It’s the same every time: you’re driving a conservative 95 mph, washing down your mid morning drink with some Doritos and a Bloody Mary. Suddenly the pigs are upon you, sounding their war trumpets and jamming the cruiser halfway up your ass. Now, it’s a given that you have weed in your car; to think otherwise is ridiculous. What you really should be worried about is the shrooms, acid, and pcp that will inevitably be littering your vehicle in the event that you’ve recently gotten a paycheck. If they find that shit, you’ll be straight executed, no trial, no jury, no mercy. The cop will feed you a bullet, right there on the spot; that’s goddamn regulation.
And so, your task is three pronged: first, escape the encounter without your drugs being discovered. Second, avoid getting a speeding ticket. And of course, you want to impress any women who may be watching.
Now, your instincts will tell you to slow down and pull over. This is psychotic, and will result in the pig tap dancing on your colon. By pulling over, you’re submitting to the cops’ authority, acknowledging his power over you. Imagine if a deer walked up to a bear, lay down and began to cover itself in zesty barbecue sauce; that is essentially what it is to pull over. As soon as you throw on your right blinker, the bastards’ mouth will begin to water and his pants will tighten.
Typical logical progression, then, would suggest that the correct move is to speed up and give chase. While the valiance is impressive, and would certainly moisten the loins of any passerby, it’s essentially suicide. For starters, you’ve probably got a fairly powerful buzz going (if you’re not smashed out of your head on paint thinner and mouth wash), and you have to consider what territory you’re in. If the cop is attempting a takedown, that means you’re on his turf. He wouldn’t be fucking with anyone if he was in the territory of the spics or the black panthers or even the hippies; the fascists know the score.
You’re in cop territory. That means roadblocks. That means snipers. That means choppers. That means a cavalry of roided up, crew cut wearing fascists, armed to the teeth with stinger missiles and assault rifles. If you run, you won’t be caught; you will be eviscerated.
No, you can neither submit nor flee. What you must do, is pull a 180. Spin your car into the left hand lane, a meet your attacker face to face. Center your car on the yellow line, and gun the speed beyond what you’re comfortable driving. Then, increase your speed your by 10 mph. every fiber of your body will urge you to not engage an armed policeman in a game of chicken; it’s at this point you tell every fiber of your body to shut the fuck up. By the time you can see the whites of the cops’ eyes, he’ll be skidding of the road.
You have just pulled over a cop.
But now is not the time to celebrate; now is the time to move in for the kill. Your opponent is stunned and wounded. Strike him down.
You’ll want to pull up behind him. If you can make the siren noise with your mouth, that’s all the better. Now it’s time to prepare for battle. Take the time to grab some of your weed, but don’t begin smoking it just yet. Don’t worry about getting caught. The cop you’re dealing with has just been emasculated at an epic scale; he couldn’t book you with the goddamn national guard backing him up.
Next, think back to your first sexual encounter, careful not to skip on the explicit detail (except when you caught her dad listening at the door. You can probably leave that part out). Also, pop any Viagra you happen to have on your person.
If you time everything right, you should have a lit joint and a raging hard on by the time you reach the pigs’ car door. Motion for him to roll down the window, and ask for his license and registration. After he gives it to you, tell him you’re going to let him off with a warning.
Last but not least, don’t forget to rip off his siren before departing. You can nail it to your door as a warning to cops that you are not to be fucked with.