The Speeding Ticket

[rocco16v at netzero.net (L F)]

Exagerating your speed in posts to this list could also land you in trouble...
...or was this a fictional piece?
:)
Larry
  ----- Original Message ----- 
  From: Anson Clement 
  To: scirocco-l@scirocco.org 
  Sent: Monday, March 22, 2004 2:52 PM
  Subject: The Speeding Ticket



  The Speeding Ticket

   

   

  A Monday in mid March can be many things, in Ohio such a day is usually rather shitty. The Monday I'm about to tell you about was balmy-ish, uneventful, with just a hint of boring. I was tooling home from my last job of the day, my 8V Scirocco was running well for a car that's been beaten like a two dollar Mexican whore and I was feeling good. 

  I-70 between Zanesville and Columbus is a lonely rolling stretch of highway, sections of which dip through mile and a half long valleys. It was at the lip of just such a hollow that the ever present urge to crush the loud pedal snuck up on me, bludgeoned my better judgment, and had it's way. 

  The 8V surged forward with all the power and grace of a dead ostrich, the new engine eschewed a wonderful symphony of rattles and clanks as the tach needle wavered past 5k. My brakes sent a wobbling complaint through the pedal and into my suddenly heavy right foot, I saw him, but far too late. The cruiser angled, door ajar, one boot on the ground, laser gun to eye. I swept by him at a suddenly attained 65, the baleful glare told all I was well and truly fucked.

  As the beater struggled up the far side of the valley my eyes locked on the rearview, mind scrabbling desperately for a plausible lie. My speedo cable was in fact broken but the fact that I was passing other cars like a supermodel in a buffet line might have cast doubt on the legitimacy of such a claim. I could say something about a stuck throttle but my complete lack of breasts might make the officer disinclined to let me off on such a tall one. One twenty in a sixty five was certainly a mandatory court appearance, no wait, this is Ohio, more like mandatory castration!

  I had now reached the other side of the valley of the shadow of death, still no flashing lights, no speeding grey shape looming in my rearview. Twenty minutes later and still no pork, the elation washed over me, the smell of sweet reprieve almost covering the pungent odors emanating from my now soggy crotch.

   

   


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