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That's right, pussies. According to the North Carolina state storm trooper that charged me with it, anyway. Fucking asshole. And here is the story of what I'm fucking talking about. Gather 'round, my children, and I shall tell you a tale... (By the way, I don't have any pictures of this incident and I'm not stupid enough to scan my ticket and post it, so all images will be of retarded people doing stuff to make sure that I'm a horrible person.)
It was 6:30 in the goddamned morning, the sun was just coming up, I was in the goddamned south, and I got pulled over by a fucking state trooper. It was a black guy that talked like a redneck, and let me tell you there's nothing funnier than a black guy talking like he's white trash. He asked what my hurry was, and I said I'm trying to get home in time to see NASCAR. He said some shit about me doing 95 in a 70, and I wish I said "but ociffer, I'm on I95. I thought that meant I could go 95 mph!" But I didn't. State troopers, especially inbred ones, have no sense of humor. I was also driving my ex-girlfriend's car. It's a black Suzuki Forenza. Maybe I was speeding to get home faster. Maybe I was really speeding to make up for the fact that I was driving a girl car and I didn't want anyone to think I was a pussy. Who knows? Anyway, she couldn't find her registration. The one she had was expired. Surprisingly, the piggy didn't even mention that. He just wanted to fuck me up the ass. And here's what he did:
He charged me with speeding. Okay. Then, the motherfucker also charged me with reckless driving, claiming that I could've killed myself, my ex-girlfriend, and "countless other people." Does anyone else find something wrong with that, or is it just me? Countless other people? I'm not driving a nuclear submarine. The car wouldn't explode like an A bomb if I got into an accident. And guess what: if anyone else died, I don't care. That's right. I went there. I don't want to sound evil or heartless or anything, but if I was concerned with saving lives, I'd be a toll booth operator or a cowboy. I just wanted to get back to civilization as soon as fucking possible. Have you ever been to North or South Carolina? Christ, they both suck balls for the most part. On this one rural road in South Carolina to get to Myrtle Beach, there's nothing around for miles except for trailer homes, burnt-out trailer homes, fields, creepy horror-movie-esque railroads, and every 50 miles there's a town that's two blocks long and has a general store. I didn't know it was 1885. What the fuck is a general store, anyway? When I go food shopping, I don't come out of a supermarket with groceries, a TV, and a new huntin' dog. This town I'm talking about, whatever the fuck it's called, had a general store and like three jewelry stores within its two blocks of towniness. Apparently it's more important to be blingin' than it is to eat something other than beef jerky, light bulbs, and fishing lures. So fuck the south.
So the trooper takes my license and the registration and sits in his car for like ten minutes, probably trying to remember how to write. He is, after all, a fucking jackass. He goose-steps back to the car, hands me my shit back, and gives me a ticket. As he's giving me the ticket, he says that my court date is scheduled for 10/29 at 9:00 AM in Wilson district court. In North fucking Carolina. Yeah. In all the tickets I've gotten over the years, I've never had one with a court date already on it. Of course, I live in a civilized part of the country so maybe that had something to do with it. For the date of the ticket, he wrote 9/18 in one spot and 9/19 in another spot. Okay, it was early, I know. I could see getting the date wrong in both spots, but getting it wrong and right at the same time is so fucking stupid it's making blood shoot out my nose. On a scale for stupid of 1 to 10, this ranks at about 83,000. It's so fucking stupid it completely destroys the entire scoring system. What the fuck is that shit? Also, there wasn't any fine. No fine anywhere. Probably so I couldn't just plead guilty and avoid driving seven fucking hours to go to court. He also said that there was no way out of the court date. At all. After this asshole drove away, probably to shove his nightstick up his ass while listening jug band music on his 8 track, I took a good look at the ticket. Oh yes, I did. And it was ridiculous. My ex-girlfriend works at a court up here and looked the ticket over, and even she was confused. One part said that I could plead guilty and not go to court. Right below that, as in the next sentence, the ticket said I had to go to court. That whole state is fucking retarded.
The speeding charge is what you'd expect, but the big problem is the reckless driving charge. I could get my license suspended for six months, and that's no good. My dad was telling me to just not go, but then I'd wind up getting pulled over for not getting my car inspected (it's that time of year again - time to procrastinate and not get my car inspected just like last year) and there's be a warrant out for my arrest and then I'd go to jail and have to make a living as the guy that can get stuff from the outside world like in Shawshank Redemption. Either that or the worse option: be the guy that gets suckered into being the brains behind the evil righteous warden's accounting scams, and that would suck even more because I wouldn't have a suave black guy narrating my life's story for me every step of the way.
*Update, 9/23 - the movie is called Nothing but Trouble. I don't know why I couldn't remember the name because I've seen it like 5,000 times. Thanks for everyone that told me. You can all stop telling me now. Seriously. Do yourself a favor and never go south of Washington DC. Once you go below there, you're in bizarro world where nothing makes any fucking sense at all. Just like a retarded person playing bocce ball (see three pictures above). |
Last week I went to Myrtle
Beach with my ex-girlfriend. Her parents live down there so I had a
place to stay. Overall, it was a good trip. We drove down
there, and Myrtle Beach is about 10 hours away from Philadelphia.
Yeah, that's pretty fucking far. Whatever. We left there at
4:30 AM this past Sunday, and right before getting on I95, the ex started
passing out at the wheel so I took over. After driving up I95 for a
little while in the dark with no one in the road, I found myself going
about 95 in the middle of the redneck wasteland of North Carolina.
As I was passing some pussy in the left lane, an state trooper came after
me and pulled me over. Needless to say, I was fucking pissed.
Anyway,
where the hell was I? Oh yeah, the state trooper. Yeah, he was
a pretty bad dude, let me tell you. It sucks even more that I got
pulled over on the highway because during the 8 days I was in Myrtle Beach
I didn't see one cop. Not one. At all. That's weird.
Granted, it was after Labor Day so the vacation season was over, but
still. No cops. Not even a rent-a-cop on a bike. Not
even a security guard armed with a deadly USA Today and thermos full of
piss-flavored coffee. That's pretty wacky, I know.
The
ticket not only had no address for the court anywhere on it, it didn't
even have a fucking phone number. Apparently they expected me to see
a fortune teller or do some detective work or something. We had to
track down the courthouse, call them up, and find out what the fuck is
going on.
So I'm going to go to court.
Unfortunately, in this back-water armpit of the country, the DA gets
involved with reckless driving cases for some fucking reason, so it's
going to be like the redneck version of one of those crappy LA Law shows
that no one ever watches but still won't get cancelled. Man, I hate
LA Law. All I can picture is that the court thing will turn into
that weird movie from the 80s with Chevy Chase, Demi Moore, Dan Akroid (I
don't know how to spell his name, and since he sucks balls I don't care),
and John Candy (who's dead now; coincidence? I think not) where they
get arrested in New Jersey and are taken to this wacky booby trap-filled
house with mutants where they eat maggoty sausages with condiments rolling
by on toy trains and then Dan Akroid takes off his face and John Candy
plays a beastly woman that can't talk and Digital Underground shows up to
get funky and there's a machine with teeth that eats people on a roller
coaster and then Chevy Chase blows stuff up and the whole building sinks
into the ground and the feds knew about it the whole time. I forget
what the movie is called, but it's a fucking perfect example of textbook
insanity*. I think it's actually a
documentary on New Jersey now that I think about it. Anyway, that's
how I'm picturing this court date. If I show up and the judge drops
out of the ceiling in an elevator chair I'm going to flip the fuck out,
kicking all kinds of ass and not taking any names because I'm that much of
a badass. On second thought, that would probably kick too much ass.