it makes me crazy. think you know how i feel what i need is a new automobile, like the game spyhunter i could enjoy anyone, who would annoy set the missiles seek and destroy.