Now That I'm Old

Recently, I've come to grips with the fact that I've been around the sun more times than I have left, but it's not like I'm old just yet. I mean, I don't miss places on my face when I shave, and my clothes don't smell like damp newspapers stored at length in a basement. Food is not left in my beard, stalactites don't grow from my nostrils nor is there a bowl of hard candy by my favorite chair. That being said, I'm clearly getting ornery. Small things really chap my ass. It's inevitable even though I know being an irritable pain will get you a oneway ticket on an ice flow. I just can't help myself. So here are the things that cause me to senior out.

1. Describing a woman as “handsome.”
 

Calling a woman "handsome" is not an attempt at gender neutrality. "Handsome" in this context is supposed to mean refined beauty. Writers use the term to intellectualize themselves, not to say anything about a woman's looks. I hate that.

2. Referring to a piece of clothing as “fun.”

I was in a clothing store the other day with my wife, Christine. A young woman held up some summer shorts as she said,

"These are fun."

People who say this are trying to pull off a good vibe, but truth is they just sound nuts. What could be fun about a piece of clothing? I despise that.
 

3. Using “pleasure” as a verb.
 

I would expect Christian Grey to say to Anastasia Steele in Fifty Shades of Stupid something like,

"Let me pleasure you."

Then I would expect Anastasia's breast to heave which I assume would mean both of them. I loathe that.

4. Cooks who want to be called "Chef."

My wife watches a lot of cooking competitions on television. Everyone is very serious. Judges call you out for not putting enough salt on a dish. Okay, so they can make a compote and an arugula salad, but do we have to call them "Chef?" Not many people use their occupation as a rank. We don’t say,

“Yes Dentist. I floss daily.”

or,

"No Anesthesiologist. I'm not allergic to eggs."

I abhor that.

5. Referring to the hospital without an article.

The Brits do this all the time. They say,

“I took him to hospital.”

People do this to establish their britishness. I worked with a guy who was from Wales. I once asked him,

“What does Prince Charles’s wife do on Thursday nights?”

“I don’t know. Volunteer at hospital?” he answered.

”Camilla Parker Bowles,” I said through my clenched teeth as I noted his lack of an article.

I detest that.

 

6. Referring to a car by its maker.
 

A friend of mine has a BMW. He's very proud of owning the vehicle even though it's a stripped down bottom of the line model. He always refers to his car as "The BMW" as in,

"Honey, why don't you just take The BMW?"

I should be happy for him, after all he just paid $232 to change the oil in The BMW. People never do this with a Dodge Dart. They don't say,

"Sweetie, why don't you take The Pea Green Dodge Dart with the slant six."

I dislike that.

 

7. Songs that mimic dust on the record.
 

Some artists add hiss and pop to a recording to make it sound retro. Before CDs, we actually lived with record skips and scratches in our music. Adele released Rolling in the Deep on vinyl. Most audiophiles believe vinyl produces the best quality sound. That may be true if you have an expensive turntable. Back in the day we taped quarters to the stylus to plow the needle through skips. That pisses me off.

 

8. Lawyers referring to money in the plural.
 

I saw a commercial a while ago for a law firm that provided this sound legal advice,

"Have you been involved in a slip and fall? If so, then you may be entitled to monies."

Since it's plural you probably qualify for more than just one money. Depending on the severity of your injuries, you are likely entitled to several different kinds of money. Attorneys referring to money in the plural are just trying to sound more authoritative. I object to that.

 

9. Cunning pet names.
 

Names for pets have always been endearing. Adorable pet names make me barf. Bo, Baxter, Buddy, Bailey, Whally. These are all names that are too substandard for a human. How come no one ever names their dog "John?" It's always some delightful, darling name like "Dinkles." I also hate it when people use "cunning" for "cute." That makes me recoil.
 

10. Alliterative children's names.

Kris Kardashian chose all her daughters names to start with a "K" because her name begins with that letter. Kourtney, Kim, Khloe. Her only son took her first husband's name in full, "Robert." Presumably any subsequent boys would have been named Ronnie, Rupert, Reginald, etc. I'm sure this was Kris's idea because she carried it into her second marriage to Bruce Jenner with their kids, Kendall and Kylie. When Bruce transitioned, he shoved it up Kris's caboose by choosing the name "Caitlin" with a "C" and not a "K."

