I was driving home last night on this old back highway that’s not very popular. Only about 70 million people use it during the day, as opposed to the normal 140 million who clog the other highways around here. So it’s only mildly jammed, you know what I mean? Well anyway, I didn’t get out of work ’til about seven o’clock, so on this highway, I seemed to be the only person traveling. So I was running along about ninety mph over the line and I ran by a cop car.

You know that feeling you get when you fly past a cop car and you’re doubling the speed limit? My heart fell to my stomach and just utterly refused to continue beating. I had to give myself shock therapy from my battery to get it going again, but that’s another story… So I whiz past this sumbitch who’s sitting on the side of the road. He pulls out. After a couple of seconds, I was already around the bend, so I slowed way the hell down and changed lanes. I was waiting for him to come pounce on me like a duck on a june bug.

He never came.

I was going like forty at this point, and just waiting for him to come around. It should have only taken him about three seconds. But he never showed up. And there aren’t any other places he could have gone. I suppose he could have hopped the meridian and turned around, but I don’t see why, when there are turnarounds up the road a little way. Anyway, so he was like the mysterious disappearing cop. At least I didn’t get a ticket. It’s harder to make them disappear yourself, you know.

So I learned my lesson about speeding: Just keep on going if you fly past a cop. General mathematics suggests that even if he’s driving a Camaro, it will take him at least six seconds to get to sixty miles per hour. If I’m going ninety, I will have traveled over five hundred feet in that time period. And if I am still accelerating, I can be over a half mile gone by the time he reaches ninety. By that time I will have passed no less than two exits. No more tickets for Brandon!