John slammed his foot on the accelerator and Marge was pushed into the back of her seat.

“What on earth are you doing, John? You are going to get us killed, or worse, a ticket!”

John smiled to his wife of forty years and gripped the steering wheel tighter, “Relax, dear. The sign said, ’Speed Zone Ahead. If I am timing it right, this will cut off at least a half hour from our trip.”