I hate that.

Getting old really stinks, but not as much as an actual old person. I'm certainly not looking forward to spending the rest of my life repeating the same story to the same people on the same day. Sometimes I forget my kid's names or call my sister by my wife's name. I work out now not to get buff but to ensure that I can open a jar of pickles. Aging is nature's way of making room for the next generation who now will get their turn to fuck up the earth.

Getting old sucks, but it's better than the alternative.

Editor's Note: Originally posted on March 27, 2018.

Roll in Peace Stephen Hawking

Stephen Hawking

On March 14, 2018, famed astrophysics and author, Steven Hawking, quietly passed away. The legendary scientist possessed twelve honorary degrees and was seated at the most prestigious academic post in the world, the Lucasian Professorship of Mathematics at Cambridge University, a position once held by Isaac Newton. The author of several books on time and the universe, Hawking suffered from ALS, a debilitating disease which eventually robbed him of the use of his limbs and speech. Communicating through a computer interface, Hawking took minutes to select a letter making writing a book a colossal endeavor. His life was unfathomably difficult, but he soldiered on against extraordinary hardship to become regarded as one of the world's foremost thinkers.

News coverage of Hawking's passing was called out on social media for mentioning how he overcame his disability. Some people decried the reporting as "ableist," a term that describes the prejudice physically challenge people often experience. To some, the mentioning of Hawking's disability along with his many achievements perpetuates a stereotype that disabled people are less than an able bodied person. Many obituaries and news stories said things like Hawking "overcame his disability," or was a brilliant thinker "despite his physical ailments." This angered many readers.

The issue I always had with Professor Hawking is that his assertions about the heavens, so revered by intellectuals and laypeople, never actually benefitted mankind. In fact, all you have to do to be successful in theoretical astrophysics is just blast off some wild assertion then back it up with a little hokey math, preferably partial differential equations, after which everyone thinks you're a genius. Hawking's big contribution to our understanding of the universe came in 1974 when he theorized that black holes emit radiation. It's known as the "coolest thing ever" or Hawking Radiation. So black holes emit radiation. Who gives a mu meson?

He once theorized that the expansion of the universe from the big bang would eventually come to a halt after which the universe would contract and time would run backwards. After mathematically proving this theory, he later mathematically refuted it. The idea was nuts, but at least he admitted it was incorrect. The worst part about intellectualizing mundane nonsense is that wannabe intelligencia and laypeople alike suck it right up. A colleague of mine was always espousing the musings of Stephen Hawking. He was a music major tasked with evaluating the aesthetics of our software user interfaces. There was nothing technical about this guy, but somehow he embraced Hawking as his intellectual savior. In meetings, he would often quote from one of Hawking's books like,

"Disorder increases with time because we measure time in the direction in which disorder increases."

As if he understood what the quark Hawking was talking about. I had a friend who took up Hawking's literature after he finished his PhD in Mechanical Engineering. He once told me that he submitted a paper to Professor Hawking in which he "non-dimensionalized intelligence" and found that cats were smarter than some people. My friend, a cat lover, was a phenomenal thinker before he became a doctorate when he shifted his focus from understand the world to establishing his place in it.

Carl Sagan

When I was young, I was captivated by the astronomer, author, cosmetologist and astrophysicist, Carl Sagan, who co-wrote and narrated the award winning 13 part PBS television series, Cosmos: A Personal Voyage. Sagan ensured that his mug, gazing at the heavens, was interjected in the series as many times as possible. He said things like "star stuff" and "billions" a lot as in,

"We are made of star-stuff," and

"Billions and billions of particles in one great cosmic soup."

