So I'm maybe ten miles from home and my spidey sense starts tingling. I slow down to about 75 and get out of the fast lane, and about 30 seconds later a car goes flying past me. On the right, natch. He's marked himself for further observation, so I keep a safe distance behind him and check out his actions. He slows down. Then speeds up. Then slows down. I'm watching for lane-weaving and contemplating a quick call to 911 when another car comes flying past me on my right. Holy shit. The morons are out in force tonight.
Waitaminute. This car is black. And white. And has HIGHWAY PATROL emblazoned across the trunk.
I'm thanking my lucky stars for the spidey sense that saved me from an 85-in-a-65 ticket (if I'm lucky and Officer Friendly is lenient) when I see the CHP cruiser glue itself to the back of my suspicious buddy. And buddy isn't doing so well-- he holds on for a while, but then he starts weaving into the left lane. Then the right. Then the left. I'm puzzled by the fact that the CHP isn't doing anything, but then I see a fireworks display of glorious blue and red flashing lights.
Yes! Yes! I start cheering and hooting and hollering and punching my fist in the air. I'm sure I look like a total moron, but there's nobody around to see so I don't care.
It took buddy boy a full three miles to pull over after the lights came on. Something tells me that he's not going to be as happy about his situation as I am.