OK, thug stop story. My wife and I were in our 220D with Dusty, the dog. It was night and we were heading to a restaurant or taco hell or whatever, traveling through League City (notorious speed trap, bested only by Webster), TX. We get pulled over. Now, I believe it is virtually impossible to speed in a 220D. I'd had a couple beers but was certainly well under the limit. However, you know how they can screw with you. I roll down the window.
"Sir, were you a-ware that your left tail light is not as bright as your right tail light?"
About this time, Dusty, 5/8ths Pit Bull, 1/4 Rhodesian Ridgeback, the rest Doberman, (she looked like a Pit Bull with a big ridge), 60 lbs of pure muscle and teeth who was in the back seat, moseyed between the front seats over the console and sat in my lap, looking out the window at the thug, err, cop. 4/8ths of that 5/8ths Pit Bull was not the "oh they're all real nice doggies and will lick you to death" but of the "ZOMG, THAT DOG IS berkeleying CRAZY" Pit Bulls like you see on TV when they do the shock stories. In fact, most of her relatives were killed for being insane. Let's just say "fringes of the outlaw biker community" and leave it at that. Real sweet dog, though, and only bit people that moved too fast or she was pissed off at. Anyway, Dusty moves into the front seat area and sits in my lap, sticking her head out the window as the thug, err, cop comes back up to the car. 'Tudes changed a bit at that point. Didn't want me to get out of the car, didn't really care about the traffic stop anymore. I said: "Oh, thank you, officer. I'll be sure to look into that as soon as I get home. It's probably a ground." "Uh, yeah, OK, you do that."
Oooooops!
