If you've been reading this blog for a while you already know that its author has problems with the law. That both he and his 1984 Toyota mini-van are public menaces and the bane of traffic cops and meter maids in two states. In the past sixteen months, he's been pulled over five times, has been slammed with three speeding tickets and has received more parking tickets than you will see in a lifetime.

All right, enough with the third-person narrative.

It's become such a problem that I automatically assume my wallet is about to get $275 lighter every time I see red and blue flashing lights in my rearview mirror. I went out to eat Sunday dinner with the parents at Tad's Chicken and Dumplings last night. As we were driving out of Troutdale, three squad cars appeared behind the car. The first thing that sprung to mind was not "Ok, gotta pull over." Instead it was "what did I do this time? I swear I flipped the turn signal at least 100 feet from that last right turn."

It's with good reason that I get paranoid everytime I get behind the wheel or even get within sight of my vehicle. There's no telling when a parking ticket will wind up under a windshield whipper.

Still, while I was spending a lazy weekend in Eugene recently, the last thing I expected to get hit with while I was still half-asleep in a duplex infested with hippies was this:

ANOTHER FLIPPIN' PARKING TICKET! AND I WAS PARKED IN A DRIVEWAY ON PUBLIC PROPERTY! ARRRGH!

You can imagine the obscenities that filled that mellow duplex seconds later. The last time I spent a night in Eugene, this happened. After another five minutes of shaking my fist at the sky, I actually opened the envelope and found this:

It was all a practical joke orchestrated by that no good "Flog.", nearby east Eugene resident, Achewood devotee and (soon to be) Attorney at Law.

Obviously I must have my revenge.

No, I didn't learn a damn thing from "Munich."

My revenge must be out-of-the-clear blue when he least suspects it.

It must cause him to expel no less than five variations on the "f-word" but no more than seven variations of the "s-word.

If you have any suggestions, fire 'em off to welcometoblog@gmail.com. Don't bother jotting them down in the comments section of the site. That's the first place that cunning bastard will look. Sure, this blog post will probably do the trick and keep him on his toes for a while but I've gotta at least make a half-hearted stab at vengeance.

I hear it's a dish best served cold but I'm thinking lukewarm might be more appropriate.