Friend or Foe: Getting a Speeding Ticket

12 07 2010

Okay, so before I get started, I have to apologize for my brief absence.  May and June were busy months and I really wasn’t around to drop any bloggage to my readers; don’t whip your cocks out just yet though because I’m still going to be busy as fuck for a while, but hey I’ve managed to hook you all up with a fantastic new Wavves album and and some article about scarecrows since then.  And now I’m gonna give you a rundown on the question of the hour, which–by the way, I should add, serves as no indication to my feelings on authority figures, nor as an example of the many horrible setbacks that have prevented me from seducing you all with my sweet, sweet calligraphy… where was I?  Oh, right.  Getting a speeding ticket: is it friend or foe?

Friend…

Well, I guess getting a speeding ticket can technically be considered a learning experience… even if the only thing you learn is don’t come throttling down the freeway at 3 AM going seventeen miles per hour over the speed limit unless you check for fucking cop traps first.  Of course, everyone knows that pigs are creeping around every corner at night, so it’s kind of common knowledge to look before you leap; maybe a more important lesson would be that if you’re driving you shouldn’t let yourself get distracted by the fact that your drunk friends are feeding you stolen ravioli off the cusp of a switchblade, because then you might overlook that fucking patrol car, past which you just sped seventeen miles per hour over the speed limit.

Foe…

So maybe you decide against switching off your vehicle lights and instigating a high-speed chase through your favorite backroads and instead find yourself pulled over, face to face with Officer Buddy-Buddy, trying to be cool like he’s your buddy or something.  And since you pass the sobriety test and this dude totally knows you weren’t putting anybody in danger by driving fast on an empty road without another car in sight, he says he’s gonna be your buddy and help you out by cutting you a deal and citing you as going two miles per hour less over the speed limit than you actually were.  But then you realize that that’s a fucking lie, because they’re supposed to do that shit anyway, and this douche-fag just tried to pass that off for being cool, and you think to yourself, “naw, if this douche-fag was actually cool he’d tear that ticket up because this is mad bullshit.”  That’ probably something that would happen to somebody.  And then you would be looking at this ticket and thinking:

“Man what?  I pulled over instead of instigating a high-speed chase and this is the thanks I get?”

look bro, we're buddies right? if you had any brewskies you'd let me know right?

You probably could have talked your way out of the ticket too; you could’ve told the cop about how you were taking the two drunk, underage friends that snuck out of their houses to party with you back home after getting a flat tire in the middle of the back-country and then pushing your huge-ass ’99 Honda CR-V two miles to your friend’s house where you could take his car to the nearest gas station and borrow his credit card to fill up a gas can (a transaction that would later freeze his card for a week) and then bring it back to his place to get the beastly silver fucker running again when you were distracted from your speed and surroundings as freshly racked ravioli was forced down your gullet off the edge of a non California-legal knife, which is also what caused you to run a few red lights.  You could have told him that, and the eight other laws that you broke that night and he probably would have let you off, but you didn’t want to try anything because the longer that cop was around, the sooner he’d realize how drunk your passengers were.  So instead, you deal with his shit and blah blah blah blah blah.

Friend…

I guess getting a ticket makes a pretty good story.  You can tell people about what happened and they’ll find it entertaining.  Unless they’re cops.

how again did you get that ravioli?

Foe…

No seriously, fuck this.  Getting tickets–you know for some people, is very poorly timed.  Some people get tickets two days before they have a major surgery that puts them in a sling for a month; some people get tickets very close to the same time in which some people destroy their only ipod, break their collar bone twice, rip their favorite and only pair of jeans… and let’s just say $277.00 is a fuck of a lot of money when you have to buy a new ipod and new pants and of course a new fucking shoulder.

this is seriously what happens when you're me.

Could some people have gotten a ticket in April when nothing was going on?  They could have.  But not if Satan has his way with a bitch named fate and forces some people to deal with all the hardest shit of their year in a two week frame.  But it makes sense I guess.  I mean, life being easy for once is just a bit too much to ask for.  Right?  Okay.

Conclusion

Pros: learning experience, cool stories bro

Cons: fuck the cops, fuck the police

Final Verdict: Fifth Column Super-Foe

There is nothing good about getting a ticket.  It just shows you just what kind of bullshit goes down when you give human being power over another.  It’s two scoops of double bullshit ice cream in a sugary shit cone, being forced down the unwilling and swollen gullet of a lactose-intolerant toddler.  N.W.A. describes cops the best in their culturally impactful protest song “Fuck Tha Police”:

Fuckin’ with me cuz I’m a teenager
with a little bit of gold and a pager.
Searchin my car, lookin’ for the product,
Thinkin’ every nigga is sellin’ narcotics.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

that's me in the top-left. word.

 



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One response

19 07 2010
Matt

lul senip

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