The Fucking Law

Looks like I really did it this time.  Oi gawne and dun wun, guv’nah!

 

Pretty much everyone who drives a car is aware of what a speed camera is, and most of those people will (at some point in their short existence) decide that they hate them.  If you haven’t worked it out yet, I have finally been caught by one of these fuckers and today will be seeking legal advice on how to deal with this mess I got myself into.

 

What happens in the UK is that first, you will be driving somewhere in your car and a camera will photo you going too fast.  Or an “average speed” camera will do it.  Or if the Filth are at it themselves with their little black hairdryer of doom, you will be chased down and shouted at.  I was caught by an average fucker.  I was then sent a letter demanding that I incriminate myself or grass someone else up for driving the car that day (the pigs are oblivious to the fact that snitches get stitches) and to ignore this letter was, in itself, a criminal offense.  Ignoring the letter is, in fact, a more serious crime than speeding so I reluctantly accepted the guilt.  The next thing is that a “fixed penalty” offer is sent to the offender, where you are extorted of one hundred glorious pounds and also given three points (collect all twelve if you dare) on your license.  That is, if you accept the offer.  I did not accept the offer.

 

So, my reasoning behind it was that they only CLAIMED to have evidence when they send the fixed offer.  They sent no evidence whatsoever.  As a natural sceptic (I am terrible for open wounds) I thought they were just bullshitting (or pigshitting, if you will).  So I tried to phone the number they provided only to be blocked at all turns by the impossible automated service designed to patronise and annoy.  I just wanted to see the evidence for myself because if they ain’t got nothing, why the fuck would I pay these clowns?  The only options left were to pay the thing and blindly accept the long dick of the law or ignore it and possibly be prosecuted.  One month later, I am being prosecuted.  Fuck.  The evidence is pretty damning.  Double fuck.  A lawyer costs three thousand pounds.  Looks like the law’s dick has gotten a lot fucking longer.

 

Does anyone else have a problem with this fucking system?  Because if these cunts had just sent the evidence along with the fixed penalty, maybe I would have paid the fucker.  Maybe I’m not the first person this shit has happened to.  But you know what?  I’d rather give three grand to a lawyer than so much as one fucking penny or one fucking point to the fucking filth.  These money-grabbing shitcunts who do as little as possible to tackle violent crime and instead focus on kettling protestors, chasing minor traffic violations and getting away with murder.  Kettling protestors must be fun for the sadistic cunts who join the police with a mind to beating people up and generally abusing their power.  They show up in full riot gear with clubs and get to knock shit out of students for hours without fear of consequences (see that murder link again if you think differently).  They chase stupid traffic violations because it rakes in money.  They have targets to meet.  Did you know the police service was being run as a business?  They have to fill their quota or wave them Christmas bonuses goodbye.  Bunch of fucking cunts.

 

But as much as the police irk me, someone found a way to be an even Cuntier Cunt that the UK’s Cunt mayors of Cuntdom.  Two people, actually.

 

On the way into the town I live in, there is an electronic speed indicator that tells you how fast your car is going.  If you are above the speed limit, it flashes a sad face at you, and if you are below the speed limit you get a happy face.  It’s the sort of rewards system that might work on a five year old, but using it to make adults comply is a bit misguided (though far from the stupidest thing the police have ever done).  One day my wife comes home and tells me that two guys were hiding in the bushes by this sign, one taking note of people’s speed and the other writing down registration numbers.  Both wearing fluorescent jackets.  Not police, by the way.  Just a couple of local vigilantes.  Or a couple of snitches, you might say.  A couple of the worst cretins imaginable, maybe.  A couple of class A fuckers who could use a few additional orifices, even.  The true enemies of all decent humankind, who reveal themselves to be worse than the UK service known as “The Filth” by taking on the most hated activity of the filth.  The end is fucking nigh.  I’ll be in court.  Wish me riches.

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About harrypeat

I'm a happy-go-lucky chap with a zest for life and the resting heart rate of a yellowfin tuna. I love long walks on the beach at dusk, paintings of elderly couples, and vegan dinners by candlelight. As well as being a talented rhythmic jazz guitarist, I am a part-time vblogger and all-round gymnast.
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