He Shall Smite the Parking Pigs

He Shall Smite the Parking Pigs

Oh, you, lowest of low. You who hath judged me with thy yellow tickets. Is it not a free Earth? Do I not pay more than my fair share of taxes already that you must find me where I live, where I work, where I play, where I drink? Thy rules have been set, thy die cast forth, but a lie still remains a lie, no matter how many times told. You are my sworn enemies, you who would fine me for where I leave my large piece of American steel. The streets are mine as much as they are yours.

Oh, you, lowest of low. Thy army is large, that I will grant you, but there is no righteousness in size. The law is behind thou, but a diseased law cannot provide firm basis of enforcement. Thy golfcartish vehicles would be laughable, would they not represent the disgusting nature of your trade, your cowardly trade which has cost me approximately $250 this year alone. For what am I castigated? I must rest! I must wearily stop my travel, stop my motion forward, reflect on where I have been, provide myself with nourishment. Would thou prefer me to drive slumberishly on already deadly highways than to rest these bones which selflessly carry me through the days? You would either have us exhausted zombies, unable to resist your cancerous desires, or mere plants, immobile, harmless, and silent.

Oh, you, lowest of low. Thy brothers walk the street, facing bullets and blades of the criminal. You creep among vehicles like snakes in a nursery. Thy brothers search the roads, looking to send evil back to hell. You crawl through the streets, lining the coffers of leprous cities with the gold of downtrodden commuters. Thy premise is week. Thy methods detestable. And yet you thrive on the blood of the innocent, the hard working, the tired.

All would raise a fist, but none would strike.

Crash Site tickets an illegally parked police car – 547 K movie