That's right...we all died in the womb, and upon our stillbirth under the full moon, my mother's coven of witches raised us back to life in an unholy rite, involving invocations to Satan to make us vessels of his Angels, the sacrifice of an unborn child in the womb, and kippered herring on toast.
And actually, as I forsook cars in favour of public transit and walking years ago, and since half the time the escalators in the subways are busted, anyway, I'm fairly sure that I could beat Donald Trump in a foot-race, if he had the advantage of being on a Segway.
And, in closing, If I'm mentally unstable for using all caps, buddy, you never seen your presidunce's Twitter feed.