babble
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Nutjob:
I just went completely batshit insane because I can't find the traffic ticket that was sent to me by the nice folks of Kansas City, Missouri a little while ago. You see, I was stopped in this area of the highway where the speed limit suddenly drops from 65 to 55 with no warning or signs whatsoever. It was super fun! They mailed me the ticket, which was for some exorbitant amount of money, like $60 billion for each mile over the speed limit, and I set it aside before the Artwalk with the express purpose of keeping it in a separate, safe spot so that I could mortgage my immortal soul and send them a check. Now that I have settled down from vacations and speaking engagements and customer travel and impromptu porn shoots, I would like to a) contact an attorney in Missouri who can give me a quote of $59.9 billion per mile over the speed limit, in which case I'll let him contest that shit; or b) sell my straightedge neighbor's kidney on eBay and just pay the ticket. Of course, now that I've decided to be a responsible adult and try to weasel my way out of it, I cannot for the life of me find this ticket anywhere in my fucking apartment.
I've checked every possible flat surface, every storage box, the underwear drawer, and the cat's litter box. I even checked that shelf where I put mail that requires action, such as bills, unactivated credit cards, and letter bombs. The best part is that not only can I not find the ticket that they mailed me with the ginormous fine, but I can't find the original ticket given to me by the very pleasant cop who assraped my wallet by the roadside, so I can't even be sure which county, local, or state official to bribe contact. I have never been a patient person and therefore I do not deal well with frustration, and I am so frustrated right now that my skin tone has turned from a lovely alabaster glow to a slightly radioactive-looking fuchsia, and most of my hair is standing on end. While this is undoubtedly amusing to my cat and the DHL guy who dropped off a delivery a few minutes ago to a disheveled, bathrobe-clad redhead with an uncannily Einsteinian hairdo, it is probably not the best thing for my blood pressure or continued sanity. Therefore, in order to solve this problem without my brain exploding, I hereby invalidate the entire Louisiana Purchase, giving the territory (which encompasses what is now the state of Missouri) back to France to deal with. The ensuing chaos, wine drinking, and surrendering should distract them long enough for me to sneak in, destroy all records of the ticket, and snag some K.C. BBQ on the way out.
You might think that invalidating the largest treaty-based land acquisition in our country's history could be going a bit overboard when I'm just trying to deal with a traffic ticket, but as far as I can tell it's the only logical course of action available for me to pursue.
babbled by Kat @ 4:11:00 PM |
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