Everyone knows there are only two kinds of men who feel the need to drive fast: professional racers and the poorly endowed. Sorry, but those are the facts. Obviously, some men will disagree, but only because they've lost all sense of reason, so enraged are they by the teeny-tiny dimensions of their penises, which really are crushingly small – so small they'd still look undersized even if transplanted directly onto a thimble-height scaled-down nude action figure of Dudley Moore.

Seriously, those guys deserve pity. They'd give anything to be packing a huge flesh-club down there – a fearsome, weighty great shank that emits a guttural snarl when roused before ripping through their pants like an escaped boar – but instead they're cursed with a timid skin pipette, peeping through their pubic thatch like a frightened uvula, or a dormouse foetus, or the quivering tip of a Clanger's nose. It's humiliating. And that's why they drive so fast. Even if they deny that's the reason. In fact, particularly if they deny that's the reason.

Anyway, I'm getting off the (teeny tiny) point here. The reason I bring this FACT (and it is a FACT) to your attention is the government's plan to raise the motorway speed limit to 80mph, which is misguided for two reasons. Firstly because it'll make Jeremy Clarkson smile, which is always a reliable barometer for bad policies. But mostly because it's just not necessary.

I understand why they're doing it – it's a brazen attempt to capture the seething underdicked male vote, and that's an important group to placate, because let's face it, those guys are as furious as they are unpredictable – but it seems curiously self-defeating. Part of the argument for raising the permitted figure to 80mph is that lots of people break the existing 70mph limit: roughly half of all motorway drivers, in fact. Why are they driving that fast? The government seems to earnestly believe these people are in a hurry, which is terribly sweet of them, but we all know that isn't the reason. It's to do with pushing the limit, with gently breaking the law. I can't drive a car – I'm an inferior human being – but even I understand the psychology of the accelerator pedal. If cars came with two speeds – 30mph or 90mph, and the only way to switch between them was by pushing an instant "break the speed limit" button, drivers might think twice about doing so. But that pedal, that incremental, giving pedal … it almost encourages you to push your luck.

Another dumb thing the dumb government seems to dumbly believe is that raising the speed limit will boost the economy. According to transport secretary Philip Hammond, "increasing the motorway speed limit to 80mph would generate economic benefits of hundreds of millions of pounds through shorter journey times". I don't think he actually said those words out loud. I think he physically carved them, letter-by-letter, out of pure horseshit. If Hammond honestly thinks "shorter journey times" are the key to fixing the economy, why hasn't he kickstarted a campaign encouraging us to take bigger, brisker strides? Why isn't he issuing us all with stilts? Why isn't he touring the nation, sawing off our children's feet and replacing them with wheels? There are only two possible explanations: either he doesn't care about our economic wellbeing or he knows damn well he's talking through his hat. Which he wears up his backside.

Incidentally, as well as raising the upper limit to 80mph, he is also increasing the number of 20mph zones. So you'll be hearing far more screeching brakes in future. Don't worry, eventually it'll blend unnoticed into the background, like birdsong or gunfire.

The current situation, in which the official limit is 70mph, but which half the population pushes to somewhere around 80mph when they think they can get away with it, seems like a fair compromise. The 70-80mph buffer zone of cheeky lawlessness seems about right. Why punch it higher? If anyone really, really wants to drive faster than that, they could visit a test track, play Need for Speed, or simply risk it and swallow the consequences. It's useless in everyday life. Unless you're delivering urgent donor organs, you don't need to reach your destination that quickly. And if you think you do, either set out earlier, or spend less time browsing for "Grab Bag" size packs of Quavers at the service station.

And besides: zooming petrolheads already have it their own way on the roads: aggressively driving up other peoples' arses, bleating away with their horns, flashing their lights … seriously, what's wrong with you people? It can't just be the penis thing, surely? The anger and the obvious raging inadequacy seems so … raw. Do you need a cuddle, is that it? Should we designate special laybys to be used for cuddle-breaks, just to calm you down? Come to think of it, that's probably how dogging started. Fair enough. If that's what it takes to get people to slow down, it's fine by me.

Because there's too much bad-tempered showboating on the roads, and not enough amiable sauntering. When I become minister for transport, I'll introduce a new motorway lane specifically designed for 19th-century horse-drawn hay carts – a lane that criss-crosses all the other lanes at random intervals. I'd also position a sniper on every bridge and instruct them to blow the head off anyone who looks like they're getting a bit of speed up. Or anyone who looks like they're enjoying the road a bit too much for my liking. Or anyone listening to an album I hate. Or wearing a loud shirt. Or who might be Sagittarian.

Basically anyone. Anyone in a car. Or near a car. Or who looks like they're thinking about cars.

Hey, I'm just trying to offer solutions here. If you don't like it – leave. Leave now. Get out. Get out of this article this instant.