Rin Tin Tin.

Today I’m thankful that the guy in the red Ford Explorer — who couldn’t just drive 80 MPH like the rest of us and had to weave recklessly in and out of traffic — got his in the end. Remember when your mother said you shouldn’t drive like a maniac or someday you would hurt yourself? Well, asshat, today you can thank your mother for trying to look after you. Oh, and be thankful you didn’t take out a family of five otherwise some Mexican street justice may have had to occur.

I’d also like to thank the California Highway Patrol for being absolutely no where during the three hundred and fifty mile journey — turning the road between LA and San Francisco into Mad Max. Next year I’ll be sure to bring plenty of shot guns, canned dog food and nitro. As I’m doing 107 MPH down the center of the road, I’ll growl into my new public address system, welded next to the retractable sunroof, “I am the Nightrider. I’m a fuel injected suicide machine. I am the rocker, I am the roller, I am the out-of-controller!”