And I shall be a champion.

Before I begin, I should perhaps note some kind of disclaimer so I don't get hell's fury rained down upon me.
Texting while driving is bad; don't do it.

OK, now that THAT is over...

I think they're right to make texting while driving illegal because most people can't do it properly. I mean, come on, I remember when car phones first came out (actual portable ones, not the ones from the 80s) and people couldn't even talk and drive - AND THAT IS WHEN THEY STILL HAD BOTH EYES ON THE ROAD. I often wondered if those people had trouble eating and breathing at the same time. Life's tough for many, I know.

Just like only certain people who are really good at driving fast are allowed to do so on a race course as a competitive sport, I think there should be a "distracted drivers" circuit... and of course, I would be the Mario An-fucking-dretti of said circuit, just with nicer boobs and my penis is detachable.

Here is my proposed course and the particular challenges, of which all of them I would ROCK. Hercules can take his 12 labors and push them out his coccyx. Here's where it's at...

1. Off to a good start and then WHOA! I see you, first corner. You're of no consequence to me.

2. Motherfucker pulled out from a hidden driveway. Yeah, I saw that right in between my texts of "yr so funny" and "c u soon".

3. LEFT TURN. Switched the phone to my right hand as I crank that wheel and text like an ambidextrous rockstar.

4. School bus stopped to pick up kids. How could I NOT see that giant yellow bus. Fucking amateurs.

5. I laugh in the face of a roundabout. See? I just texted: "LOL" while going around it.

6. Stop light? Well, we're on a course, so I'm just going to go ahead and ignore that one, mmmk?

7. Cyclists! Your attempt at thinking you're equal to a motorized vehicle is amusing. If you had your mobile on, I would text, "Go fuck yrslf in the bicycle lane" as I drive past you at twice the speed.

And yet, through my anger, I maintain focus and no less than two bars on my 3G network.

8. Thirty year old skateboarder?! OK, so I just took him out, but that was on purpose. Deduct points, if you must. I shall come back after the race and wrap an Element t-shirt around the poll with a wreath, and simply write, "Sk8r 4eva".

9. Oh, what's this? A rail crossing? I'll speed up and fly over that shit with my gigantic beast of metal and car seats. 

10. Wow, that's a tight one! (That's what he said). And yet, although violently laughing at my own joke, I handle that corner with ease as I text to a friend, "Yr gonna love this 1. Ha!"

And after much wailing and gnashing of teeth, I'll win the race - and they will pour breast milk all over me as I hoist the trophy over my head, (but it would be the pump n' dump breast milk crap from a woman that did a shit load of vodka & Kahlua shots the night before, so what's being poured all over my body is essentially a White Russian).

Like I would take viable breast milk intended for an actual baby. Pisshhha. I'm not a monster.

But still...the moral of this story? IS THAT I WIN.