In the bad old days of the eighties and nineties, spoilt young men, or fils à papa, en français (asshole is also an all-encompassing generic term) would be found behind the wheel of a spanking new red Golf motor car. Today it is a black Audi A3.
I was reminded of this while driving back from Deauville near Versailles today as a furious young man, driving two metres behind me, flashing his lights at me, gesticulating manically before swerving and passing me in the (third) slow lane. Three minutes later I passed him in a traffic jam.
So a couple of rhetorical thoughts for this young turd turk.
One, you are a prat (and it’s thanks to a speeding idjit like you that I am in a wheelchair.)
Two, I was overtaking a car at 135 km per hour, so technically already breaking the speed limit and I have just as much right to drive on the road as you.
Three, frankly as Audis go an A3 is not very impressive; it is rather small as Audis go. I could make a gratuitous correlation between the size of your Audi and your anatomy, but I won’t.
But let’s be honest, if you were a real player, you’d be driving a Porsche.