The Sheriff Knew She Was Speeding—Then This Blonde Driver Turned the Ticket Against Him

A sheriff in a Southern state spots a Ferrari flying down the highway at an absurd speed. After a hard chase, he finally manages to get ahead of the car and pull it over.

Behind the wheel is a blonde woman who doesn't seem particularly concerned about what just happened.

The sheriff, already looking forward to writing the ticket, walks up to the driver's window.

“Ma'am, you're getting a speeding ticket.”

The blonde blinks at him in confusion.

“Speeding what?”

The sheriff smirks.

“Speed is the distance you've traveled divided by the amount of time it took you to travel that distance.”

“How do you know how far I traveled?” she asks. “Were you following me from my house? Do you know where I live?”

“I don't know where you live.”

“But you just admitted that you measured the distance I traveled and divided it by something! And I was driving from my house!”

The sheriff takes a breath.

“The speed of your car is shown on the speedometer. I was following you and looking at my speedometer. You were going over the speed limit.”

The blonde blinks again.

“What’s a speedometer?”

The sheriff is starting to lose patience.

“Look right in front of you at that round thing. See the needle? When you were driving, that needle was past this line.”

“How do you know that?” she shoots back. “You weren't even in my car! I need to call my lawyer immediately!”

The sheriff sighs.

“Go ahead.”

The blonde grabs her phone and starts yelling into it.

“George! I'm on Highway 9. Get here right now! A strange man stopped me. He admitted he's been illegally following me all the way from my house. And, on top of that, he put some kind of device in my car that can see everything I'm doing. Now he's trying to extort money from me!”

The sheriff suddenly imagines the paperwork, the complaints, the lawyer, and a long day in court involving a woman who clearly isn't going to make his life any easier.

“Ma'am, I'm sorry. I must have mistaken you for someone else. You're free to go.”

The blonde responds with an unmistakable middle-finger salute.

Then she stomps on the gas, launches the Ferrari forward and disappears down the highway, leaving the sheriff standing in the road.

The sheriff watches her disappear and shakes his head.

“Now which one of us is the dumb blonde?”

This fictional story is intended for humor and entertainment. The characters and events are entirely fictional. Any photos or images accompanying this story are for illustrative purposes only.