Jessica Alba was pulled over in Santa Monica last Friday. She accepted her ticket with nary an objection. Yet, she still sounded a little conceited. When she got the ticket, she asked the officer, “If I want to fight this, do I have to show up in court? Wouldn’t that be your lucky day?”

Granted, if I was the policeman, I wouldn’t have heard a word she said over the pitter-patter of my heart. I wouldn’t have even been able to stand that close to the car. The boner ripping through my pants would have kept me at least three feet away. I’d have to hand over the ticket with one of those robot clutch-arm things that disabled people use.