My twelve year old mind inhaled this shit. Carl Sagan was a god to me even though he was an atheist. In several episodes, Carl cruised around in "the ship of imagination" which was modeled after a dandelion seed. He stopped by a black hole for a quick lesson on how cool those things were because back then worm holes hadn't been invented yet. In what was some of the clunkiest graphics of the '80's, Carl exited the ship of imagination and slid into the black hole. Sagan was perhaps the first showman, egghead, celebrity nerd, gaining tremendous worldwide fame from his on screen techno explanations of things like gravity, black holes and special relativity. We all felt special ourselves because we understood what this way smart dude was talking about even though everyone knows one cannot survive a trip down a black hole because tremendous cosmic forces tend to remove your pancreas via your nose. 

Pioneer 10 Plaque

As I climbed into high school then college, my affinity for Carl Sagan waned as I saw him more interested in promoting Carl Sagan than advancing the knowledge of humankind. I once defended the syndicated comedic columnist, Dave Barry, who wrote a hilarious piece suggesting that we should send Carl out to retrieve the plaque off Pioneer 10 which gives aliens directions on how to find earth. It was Sagan's idea to include the map on the spacecraft. Barry's article made many jokes about how often Sagan said, "billions and billions." A reader of the local newspaper named, Mark D. Bonnie, commented on Barry's article. Bonnie wrote,

"Barry's timing was impeccable since the article appeared the week Professor Sagan almost died in the hospital from a ruptured appendix."

Being a consummate dick even in my youth, my response appeared in print the following week,

"I don't think Mr. Barry meant anything personal in his article. He never even mentioned that Sagan's appendix burst into billions and billions of pieces."

I don't blame Hawking for his efforts in self promotion because unlike Sagan, Hawking was confined to a wheelchair in which his own limbs where not under his control. He was a master at convincing people of his superior intellect which was certainly buoyed by his plight. Hawking himself said his disability freed him from teaching and correcting papers allowing him time to conjure up fantastical assertions which he packaged for public consumption, one letter at a time in his best selling books.

His disability was a large part of his success. Americans love an underdog and Hollywood loves a genius slacker. Hawking jumped on the Good Will Hunting genius slacker concept when he said that in his three years at Oxford he probably put in only an hour a day, about 1000 total, as he skipped lectures and blew off assignments. The rest of us require 10,000 hours to become an outlier, but not Stephen. He got there by barely trying.

Hawking's first wife, Jane, which he met while at Cambridge put her own graduate studies on hold to marry Hawking even after she knew of his medical prognosis. She raised their two children and took care of her husband for years. During his acceptance speech when Hawking received a prestigious award, he failed to mention his wife. Eventually, he divorced her for one of his caregivers, Elaine Mason, who dumped her husband, the guy who hooked up Stephen with the computer allowing him to communicate. Being discarded for a paralyzed dude in a wheelchair must have been a hard pill for Mason's ex-husband to choke down. I always wondered what he said when she broke the news to him. It was probably something along the lines of,

"Good luck with that."

Hawking's second wife allegedly beat the living shit out of him, breaking his wrist and one time leaving him in the sun for hours until he almost croaked from too much Hawking Radiation. He denied any abuse but divorced his second wife anyway only to be taken under care by Jane, who had remarried. Stephen was fond of porn as depicted in the award winning biopic, The Theory of Everything. He also frequented high end strip clubs. I don't blame the guy for seeking whatever sexual gratification he could discover because along with not having to correct undergraduate student papers, he also couldn't spank his own carrot.

Just before he died Hawking was at it again declaring that earth will become a "ball of fire" in 600 years with global warming accelerating to its logical Hollywood conclusion. He didn't present any facts to back up his assertions. Hawking just made the claim which was picked up by many major news outlets. It doesn't matter that the trillion dollar federal debt will bankrupt the nation long before the globe burns up, people are more concerned about global warming because an egghead, geek showmen said it from his wheelchair. To think, it probably took a couple of hours for Hawking to type that drivel.

The strangest thing that emanated from Hawking's synthesizer was back in 2016 when he declared,

“I don’t feel like a true pop culture icon until I’ve been on the Kardashians.”

It's odd that Hawking would have an affinity for the Kardashians. Let's face it. If you draw a circle around Stephen Hawking and another around the Kardashians, they would intersect at Kim's sex tape. Hawking's true brilliance is that he leveraged our own stupidity against us, and in doing so carved out the best possible life for himself. Hawking once eloquently said,

"The greatest enemy of knowledge is not ignorance, it is the illusion of knowledge."

