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6:56 a.m. - 2005-04-04


So we drove to Georgia for my sister's baby shower this weekend.

Friday night I had to work at the club and it was DEAD.

DEAD, I'm tellin' ya.

I was excited because I knew I had to get some sleep and couldn't work a late night as we had to get up at 5:30 a.m. and drive the three hours to make sure Susie got to my sister's house in time for the brunch/shower which started at 10 a.m.

So I'm playin' the tunes and the few people in the club are ignoring me as usual and then ... the doors were thrown open and in about a five minute period, we gained about 150 people in the club.

Apparently they had all been at some other party so they were already half drunk.

Long story short, at 1:30 a.m. the manager came up and said "Let's shut it down at 2".

Grumble, grumble, fine.

I got home at 2:30 and was asleep around 3 a.m.

5:30 the alarm went off.

We got in the car and took off for Georgia.

Now then ... after two and a half hours asleep, I wasn't the most alert driver on the road.

But had I let my wife (known as "That fucking Granny-like driver" in certain driver circles) drive, we'd be about halfway to Georgia by now.

Susie takes "safe driving" to a whole new level. That level being "Non-fucking-existant driving".

So we're cruising through Bumfuck, Georgia, population 1 asshole when I see a car way up on a hill adjacent to the road.

"That's a cop," my intelligent wife says.

"Yes, I know," I lie.

"How fast are you going?" she asks.

"Too fast," I reply.

Blue lights.

Goddammit, goddammit, goddammit, goddammit.

Barney Fife hikes his pants up as he saunters to my window.

"Do you know why I pulled you over?" he asks.

Now what kind of stupid question is that?

Granted, I had a SLEW of stupid answers for it.

"I sure hope it's not drug smuggling," I wanted to say.

Or maybe "Kidnapping the brat in the back seat who's watching 'The Lion King' way too loud?"

Or "Because the cop I just shot in the last little shit-stained town who asked me that same question managed to alert you and your waterheaded self that I was heading in your direction over the radio before he breathed his last breath as he bled to death across the front seat of his worn-out cruiser."


PUUUULENTY of stupid answers.

But, because I was in a hurry and not exactly in the mood for jail time, I just said "I'm guessing speeding?"

"You were going 79 in a 55," he said. "Where you headin'?"

"Your mama's having a 'buy one get one free' blow job sale at her trailer and it's over at 8 a.m.," I said.

...In my head.

"My sister's baby shower," I said.

He then babbled about something which I understood to mean that he was just giving me a warning.

"I certainly do appreciate that, sir," I said.

He walked back to his car with my license.

"Why did you say that?" Susie asked.

"He said he was just giving me a warning," I told her.

"No he didn't," she said. "He's writing you a ticket."


Well ... shows you how much I was paying attention.

He comes back with a ticket and says that rather than writing down "79 mph" on the ticket, he wrote "68 mph" so I would save $100 on the ticket and it wouldn't put any points on my license.


Well fuck me running, Gomer. Thanks a heap.

I signed something and then peeled out, spraying him with dirt and gravel while throwing empty beer cans all over the road.

Not really.

I pulled away gently and once I got out of his site, I took it up to 78 mph.

I just didn't feel that good about going 79.

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