A motorcycle sped down the freeway, but he bypassed it with ease. One hand grasping the wheel, the other grasped the shaft of his penis. He was on verge of hormonal hysterics as he yelled out of the window.
"Buddy, I'll show you a crotch rocket!"
He cackled and cruised on. A new text message lit up his phone and he wasted no time, or velocity, to check it. The babysitter again:
>Where are youuuuu???
She wants it bad.
He began to craft a response when car horns erupted all around. Glancing up, he discovered that he was driving into oncoming traffic. He swerved with tires squealing and just missed clipping a city bus. The bus, which was plastered with Carpet King of America's face, nearly tipped over as its driver also veered sharply to avoid a head-on collision – violently jostling the riders inside. He was able to correct course back in his own lane, and with adrenaline flowing, stepped back on the gas.
