I came across this poem recently, supposedly from the gravestone of a person killed in a car crash: 

This is the grave of Mike O'Day,
Who died maintaining his right of way.
His right was clear, his will was strong,
But he's just as dead as if he'd been wrong.

I use the right of way excuse to justify pretty much everything I do on the road.  But I guess right of way doesn't really matter when you're maneuvering 2000-lb metal boxes on slippery surfaces while trying to dodge idiots who are trying to do the same.