Law Breaking For the Rest of Us:
Let's say you're drivin' along the highways and byways of America, big fuckin' America, with its wide fuckin' roads, and everyone on the interstate is goin' ten, twenty miles an hour over the speed limit. So, shit, why not, you do it, too. Then you see the highway patrol car two seconds too late, and you are nailed, say, doin' 85 in a 65. Speedin' ain't the worse thing you can do when you're drivin'. Drunk drivin', runnin' a stop sign, there's lots of shit that's worse. But the trooper pulled your ass over for speedin'.
When the cop walks over, you can complain that everyone was speedin', that you were just goin' with the pace o' the road, you know, that if you went the speed limit, then you'd actually cause problems for the traffic. And, hey, look at those cars goin' by - they're speedin' worse than you. Every cop has heard it before. And that cop knows: there's a law - the speed limit. And you're either breaking or you're not. You may lie, finagle, or cajole the cop into walkin' away, but you broke the law, no matter what you may think about the law. Sometimes it works - you get away with no ticket, no points, nothin'. But if you drive enough, you will meet that by the book son of a bitch who will have that citation written before you get a word out of your lying mouth.
Now, let's say you've got a dead hobo stuffed with baggies of heroin stashed in your trunk. And the cop wants you to step out so he can search the vehicle. First of all, you have learned a valuable lesson: if you've got a hobo corpse stashed in the trunk, do not speed. But now you've only got a couple of choices left to you: you can try to whack the cop or you can run. But either way, at this point, you are fucked. Once the trunk is popped and the stench of rotting hobo hits the cop before the visual, you are finished. And, really, there's no one to blame but your hobo-killin'-drug-transportin' ass that just had to fuckin' speed once too often.
Remember: politics is criminalized when criminals get into politics.