Crawling down the road and a car suddenly leaps out behind me from a driveway and starts the bad red, white, and blue disco lighting.
Officer comes to the passenger side window and asks for my license, registration, and insurance card.
He doesn’t even walk to his car to look up my license or anything, instead, leaning in my window right above the huge TV camera on the seat, he offers wisdom…
Why the hell are you still driving that beat up piece of shit?!
And here is where I regret not having that thing running.
I recognize the officer. He pulled me over a while back and then the exchange was more insensitive than tonight’s.
Where are you from? You don’t look like you’re from around here.
Oh, you are?
… Native American? Aren’t you guys usually totally covered in tattoos and shit? Well I’ll believe you because you’ve got the hair…
Once again you leave me without any cause to write a citation.
Cry me a cuntpuddle canal.
