I always thought that the stress of a New York Giants game would kill me, but I think driving in Los Angeles will lead to my demise.

I have definitely developed Road Rage.

Every frigging time that I drive through downtown Pacific Palisades there are either very senior citizens  or blonde mommies driving their Mercedes and Lexus SUV at least 10 miles under the speed limit…seriously.

Yesterday, a blonde Housewife of PP was actually attempting to transport her 3 Aryan offspring around in her too large Cadillac Escalade while simultaneously talking on her cell and eating a sandwich.

Unbelievable!! What shocked me most was a 30-something Palisades mom eating carbs.

Forget the fact that she was swerving and almost took out a woman walking her dog.

I always seem to be boxed in by drivers moving at identically slow speeds. I feel trapped. Sunset Boulevard in my ‘hood is curvaceous like all the starlets waitressing in westside restaurants.

Drivers freak on the winding road. Wednesday, we were down to 13 MPH because the inside lane had a wide load tractor and the Housewives of Pacific Palisades were too timid to pass. Seriously, how much  damn patience can one driver possess.

I just love the roadsters who motor slowly and then when the light turns yellow, bordering on red, floor it and speed through the light.

Drivers are always on the phone. I thought this act was illegal. Yesterday, there was a guy doing 20, looking down, on the PCH. I finally passed him (of course, he was in the fast lane) and I believe he was either texting or giving himself a blow job. Neither should be attempted on a highway.

My only option because I will not carry a weapon beyond my middle finger, is to buy a bulldozer and just roll over these assholes.

It is actually a rush. I had the band, Blondie drive down Rodeo Drive in an armored tank when Chrysalis Records had a blowout celebration at Fiorucci for the album, Parallel Lines, when sales topped 20 million.  I long for the good old days when music thrived and people drove with purpose.

It has come down to survival of the fittest and I refuse to have a heart attack on the clogged roadways of southern California. I choose to die from clogged arteries or while attending a thrilling Giants game where, coincidentally, I want my ashes spread…very convenient.

I’m done.

BTW, I just uploaded the Uber app to my iPhone.