New York Playa-hating Department

I hate the NYPD towing my vehicle policy. In addition, I've figured out their whole giving my van tickets policy is probably based on jealousy that pimp van is so awesome. I mean, pimp van has been described before as a "giant, white, metallic cheetah" minus whiskers and the ability to sustain its speed for longer periods of time. I'm fairly certain that pimp van can carry me across waters, much like when you try to float your covered wagon across the river in Oregon Trail (minus the possibility of losing a wheel or any oxen or getting diptheria). Finally, 5-0 be hating cause pimp van never has to wait in line at the club.

I could see how if you weren't friends with pimp van, his constant awesomeness would drive you to despair, but giving him tickets all the time for infractions of rules it's too cool for is just wrong. It'd be like telling Fonz not to turn on juke boxes or women by tapping them in the right spot. Not cool.

Anyway, earlier today I was supposed to pick up my mom from her job and she was going to graciously buy me a new, completely unneeded, winter jacket. This plan went horribly wrong when I went to feed the meter and my van was no longer there. Figuring I just couldn't remember where I parked him, I canvassed a few blocks, and when I came to the realization that he should have been where I originally thought, I searched for broken glass.* Finding none, I found out from a friendly uniformed officer that my van had been towed. This led me and my entire family on an adventure to the impound lot, which is always in an area rejected by the rest of humanity.

My mom, worried that the lot would close before we got there, suggested multiple times that I call and let them know I'm coming and to keep the lot open, until I assured her that it wasn't like a restaurant and they'd probably not be interested in taking my reservations. Under a highway and next to a cemetery was where they had kidnapped and brought pimp van to, and I had to ransom him out for 185 one dollar bills. To further insult me, the NYPD left a ticket on pimp van for more moneys. As Pkilla pointed out, I've donated enough to the department of finance in the last six months and they should give me this one for free, like a customer loyalty rewards program.

We ended up going to two different Macy's to find a jacket my mom was fairly insistent on getting me, despite me having never seen a photo of it. It wasn't at either one. To further complicate matters, after seeing photos I noticed it had a fur hood, which I'm vehemently opposed to unless I got to eat the rabbit first. My mom didn't understand this point, and assured me I could take the hood off, which seemed pointless to buy a fur-lined hooded jacket if you were then going to make the hood non-functional. This conversation/debate managed to rage on, in loop fashion, for quite longer than was necessary, but ultimately led me to the following conclusions:

• My parents, particularly my mother, is currently OBSESSED with not buying me a bear cub.
• She should just devote part of the time she spends on looking for a jacket for me on bear catching research.

*everywhere. Find me one person under the age of 35 who can resist saying that.