“They rollin’…they hatin’…patrollin,’ they tryin’ to catch me ridin’ dirty.”

Man, I can’t wait for this year to be over.

They’re hatin’ on your boy this year, for real. I’ve had my problems with Johnny law in the past, but I’ve never had a streak like this. When it comes to traffic court, I’ve only had 2 tickets in 10 years. 10 years. Then all of a sudden, I come up and splash 50 Gs on the whip, and I manage to accumulate 4, four, that’s twice that, in one year’s time. Now, that just doesn’t add up.

I’m not one to scapegoat, though, so I have to look inward. Well, I did buy a sports car, could it be I’m driving more aggressively? Speeding more? Sure, a little, that’s almost a given. But with every given action…I’m smarter than I look, so to make up for the supercharged driving, I also keep a much keener eye, stay more alert, and look for speed traps more often. Besides, the change in attitude isn’t enough to increase my annual ticket count tenfold.

This strategy kept me safe for about 6 months. Then, the tables turned. At first, no one knew what my car was. They’d never seen it before. So it was all “oohs” and “ahhs”. Not anymore. Now the shock is over and the people are just mad. Hating. As in raging mad.

Only 1 of my tickets was warranted. 91 in a 65. I blazed past a pack of cars on 95 North going 80 mph. I deserved that one. I guess. The other 3 though: 50 in a 35 in an office park where everyone drives 55, just happens to be a school zone that afternoon; 60 in a 45 that isn’t marked where the other side of the road is 55mph, where everyone drives 60-70; and 76 in a 55 on a major highway where everyone drives 80.

What gives? I’m going the same speed everyone else is. Why am I getting pulled over for all these bullshit tickets? If I’m not outrageously speeding anymore than anyone else, why me?

That only leaves one option – they’re actually seeing a group of speeding cars, and picking mine out because it fits a profile. Dark, expensive 2-door sports car with a big spoiler and shiny wheels. They’re picking me out of a crowd and pulling me over because of the car I drive.

So now, every chance they get, these jealous little pigs throw the book at me. If I’m breaking the law in any way, blue lights come on. If they see me in traffic, they start pacing me. If they pull me over, they take their sweet time to find anything and everything to break me for.

Cry you a river? Don’t believe me? The first time, I got another ticket for not having my license plate mounted even though it was on my dash in plain view. The second time, I was accused of drunk driving and was given a breathalyzer – at 4 PM totally sober and driving in a straight line. The time after that, the police officer threatened that I would get thrown in jail for contempt of court for forging my signature because he thought it was too sloppy. What the hell is that? Just dyin’ to catch me ridin’ dirty.

Well, I must just think I’m hot shit, and I must have given the cops some bullshit rebel without a cause attitude. Wrong again. Knowing each time I was unscrupulously pushed into reckless territory, I was as polite as I could be. And each time, the cop was a complete dick, as incendiary as he could be. You could say they were provoking me.

Why? Because I’m 27 years old and my car costs twice their annual salary. Because the only way they could afford my car is if they won the lottery. And because they didn’t feel they got enough respect as kids, now they’re making up for it with these authoritative power trips, tightly pressed uniforms, and pornographic moustaches.      

My insurance has gone up a thousand dollars this year. So far. Yes, one thousand dollars. As in currently 1/20^th of my car’s blue book worth. And that’s an annual fee. So, this is how the cops are making me pay for their insecurities. They meet their quotas, they rub my face in the dirt, and they feel like tough guys.  

Fortunately, I can change my car. I don’t have to live with it. I can sell it and buy an equally nice one that doesn’t have such a big engine and doesn’t draw so much attention. A car that there are more of on the road; one that blends in more unctuously.

But I don’t want to. It feels like the car is a part of me; a natural extension of my virility. No, the engine’s not that big, the hood’s not that long – my dick’s not that small. It’s a sleek car that tears up the road. It’s fast and charming like nothing you’ve ever seen before. That I relate to.

My car has become a part of my identity and part of my life. I don’t want to sell it just to keep my license or to be able to afford my insurance. That would be selling myself short. I shouldn’t have to just because the cops are jealous and mad. I shouldn’t be profiled based on the car I drive. I should not be discriminated against because of the space I occupy. So I will keep riding, until the wheels fall off.

“Got warrants in every city except Houston…but I'm still ain't losin’.”