And that's what it has been, an illusion. Two weeks before Hawking handed in his lunch pail, he completed a paper, co-written by Professor Thomas Hertog, of KU Leuven University in Belgium. In the piece submitted to a leading scientific journal Hawking made the groundbreaking prediction that our universe would eventually fade into blackness as the stars run out of energy, kind of like your car rolling to a stop when you run out of gas. He also claimed that parallel universes were created in our universe, each with their own separate big bang. The radiation from which should be detectable from instruments mounted on a spacecraft. Hertog was quoted in the news as saying,

"He has often been nominated for the Nobel and should have won it. Now he never can.”

Hertog suggested Hawking should win the coveted award posthumously for this last paper, appropriately entitled A Smooth Exit from Eternal Inflation. Perhaps Hawking left this as a clue, providing a glimpse of reality. We'll never know. In the end I guess it's fitting that the title of Hawking's final work pretty much sums up his extraordinary life.

Editor's Note: Originally published on March 20, 2018.

The Internet and Counter Strike, Then and Now

In the early 90’s, I introduced my sixty something year old father to the internet. For his whole life, he worked in a nontechnical field, a factory no less. For 45 years, the closest he ventured near any technology was when he changed the batteries in the TV remote. He preferred the Farmer's Almanac over the Weather Channel. Back then phones were not yet smart, and home computers were still a new appliance. One afternoon I booted up my desktop to educate my techno reluctant dad on the wonders of the internet. As the computer screen shown brightly with the Windows logo, I said,

 

“This is the internet.”

 

“The whole internet is on that computer?” my dad asked.

 

“Well not this computer. It's just connected to the internet.”

 

“So where is the internet then?”

 

“It’s everywhere. We say it’s ubiquitous.”

 

“I think you mean ambiguous.”

In September 2017, my son, Aidan, and I attended the Electronic Sports League’s Counter Strike Global Offensive Competition at the Barclays Center in Brooklyn, New York. I used to be a gamer in the Doom and Quake days, until the day I came into the family room to find my wife, Christine, reading Milton's Paradise Lost.

 

“Where’ve you been?” she asked.

 

I spent the last three hours trying to jump on a ledge to get a blue key. That's when I decided to quit gaming. Now, I never played Counter Strike, but I'm familiar with game theory. As we found our seats in the large stadium, Aidan explained,

 

“The team on the right is Faze Clan. Cloud 9 is on the left. They’re the Americans.”

 

“What’s the dominant strategy?”

 

“There are terrorists, and there are counter-terrorists.”

 

"So the goal is to kill everyone on the other team?"

 

"No, the terrorists set a bomb, and the counter-terrorists have to disarm it."

 

"How come they can all see each other?"

 

"They can't. Only we can see that view. It's ubiquitous."

 

"I think you mean ambiguous."

When my desktop finally completed boot up, I thought I would show my father how email keeps you connected to your loved ones. After a brief demonstration sending and receiving email, my dad asked.

 

"If you log off email, can you still get messages?"

 

"Yes, you get email all the time."

 

"Even if you shut off your computer?"

 

"The email server runs on another computer. When you turn your computer on, it goes out and downloads all your email."

 

"Are you sure? That seems very unsafe."

Aidan and I settled in to watch the best players in the world virtually headshot each other all while an announcer gave us a play by play in a northern British accent. I asked,

 

"How do you get better weapons?"

 

"You play an eco round to save money so you can buy better weapons for the next."

 

"Did you ever find a BFG?"

 

"You don't find weapons. You buy them or take them off dead players."

 

"Why is that guy running with a knife?"

 

"You run faster when holding a knife."

 

"Are you sure? That seems very unsafe."

I figured we would move on to something online that interested my father like a website about gardening. My dad sat on the edge of his chair and looked through the bottom of his glasses as I brought up a website featuring information about victory gardens. I declared,

 

"This is an article with tips from a Master Gardener."

"Do they cover raking up?" my dad asked.

