The Speeding Ticket

[danws69 at earthlink.net (-DAN-)]

rofl!!!


That's a great write-up Anson!

Dan Snow
Czechmate Logistics Enterprises, Inc.
http://www.czechmate.hostmb.com/

-----Original Message-----
From: scirocco-l-bounces@scirocco.org
[mailto:scirocco-l-bounces@scirocco.org]On Behalf Of Anson Clement
Sent: Monday, March 22, 2004 17:52
To: scirocco-l@scirocco.org
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 Im 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 thats 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 its 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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