What the hell are you supposed to do? You’re sitting at the intersection, second in line for a left-turn signal and the arrow turns green. But the idiot in front of you is too busy texting his girlfriend to notice that he’s supposed to be operating a motor vehicle and doesn’t move until the light turns yellow. Now you’re in the middle of the street, drivers on either side revving up their engines as they eagerly prepare to t-bone you, and FLASH, some fucking machine takes your picture for running the light. Why didn’t the stupid camera take a picture of the moron with his cell phone, putting your life at risk so he can type TTYL, LH6, and my favorite, ROFL?
Never happen to you? All I can say is this: when the ticket comes, I’m not paying it. They can kiss my butt. Sheriff Joe can come to my door, haul me away to tent city, put me in pink pajamas and make me watch the Weather Channel all day, but I’m not choking up a single dime for the public coffers. So there. Come and get me.