"I don't know. I didn't read it."

"I scratch and bag," he said, "Do they discuss how to use a shovel?"

 

"A shovel?"

 

"You're supposed to put the spade end down. The other end won't work," he offered.

 

"Okay, how about this article about eradicating common garden pests."

 

"Get a can of bug spray and use the edge of the can to squash them."

 

"That's what you do?"

 

"Works every time."

 

Unbeknownst to me, the match was heating up. I sat on the edge of my chair and looked through the bottom of my glasses as the crowd roared. 

"What level are these guys?"

"Master Guardians," Aidan explained.

"How do you rank up?" I asked.

"You scorch and burn," Aidan exclaimed.

"Can you hit someone with a shovel that you made on a crafting table?"

"That's Minecraft, Dad."

"Works every time."

My father never got a computer. He preferred to interact with people face to face. Technology is supposed to make our lives better, more efficient, but lately it has reduced our attention spans to a handful of characters or ten minutes of video. It also made it easier for people to stalk someone. The advanced portrait features on many smart phones ensures that even our selfies are no longer real. In the end, technology has guaranteed that we are now more likely to fall down a set of stairs or stroll into a busy street while tweeting yet another clever high school yearbook quote that will inevitably get us fired from our job.

My father expressed it best decades ago when I asked him why he didn’t want a computer. He said,

“Why would I give so many people that much access to me?”

How right he was.

Editor's Note: Originally posted on March 13, 2018.

Service Bicycle

A few years ago, I did something I thought I would never do. I'm not a rule breaker, mind you. If they require shirts and shoes, then I'm not freeing the nipple nor am I going forth with my dogs uncloaked. My friend, Bill, says,

"Rules are guidelines."

He believes that if they really want to keep you out of some place, they'll put a lock on the door. According to Bill, signs like "Employees Only" are merely suggestions. Back in the 90's, Bill waltzed barefoot right into a BlockBuster with me. When I saw the sign on the door indicating that shoes were required, I told Bill he should wait outside, but he was unfazed. He strolled up and down the aisles in his naked feet searching for a movie.

Back then when you wanted to watch a film, you had to get in your car and drive to the local video rental store. After discovering that the latest hot release, of which they had nine copies, were all out, you would wait by the return bin to see if someone dropped off one of them. I used to called this "hovering." That's what I was doing while Bill casually strolled the aisles perusing the jewel cases of the foreign films nobody ever rented.

I remember the first time I saw a customer with a dog in a store. It was in the local True Value. A woman was in the paint section with two dogs in tow. They were those little yapping Yorkshire lap dogs which circled her repeatedly. She appeared to be in a tangled mess as the leashes wrapped around her legs. One dog shot a pile of dookie on the floor. I know they were likely service dogs, but now someone needed to service the floor with a mop. Today, it's common for pet owners to go into a store with their dog or fly with them on a plane.

The last time I flew, I stepped in dog shit on the airplane and in the airport. That was it for me. While the pandemic grounded most us, I had already vowed not to board an airplane again until the airlines sorted all this out. In 1986, Congress passed the Air Carrier Access Act which required airlines to carry any animal that "assists the customer with physical, emotional, psychiatric or medical support." The number of pets flying the dog friendly skies skyrocketed. Travelers wanting to avoid the charge for flying an animal started declaring their dogs service pets, a designation that until recently required no formal training or certification. It's sort of like using someone's disabled permit to get a better parking spot.

In December of 2020, the Department of Transportation announced new guidelines in regards to emotional support animals which are no longer considered service pets. Some airlines restrict service pets to specific animals and breeds. Delta was sued recently by a passenger who was bitten in the face while seated on a flight. Apparently someone needed a vicious dog for emotional support in order to fly and the animal attacked a fellow traveller. In response to the litigation, Delta required "confirmation of animal training" and banned pit bulls as service pets.

With all these people bringing in their dogs into stores, I thought maybe I should try wheeling my bike into a store next time I needed something. Truth is I never dreamt of doing that because the thought of doing so made me exceedingly uncomfortable. I do sometimes need small items like batteries or a locknut though. If I stop on my bike, I will avoid starting an internal combustion engine and adding to the warming of the climate. I always relent even though there are no signs specifically telling me that a bike may not be brought into the store. It's just something I can't bring myself to do.

