The Speeding Ticket

[gtigirlie at hotmail.com (Sara Arms)]

Anson... don't lie... you already have breasts.  No need to grow *more*



Sara
Burlington, VT
'84 Rabbit GTI
'91 All-Trac Wagon "The ice trial champion"
http://community.webshots.com/user/gtigirlie





>From: Anson Clement <ansonivan@yahoo.com>
>To: scirocco-l@scirocco.org
>Subject: The Speeding Ticket
>Date: Mon, 22 Mar 2004 14:52:01 -0800 (PST)
>
>
>The Speeding Ticket
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>
>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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>
>Do you Yahoo!?
>Yahoo! Finance Tax Center - File online. File on time.
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