This past Saturday, I took an impromptu trip to Florida in order to partake in the lottery craze. A few miles into my return trip home, I encounted what appeared to be trouble-making Louisana trailer trash. This is when the madness ensued.<br><br>Two women, obviously affected by some common mental disorder, and their late-model Lincoln Mark VIII decided to challenge me to a little race along I-10. Seeing that I could easily trounce the idiotic twosome, I took their bluff. At first we were neck and neck until I floored the accelerator and took off. I left that American debacle in the dust. What joy, what euphoria. As I took a momentary glance in my rear-view mirror, I noticed that the Lincoln was rideculing and bullying my fellow drivers, particulary a black LS 400 not unlike mine. The owner of the black LS 400 had better things to do than to race with the imbred likes of the Lincoln driver. <br><br>Anyway, back to the race. I had a substantial lead over the wimpish Mark VIII even in the Gulf Coast's hectic traffic. The Lincoln strained to keep up, even though it had more horsepower and a slightly sportier design. I gave the Lincoln driver an evil stare and cocky grin as if I was saying "Your automobile is inferior and should be compacted. It is the bane of society." My LS 400 was handling lane changes particularly well. For a car of it's size and unsporting nature, I was suprised. Well, good things had to come to an end, and I veered off onto I-65 north, homebound. I won that race, with smiles and cheer. The Lincoln scampered off towards Louisana, tepid and uninspiring as its legacy deems.<br><br>This is just one LS 400 experience.