So recently I decided as I passed by the hardware store on my bike I was going in to get some big boy Burpee tomato seeds. As I approached the store, I started to have second thoughts. I just felt bad that I was breaking an unwritten rule not to bother other people in public by toting my personal cumbersome shit with me. I was troubled that others had to accommodate my eccentric behavior. As the automatic doors slid open, I hesitated then I pushed in bike and all.

As I passed the courtesy desk staffed by two employees who never seem to do anything, I was sure they both gave me the once over. I swear I heard whispering. One pointed in my direction as I dove for the aisle. I navigated past several customers, one shading me with a stink eye. I made my way to the gardening section when an employee approached,

"You need something for your bike?"

"I need seeds," I answered.

He watched me with his hands on his hips. I knew the employee wanted to say something, to object to me bringing my personal flotsam into the store. He never offered me any assistance. I found my seeds then headed for the cashier. In the line at the register an elderly woman, holding a curtain rod, stared sternly in my direction. I imagined her coming at me, rod aloft. Surely, this was all in my head. When she reached the cashier, she exclaimed,

"Next time, I'll just drive my car right through the front door!"

I felt terrible as my turn neared. The customer behind me stayed back a good ten feet, six of which was for the virus and the rest was for my body oder. The cashier rang me up without any of the normal friendly banter. I was relieved to get out of there with my bike and seeds.

The experience left me wondering why bringing my bike in the store made me feel so self-conscious. I didn't like breaking a rule nor annoying other people. When smoking in restaurants was commonplace, people never seemed to care if they bothered strangers. Sure, they were addicted to a drug which took over their sensibility otherwise they wouldn't continue to smoke seeing how it was killing them. I'm not sure how a pet alleviates anxiety from someone suffering from a mental disorder. Seems to me it would make things worse. An animal in public which others are not allowed to interact with calls attention to you, something most people especially those suffering from anxiety would never invite.

But what do I know? I'm just some guy on a bike who doesn't want to bother you.

Editor's Note: Originally posted om March 6, 2018.

What I Do at Sobriety Checkpoints

Most developed countries have some form of search and seizure law that governs the manner in which law enforcement may shakedown citizens. In the United States, the Fourth Amendment enshrines the concept that the people shall be free from unreasonable searches although we are occasionally subjected to sobriety checkpoints. How is this not an unreasonable search?

It's at this point that I must invoke a disclaimer. In many states it is illegal for a layperson like me to dispense legal advice. Lawyers made it that way so only they can bill you for sound legal advice like,

"This is not a good shirt to wear to court."

Since I'm not a barrister, I am not in any way advising you as to what you should do at a sobriety checkpoint. I’m simply chronicling what I do when stopped.

Now, sobriety checkpoints have been deemed constitutional by the Supreme Court if the police can prove that their activity removes a measureable amount of drunks off the road. This is the "public safety exclusion” which is commonly used by legislators to circumvent our actual constitutional rights. Stop and frisk was a blatant violation of the the Fourth Amendment which was promoted through a concern for public safety. It was largely used in big cities to racially profile the public. Another good example is limiting the speech of high school students for the safety of the student body. While this may sound like a prudent practice in reality curtailing speech is usually done to maintain order rather than peace.

The police are required to keep track of metrics proving that a checkpoint is effective. If they fail to collect favorable data, they're not allowed to set up an inspection point at that location again. The courts have determined that a reasonable search may not exceed a specified period of time, typically ten minutes. Now, this all can be used in your favor when coupled with one other brilliant piece of legislation, the Fifth Amendment.



 

Most of us think that the Fifth Amendment is invoked only by guilty people when they don't want to answer a question in court because if they do, the jury will stop listening to testimony about "blue-black fibers" and hair evidence that is "consistent with the victim" and just mentally bide their time until the sentencing phase. But there is more to the Fifth Amendment than what you've learned from watching a full season of Law and Order.

