Mr. Mayor, city council, members of the community, I bring you monumental news. After mere months of letting some tech company test out their autonomous vehicles in our city, it's official: I caught one. I captured a self-driving car. And you all said I couldn't do it, or more accurately, shouldn't do it. Well, if I had listened to you, I wouldn't have a driverless automobile repeatedly backing up and slamming against my garage door as we speak. And this time it's not a regular car that I mistook for a self-driving car, whose driver I accused of being a robot. This one's the real deal.

Sorry everyone, but you don't unleash these menaces to self-drive all over the place and not expect someone to try to lasso one and wrestle it to a stop. You see a car with no driver go by, something about it just brings up feelings like “Why did God make that?” and “Where are my nets, I need to catch it!” If anything, these feelings make me more human, and perfect for the task of digging a bunch of big holes around town to trick a self-driving car to drive into.

They're stealthy, I'll give 'em that. They've learned to blend in with normal cars, especially in parking lots. But they display a few peculiar giveaways on the road: they instinctively back up when you run at them with a harpoon or swinging a chain; they swerve out of the way when you roll out in front of one on the highway; and they kind of just come to a slow stop when you drop out of a tree and land on their roof.

Clearly, something deep in their hardware—or perhaps their prehistoric past?—prevents them from harming humans. Knowing that, it became obvious to me how to trap one: surround one with stacks of meat shaped like human babies, then use more meat babies to make a lane that forces the car to navigate a path that goes straight to my driveway. Simple as that. It just goes to prove that while these vehicles may excel at self-driving, they'll never surpass humans at self-thinking.

As happy as I am with my utter domination of technology, I'd be remiss to say I haven't started to care about the vehicle, which I have named Vroomy, because of the vrooming sound he makes. Turns out Vroomy's not all that different than a regular car. He likes gasoline. He likes oil. He like to not run over baby-shaped stacks of meat. And most of all, he likes to drive. He just does it a little differently, as if there's a ghost or demon driving him instead of a person. Come to think of it, I still don't like that part about him, and it makes me want to catch him all over again.

But whether Vroomy was born in some laboratory, on an alien planet, or some other unknown origin that no one here can explain, he deserves better. He's not just some spectacle for me to charge $50 each for you to come gawk at, with viewing times from 2 PM to midnight. Vroomy deserves to be with his own kind. And he will be, once I've raised the funds to build a rink for self-driving cars to smash into each other.

Which brings me to why I've stopped by city hall: where can I apply for a permit to operate a demolition derby for autonomous stolen property? I've already dug the pit in an abandoned field, I just need the proper papers for so we can serve nachos.

See new PIC posts via Twitter, Facebook, or email.

Sign up for comedy writing or stand-up classes at The Second City - 10% off with code PIC.