Yes, you. Driving in your tricked out dedication to mass produced individuality, slouched low in the seat in unintentional but humorous immitation of a blue haired suburbanite, single hand at the 12:00 position to further degrade your already sabotaged field of view, four busted 15" speakers belching out the cracked baseline of the lastest gangsta turned hipster. You are not a playa. You are a jackass. As you tool through the bucolic streets of Duluth there is not a single person who sees you and buys your pathetic attempt at cultural impersonation. When you pulled up next to me at the stoplight it gave me extreme pleasure to bollux your attempt to race ahead and cut in front of me on our little one lane road. How did it feel to have your lowrider riceburner outclassed by an aging Aerostar?