So, I’m driving in my car this afternoon and meandering my way along the strip when someone suffering from SPS (Small Penis Syndrome — I say that because it was a guy) pulls up next to me at the red light.

I’m bopping along to what’s on the radio — have no idea the name of the song, but the beat’s good, so I’m doing that bobble-head thing and enjoying embarrassing my kid — when the light turns green and SCCCRRREEEEEECCCHH!!  The dude takes off like he’s reenacting a Dukes of Hazzard episode.

Anyway, Mr. Gotta-Be-A-Man has taken off, leaving black skids in his spot and me shaking my head as I slowly and steadily climb to the proper speed limit.  I bless him and his small penis and pray that he makes it to the bathroom in time (or whatever else is making him hurry like that), and continue down the strip.

You know what’s coming next, right?  As I pull up to the next red light, he’s sitting there, stuck again, right alongside me, waiting impatiently for that light to turn so he can haul ass again for whatever reason is so damned important.

Point is, we got stopped by the same light.  Even with me lacking the testosterone and souped up cylinder power and the urgency of bathrooms and small genitalia.

Moral of this story:  you can rush through all the stops and take the road of life at light speed if you want.  Doesn’t mean you’re going to get there any faster necessarily, so you might as well chillax and be a bobble-head and enjoy the music.