There are various medications than can lead to a number of adverse side effects, and exposure to certain chemicals can lead to serious behavioral and cognitive difficulties as well. But nothing on Earth is as damaging to the human psyche as a steering wheel. Once behind the wheel of a car, a certain number of people become tyrants, rulers of a mobile realm where only they may make decisions and conduct business, and woe be to all others who dare bring their steel chariots to bear on the same day at the same time, because those people are all cockholes.

AAA says at least 1,500 people a year are killed in senseless traffic disputes. If that's how many die, I'm going to throw caution to the wind and say about a million times as many people hear "Eat my ass, you blind chucklefuck!" screamed out of a window at them. Sociologists and psychologists chalk this behavior up to things like a breakdown in our sense of community or the power one feels behind the wheel of a car, but in fact, in my expert opinion as a guy who uses the word "chucklefuck" in sentences, it's because some people have broken a*****e switches.

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"Bitches know better than to cut me off!"

Every one of us has an a*****e switch, even the Dalai Lama, but that dude keeps it on the down low at all times and is pretty cool with everything. So are most people. So when you get cut off in traffic, your a*****e switch gets flipped, and for a moment you think, "That was unkind, I would like to see that other driver eaten alive by chiggers and famished hobos while his family watches and signs over all his assets to me." But then that moment passes, and you fiddle with the radio because some asinine DJ is trying to make you listen to a Pitbull song, and f**k that. Other people can't flip the switch back, however, and that's where road rage is born. They get cut off and immediately think the other driver must be cleansed from the gene pool through any means necessary, up to and including verbal abuse and a tire iron.

This reaction to a mild inconvenience is what is generally considered "insane" in most other forums. If you're at the supermarket and you're approaching a checkout counter when an old lady scoots in front of you, most people would think that bashing her skull in with a can of beans is somewhat unnecessary. In fact, yelling at that old lady about how she sucks c**k and needs to go back to school to learn how to shop is probably overkill as well. If it's not acceptable at the Piggly Wiggly, it's not acceptable on the highway.

If you've never experienced spring break, you've denied yourself a life-changing experience, and also saved yourself a potentially traumatic one. Spring break is fucked up. Do you need an anecdote? I have one!

I was on a beach during spring break in my second year of college. It was about 11 a.m., and I and everyone I knew had drunk so much at that point, at 11 a.m., that we needed to take a break from consuming alcohol because it had grown so tiresome and stomach turning that we were destined to spend the rest of the day vomiting and weeping if it kept up. This beach was packed with college kids and loud music coming from a stage where some local radio station was desperately trying to be relevant, and girls were flashing boobs for about four seconds at a time on camera for sleazy guys who just needed to have a camera to convince them to do such a thing. I watched in stunned amazement as a man who appeared to be in his early 20s dropped to a crouch in the surf and proceeded to s**t in the ocean in front of hundreds of strangers, one of whom, upon seeing the shitting man, joined in the shitting. Another person witnessed this act of public defecation and thought, "That man's a problem solver!" and joined in on the act of publicly, openly, and proudly feeding the Atlantic recycled beers and burritos.

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"Hey, America's future, stop shitting on my house."

For one week, and I dare say this may prove true of Mardi Gras participants, the very notion that a party is or should be happening makes everyone in and around spring break try to make Rodney Dangerfield's fictional adventures into reality. Spent last semester in med school learning how to tell the difference between the inferior and superior vena cava? Awesome, now put this tube in your ass so we can fill your stank chamber with Four Loko, because we're all going to head down to the pool and smacks strangers with our genitals!

There's something about a weeklong party that makes normal party rules totally obsolete and inspires people (and the fact that they're usually college students makes it all the more sad) to engage in behavior you'll only ever otherwise see in something written by Eli Roth or Larry Flynt.

Nearly every year there's a story of a student falling to his death from a balcony on spring break because, on spring break, a balcony is as alluring as a swarm of unicorns counting fat stacks of cash whilst staring at nude photos of celebrities -- it's impossible to resist. Every year someone ends up in a hospital with alcohol poisoning, a thousand girls show up topless on the Internet, and apparently people s**t in the sea. Does any of this happen when celebrating President's Day? Very rarely.

The Internet is the final frontier for humanity, the last undiscovered realm of mystery. It's a place where we can be constantly surprised by the things other humans fit in their bum, amazed by the level of stupidity someone must possess to ask a question on Yahoo Answers while still possessing the apparent motor coordination to type said stupid question, and in awe of how we must necessarily be constantly within spitting distance of racist, sexist, homophobic, anti-American, pro-American, angry, sexually frustrated, cockless a-holes. Because they're literally on every message board on the Internet. They're everywhere.