The Fifth Amendment states that you don’t have to help the police collect evidence against you. Essentially, you 're not required to answer any questions posed by cops. When behind the wheel, you got to pony up your driver's license and registration and in some states proof of insurance, but you don’t have to answer any questions. The founding fathers screwed up royally when it came to slavery, but they were spot on with the Fifth Amendment. You can’t just stay mum, though. The Supreme Court determined that you have to specifically invoke your Fifth Amendment rights, and if you answer a question after doing so, you just uninvoked your rights. So now you got all the tools to safely navigate a sobriety checkpoint.

Here’s how it goes...

As you approach the checkpoint, begin recording a video. Be sure to catch the clock on the dash the moment they stop your vehicle. That starts the ten minutes for a reasonable search. If smokey doesn’t waive you off, slowly drive up then drop your window about a half inch, roughly the thickness of a Dog Bone. If the police officer instructs you to lower your window, inform him that you can hear him just fine. You want to keep the window mostly closed as to make it difficult for the long arm of the law to claim that they smelled alcohol. When asked if you’ve been drinking, say loudly,

“I respectfully invoke my Fifth Amendment right under the Constitution not to answer any of your questions.”

It helps at this point if you can sing a few verses of the National Anthem. I never remember all the words so I just hum a few bars. The cop will likely ask,

“Oh, are you a lawyer?”

Now remember if you answer, you will uninvoke your Fifth Amendment rights. I usually just stare at the cop with a Nick Sandman smile. Some of my friends opt for the expression of the kid in the background to the right of Sandman, but that will make the police uneasy as you will look like you're about to become unglued. Smiling alone usually angers the fuzz so they’ll probably tell you to "pull over to secondary." Keep in mind that once ten minutes are up, you could fire up a bong or snort a line of a controlled substance off the dashboard, and none of it would be admissible in court. Make sure you tell the cops how long they have in secondary to screw with you before their time is up. The longer they fuck with you, the worse their metrics for the site will be.

After pulling over, they may call in a drug sniffing dog. If they do, I put a dog biscuit in my glove box that I slip out the window. When Dinkles the Drug Sniffing dog finds the tasty snack, he'll forget all his training and start chowing down. This will cast doubt on the results, which means your lawyer will not have to prove that the cop, administering the test, once used the n-word thirty years ago. Now, I know fiddling in the glove box might get you capped, but the look on the officer's face when his highly trained, drug sniffing canine starts munching on a moldy, bargain brand biscuit is worth the risk. Sometimes I lace the biscuit with Colon Blow so Dinkles will develop the Nutella squirts inside the cruiser. Sniff that.

Keep the video going because a lot of handlers bate the drug dog into false alerts by pointing and directing the animal in order to create probable cause to search your car as well as your body cavities. If the canine alerts, then you’ll likely have to get out of the car and your underwear. At this point I usually tell the cops that I have to urinate "wicked bad" so they won’t put me in a squad car. Once your vehicle is impounded, then you know you're going for a ride downtown. Unlike a ride in an ambulance, your insurance won't get charged for a trip in a police car.

If one of your more stupid friends dropped some ganga in the ashtray, you’ll need an actual lawyer. Don’t try to explain your way out of it because your lawyer will be real pissed if you do. Just pray they don't tackle you en mass while one of them yells,

"Stop resisting!"

After they pull the taser tongs from your pancreas, you’ll be booked at the station. Next, you'll need to find a comfortable place in the holding cell, preferable with your back up against the wall. Don't be fooled by the term "booked." There won't be any reading material in jail, and they'll take your cellphone "for you're own protection." The four toughest guys will be occupying the choice corners. Keep a distance from these dudes. If you’re not a MMA cage fighter or Delta Force hand-to-hand combat instructor, then it helps to ward away your cellmates by shitting your pants and acting crazy. This will likely allow you to survive until the morning when you'll be released after paying about $300 in fines.

Hopefully you’ll get waved through the next sobriety checkpoint, but if you don’t just follow these simple easy tips to ensure that you are fully immersed in the legal system for the next four years.

Good luck!

Editor's Note: Originally posted on February 20, 2018.