Dear Asshole who parks all over the lines you're supposed to park between, not on, in the parking deck,

You may not be reading this, but maybe the message I have for you could help somebody else with your self-centered problem. I know you're more important than the rest us, and I understand that parking between the lines is beneath you. You're probably far too busy to take the extra seconds it takes to align your car between the lines. Even if you aren't, why should you be held to the same standards as the rest of us? It's obvious that your job title, make, model and year of car makes you exempt from doing what everybody else does. I understand that, as do the rest of us who drive Mazda 626s, Honda Accords and '97 Ford Escort hatchbacks. Being as though you're probably smarter than the rest of us, you also realize that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. I don't know, Einstein or something. So when you don't park between the lines it throws everybody off. Then the next guy can't park between the lines, and the guy next to him can't either. Then we're all screwed up. You don't know this about me, but I'm a pretty built guy (not very limber), and when you park all over the lines I can't get out of my car without having to contort my body like a pretzel. And while the Incredible Hulk filing out of a compact car like a circus clown on steroids may look funny to you, it makes me pretty mad. So can you do us a favor as peasants and park between the lines instead? Because the one thing I hate more than having to laffy-taffy my way out of my car is getting sued—and more than that is the possibility of jail. Because see, the next time you park on the line I may, I don't know, just go into a rage and bang the hell out of your car door—maybe bust out a window. Then I'll move my car so you don't have a clue who did it. I'm not saying, but I'm just saying. It's amazing how things like money make people like you change their tune.
Thank you,
The oversized guy in the undersized car.

tickets

The other day I got a ticket. As always, they are doing some roadwork in the city. I think they're putting in sewer pipes or something-so there's about a two mile radius where you are can't make a left-hand turn. I was going down the street to get something to eat and I had to turn around, but I couldn't make a left. I figured if I go down the street a little it would be fine and I could turn around. Apparently not. I got into what should've been the turn lane and some lady coming the other way honked at me. I didn't even think about it and made the left turn. I pulled up to the light to turn right onto the same street and a police officer knocked on my window. He said, "Son, how long have you been driving?" I just smiled. What are you supposed to say? Is he serious? Am I supposed to get out my calculator? Do I say 8 years, or should I be sarcastic? Then he asked me if I knew I couldn't turn left-like I'm going to say yes. I'm going to say no even if I did see the sign. Maybe I should've said yes to throw him off. I don't know. Then he asked, "Do you want me to give you a citation?" Who the hell says citation, and where did he get that line from-Asshole: Your Guide to Being A State Trooper? I mean, I guess it all depends. If I say no, are you not going to give me one? Does my response even matter? I should've said, "Well officer, I was thinking this morning that it has been an awful long time since my last ticket and I would actually love a citation." It's like they're begging you to do something stupid so they can beat you up or take you to jail. Then he took 30 mintues to write the ticket-as about five other people turned left onto the same street. I think one even turned left, stopped to ask him for directions and turned around. I was just supposed to get a ticket that day, I guess. For all of the other stuff I do, and don't get caught for, I can't complain. Not that you ever need a ticket, but you always seem to get them when you don't have any money and you have a vacation planned for the court date. Oh well, we'll see what happens. Until then I'm going to go to Borders and get Sarcasm: Your Guide To Answering Stupid Questions from Asshole Cops.