The breadth of uncouth loutishness displayed online would never, ever exist anywhere else. Look at this s**t right here:

"Seriously your writing style suck also does your mother but thats not the case, you're a stupid git and thanks to you I think abortion is a good idea, it's a shame it wasn't legal when you were a fetus."

This message was sent to a Cracked writer after one of his articles was published to the site (not me -- people tell me they wish I could still be aborted today). Let's analyze this. I'll put my unitard back on and we'll roleplay.

You're a young man about town with a fragile grasp of English and half a boner for some comedy. You fire up the old computrix machinima and log your Googles into the DOS and access the domain Cracked.com, whereupon you read a comedy article -- "The 7 Most Masturbating Homeless Fellows at the Train Yard," or whatever it may be. You read the whole article and decide at the end that it was not to your liking. It was so not to your liking that perhaps the world would have been better if the author of that article had been aborted some 20+ years ago. What kind of person does that make you exactly? And moreover, where else would you ever react in this manner?

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"I was the second most masturbating homeless fellow. This sticky box is all I have. This and my penis."

Now I want you to imagine it's summer. You're outside, maybe it's an outdoor market or festival of some kind. There are hundreds of others about, browsing the wares and enjoying some outdoor entertainers -- magicians and jugglers and musicians. You approach a young fiddle player who stands on a corner with a crowd around him. He plays a song you've never heard before, it's his own original work, and most of the crowd seems to enjoy it. You, however, do not. So you stand in front of this fiddle player as he finishes, and people toss loose change into his case, and you c**k your head in confusion and say out loud, for all to hear, "Holy f**k, that sucked. You play fiddle like my balls do algebra. I wish your mother had fallen down an elevator shaft when she was pregnant with you, you play like a severed penis thrown upon an instrument in need of tuning while it twitches with nerves and produces squawks and caterwauls to assault the ears of all passersby with brain AIDS. I curse you and your family line for the suffering you have wrought today, and I hope you develop a strain of super herpes that actually dissolves you to your very soul, you terrible, musically derptarded monster."

That example barely even qualifies as hyperbole. Can you imagine an instance anywhere else in life when you might, when presented with free entertainment that you went out of your way to experience, find said entertainment to be not to your liking and therefore engage in a verbal tirade that could and often will encompass racism, sexism, homophobia, death threats, and overwrought personal hatred and insult? Do these people go to the library and scream "c**t!" at the works of Shakespeare? Do they go to parties and s**t in the punch bowl when the music isn't to their liking? Run screaming and enraged down the street during rainstorms with their dick in their hand, pissing back at nature?

That's a heavily tattooed General Custer who appears to have a right hand covered in full-finger rings, knuckle tattoos, a face tattoo on his left side, and a Confederate Flag shirt and pin. I am not going to come out and say that this man is a rabidly insane racist in his day-to-day life because Brad Paisley and LL Cool J already established that he's just a Skynyrd fan, but I will say, if I may be completely and baselessly judgmental, protesting a mosque is like having a second Christmas for a guy like this. Now look here!

The Australian via Inquisitr.com

This man feels that, if you insult his religion in some way, you're no longer deserving of a head. He has joined a protest of like-minded individuals and taken to the streets with a piece of cardboard and a Sharpie to let us know that his religion deserves respect or, at the very least, severed heads.

Mr. Skynyrd and Mr. Headless here probably both thought themselves endlessly clever and justified in their protesting at the time these pics were taken, but what if I were to pose the following question: Dude, what the f**k?

Does Skynyrd ever wander around Manhattan dressed like that making clever mosque puns the rest of the year? Is Johnny Beardo requesting the heads of everyone who laughs at South Park in the lounge of his dorm? Let's hope not, because that makes him a real dick and he'll probably get reported for having a hot plate to cook ramen in his room. What a fuckstick.

Despite how unlikely it is that most of us will champion the cause of decapitation or parade about like a Southern Discipline Daddy General against Islam in our regular, day-to-day lives, you announce there's a rally or protest going on and BAM, total fuckery starts oozing out of people's pores like they had it jammed in their asses with a hydraulic grease gun until their breath stinks of it.

The very idea of a protest or a rally is that there is some issue that to you is so important, whether bad or good, that your support, your physical presence is paramount to bringing to light the injustice you are so opposed to or the cause you so dearly support. And somehow involving the rebel flag and decapitation in that is a little fucky. You're cheapening your goal and your purpose with thoughtless douchebaggery because you want to stand out in a sea of assholes as the most puckered, the most in need of a wet wipe, the most hectored by the bane of incurable warts and 'roids.

If a protest or a rally was like a date, and the desired outcome was third base, those dudes basically pulled the dating equivalent of ordering for their lady friend at the restaurant and explaining to the waiter it's because she's fat and needs someone to look out for her.