On getting pulled over

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.

Imaginary friend rejects

When I was a kid, I had a lot of imaginary friends. Now, one might assume that this was due to the fact that my tendencies towards verbal abuse and random biting made me a bit of an outcast- you’re wrong. It was because I was imaginative as hell.

Anyway, despite my Stephen King-esque level of imagination, a lot of my metaphysical companions were- let’s say inadequate, and had to be scrapped. For every Tyler Durden and Drop Dead Fred, there were a thousand boring, annoying, and sometimes downright dangerous friends who needed to be shown the door. Needless to say, I got into some pretty awkward conversations with myself. I’ve gone through the worst of them, and catalogued them so that future generations of ugly children can learn from my mistakes.

Discarded imaginary friend #1

Name: Tommy the Train.

Time of use: Kindergarten

Reason for termination: constant, forceful, and often inappropriate suggestions.

Me: hey Tommy? I think we need to talk.

Tommy: (in an exceedingly wacky voice) Hey Dan! What are we doing today?

Me: Actually-

Tommy: (hissing) you should murder your parents.

Me: (Silence) That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I think I’m going to have to let you go buddy.

Tommy: you’re firing me? But what about all the good times we’ve had together?

Me: Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong, we’ve had our fun Tommy, but honestly, you’re starting to freak me out a little man.

Tommy: what? How?

Me: well for starters-

Tommy: rape people.

Me: It’s that! Stop doing that! You keep telling me to do stuff! Weird stuff! Not only it that bossy, but ever time I listen to you I get in trouble and have to frame the retarded kid down the street!

Tommy: what stuff? I don’t tell you to do stuff? I would never tell you to do bad things Dan- I love you!

Me: You’re serious right now? Last week you told me eat a baby’s face. And two days ago you said I should finger bang Mrs. Fisher down the street. I don’t even know what that is, but I’m pretty sure it’s horrible.

Tommy: I-

Me: last Thursday you spent a half hour trying to get me to shit in a cat.

Tommy: so, this is happening. You’re actually throwing me away.

Me: I’m really sorry, but telling me to bring a chainsaw to school was the last straw.

Tommy: can we at least do cocaine one last time before I go?

Me: Yeah sure, why not.

Discarded Imaginary friend #2:

Name: Carl Johnson

Time of use: 2^nd grade

Reason for termination: boring

Carl: Dan? You wanted to see me?

Me: Carl, good to see you. Please have a seat.

Carl: this is a bathroom.

Me: I trust you got my memo?

Carl: you mean that crayon drawing of a picture of a green cat throwing up?

Me: It was the Hulk fighting- you know what, that’s beside the point. You’re fired.

Carl: What? On what grounds?

Me: You’re boring Carl. You’re really boring.

Carl: Are you serious. I’m fun! I’m hip!

Me: No you’re not, and nobody under the age of 40 says “hip”.

Carl: what are you talking about? Remember yesterday when we balanced our checkbooks? That was crazy, wasn’t it?

Me: No, that was actually pretty painful. So was that time you taught me “the dangers of tanning”.

Carl: Well I’m sorry for trying to save you from skin cancer.

Me: honestly Carl, you’re lucky to have survived this long. This was pretty much a misfire from the start.

Carl: How?

Me: Well for starters, you were supposed to be black.

Carl: that’s…. that’s racist. You’re a racist.

Me: Yeah…. Get out.

Discarded Imaginary friend #3

Name: Chet Thunderburn

Time of use: 7^th grade

Reason for termination: permanent damage to self esteem

Chet: (yawns) morning.

Me: it’s three in the afternoon.

Chet: Really? Man, that party last night was crazy!

Me: you went to a party?

Chet: Oh man, Trevor Mathews threw a sick kegger out in Boston. It was crazy. What did you do last night?

Me: oh you know, played ping pong. Alone. Again.

Chet: (clearly not listening) sounds great. Listen I’d love to hang out some more, but I’m going to the mall with Kayla.

Me: Kayla Moroni?

Chet: Yeah, You know her?

Me: The girl I’ve had a crush on since the third grade? Yeah, I think I’ve heard about her.

Chet: We’re really tight.

Me: You, uh, wanna bring me along?

Chet: Yeah. No.

Me: Great. Listen, this isn’t working out. I think its time we went our different ways.

Chet: OK.

Me: You’re taking this surprisingly well.

Chet: Eh, whatever. Actually I’ve been meaning to tell you: I got a new job as Jenna Keith’s sexual fantasy.

Me: Jenna Keith? The cheerleader?

Chet: Yep. I’m going to help her understand her changing body.

Me: Oh. I’m happy for you.

Chet: yeah, well…. I should probably get going. Peace! (Flies away on motorcycle that is also a gargoyle)

Me: Douche.

Discarded imaginary friend #5:

Name: Alex Trebeck

Time of use: 7^th grade

Reason for termination: he was Alex Trebeck

Trebeck: (silence)

Me: (silence)

Trebeck: (Pause) This large water dwelling mammal is-

Me: I immediately regret creating you.