So my grandmother is a herb-loving hippie and a 40+ years practicing Buddhist who could grow back a limb with echinacea and good energy. It is because of her that I am keenly aware of my Qi and my karmic balance. And last week, karma hawked a lugie in my hair.
I am a terrible driver. This is no secret to anyone who has driven with me, or the small children who bounce off my windshield as I fly through residential areas in fourth gear. I've been pulled over more times than I can count, but I am not often ticketed (almost never, actually). I think it's because I have boobs and can cry on command. Lucky me. Well, my luck ran out:
That would be the TWO tickets I got last week. The first was a parking ticket for 30 bones for parking too close to a fire hydrant. In my defense, I was five minutes late to class already and the equivalent of the entire population of Suriname was already parked on campus, leaving me to park on the street. In such a situation, I am completely unaware of my surroundings. I'm just lucky I didn't park in someone's front yard or at a stop sign which has been known to happen. But whatevs, it's just thirty bucks, right? I'll budget for that by drinking Vendange instead of Yellow Tail for a few weeks. No harm done.
The second, that smarmy green bastard, would be my "speeding" ticket. I put "speeding" in quotes, because I was actually driving so slow my cousin Emily, who was riding bitch, could have bailed out and landed on her feet. At the speed I was going, a 7th grader with asthma and a limp would have beat me in a footrace. I was going TWENTY-THREE miles per hour. Alas, in a school zone.
(Side note: back in my day, we kids recognized cars as whizzing deathmachines and stayed clear of them. Kids these days hide behind their fancy "school zones" and dance into the street without looking. Maybe a little roadrash would do them good, the snot-nosed bastards.)
So I see the flashing lights behind me, realize that I am still in second gear, and figure I couldn't possibly be written a speeding ticket for driving in second gear. So I get out my registration and license, blah blah blah, like I've done a million times, batted my eyelashes and waited for that familiar slap-on-the-wrist. But oh no, this vindictive ass of a cop came back with that stupid-ass green citation written out for, wait for it...
$186!!!
What kind of fuckstick tickets a nice girl with a big smile $186 for driving THREE over the speed limit?? I'll tell you what kind. The kind with a stupid mustache and probably a tiny weiner and shrunken balls and a fat, ugly wife, and stupid, retard kids who lives in a dumb, filthy house and still has a Bush-Cheney 04 sticker on his fucking stupid beater car and kills puppies for sport. Yeah, that kind.
Oh wait, the mere act of writing this ridiculous citation was not nearly chodey enough to indicate the chode-level of this Chode. If you've ever gotten a ticket, you know that on the back you have three options (and I'm paraphrasing):
1. I'm lazy and have an expendable income. Here's a check.
2. Okay, you caught me. But my hair was on fire, my wife was in labor, I forgot my kid at the gas station, and my mortal enemy was pursuing with with a machete, so I'm really sorry, can you please not make me pay so much.
3. That fucking cop's a liar and I'll see you in court.
Officer Scroteface put a BIG BLACK "X" over option 2. Excuse me? Is this not AMERICA, the great land of making excuses for shit? Isn't that the entire point of our legal system? So people can stand in front of a judge and say "Yes, but Your Honor..."?
My driving karma is so bad, I got a $186 ticket for driving three over the speed limit, written by a traitorous Commie who hates America and everything she stands for. Come on, Great Laws of the Universe, what have I done?!
