Evidence 101

EVIDENCE 101...Wherever you go, there you are...







Thursday, March 30, 2017

Jailhouse Rock

What happens when you get the oldest rookie in all The Land? Well things like this...

Gary was 52 when he started. I think that might be the most "ancient" rookie we've had so far. I say that with endearment.  Well, and some truth. He really was 52 when I got him. I probably aged him a bit to 67 with my training methods. I often teased him about teaching senior citizens. He had a good sense of humor.

We got along great. He really was already potty trained from his last department, but we had to go through the process according to policy.

We developed a trainer-rookie favorite word we used all the time. I made fun of his east coast accent at every opportunity. It was like I was rolling dirty with the mob or something.  When we had strange calls or things we talked about, we would turn to each other in unison and say it was "weeeerahd" (weird in his New York accent). Gary hails from New York City. Yes, just like the salsa.



Gary and I laughed a lot.

Some of my training was a little unorthodox. Like the times I would test his alertness to his surroundings. I would often ask him as we passed by a house while patrolling residential areas, "Did you notice anything different than yesterday?" Most of the time his answer was, "No".

My "thing" was to notice changes and things out of the ordinary as well as criminal activity afoot. For instance, are the garage doors up or down? Sometimes late at night I would let citizens know about securing their property by shutting the doors and putting their kids bikes away. It was good community policing and PR, besides preventative measures. Most of the time they were polite. It gave me an opportunity to reach out to kids.

As for the kids, they are number one. I always bought lemonade at the lemonade stands and played games, basketball, or just made chit chat. 

With regard to the neighborhood patrols,  I always wondered how the citizens would take it that I was such a hawk eye with their homes? I did judge their landscaping. It was my job. I owned a tree nursery. They might be creeped out if they knew that.

It was good to use my garden knowledge in police work. To pique a rookie's interest, I would ask them questions just to make them more detail oriented. It was more of a game for me. Aren't we supposed to have fun? I think so. Torturing rookies in a non-hazing way was part of that.

Gary was no different. I tortured him also. Even if he was a senior citizen, there was no discrimination in treatment. I would ask him, "What kind of tree was in that yard?" He would look at me and roll his eyes. I told him I was serious. He would say "green."  Good answer. He got points.

By the end of the phase, he was on board with the species.  He has since forgotten, however, I am sure. I'm going to have to modify my training techniques for retention, perhaps beat him with a stick which might be similar to training puppies about poop. You rub their noses in it.

Anyway, never mind. Man, a cop's mind runs all over the place. It makes you wonder, right? I wah, wah, wah, wah, wonder...I wonder why.

So...about this call.

We have had an influx of illegal aliens in Gotham City. It goes up and down. There are times when I.C.E. makes a sweep, clears the town, then it comes full circle. I don't like it when they shut down our favorite restaurants, but hey, it is a side effect of their job.

Dispatch sent us to a drunk at a motel who was bothering guests. When we arrived, we didn't find anyone. No guest we talked to outside had seen the man. The motel employees had lost him.

Soon, Gary found him hiding behind the building near a staircase, avoiding the police. He was very intoxicated and an illegal alien working for a construction company.  No one understood what he was saying so they thought he was harassing them. That is part of the equation. The other part is people are scared of drunk people. Plus he was yelling and pounding on things. Those behaviors naturally alarm the citizens. When they slammed their doors, he would knock loudly and yell. So, it appeared he was a dangerous drunk man to them. Enter the PoPo.

Despite his intoxicated state, he was a nice young Hispanic fellow who said he was from Mexico but was staying at the Motel 6. He was creating quite a ruckus. I.C.E. didn't care about him because he was small potatoes and was only drunk.

However, we had to remove him from the parking lot because he was creating quite a disturbance. First, we tried to locate his room and came to find that he didn't have a room. We didn't know who he was staying with either because motel records were not helpful nor was the night clerk. The bazillion by-standers played possum and could not help us.

The language barrier was more of a problem because he was intoxicated. I spoke enough Spanish to not get dead. But I couldn't carry on a fluent conversation about a motel room. If we were going to talk guns, drugs, lies, and curse words plus basic bio stuff, then I was a master of the street language. I could also give out orders in Spanish in dire circumstances.

Speaking of orders, I am pretty sure I could order food and plenty of margaritas and cervezas. Rosetta Stone did me no favors, but our Street Survival Spanish classes were most magnificent.

After attempts to figure that out what to do with our new friend, we called on our Spanish speaking sergeant. It was later determined our friend got drunk and was staying with people who decided to throw him out of their room because he was too obnoxious. Now we were getting somewhere. Actually, nowhere fast.

Eventually one of them showed up and talked to us. He told us, the police, they did not want him back and he refused to tell us what room number he was in, then ran off. He did not even acknowledge the friendly recognition given by our newfound friend. Rude. This guy appeared intoxicated as well, He was higher functioning, however,  because he could talk and run.

There we were. And so we had a new buddy.

Give us an 'A' for extra effort. We tried to avoid jail.

During the call and arrest, our buddy could only say "I do nothing wrong." He could not speak very good English, but tried to communicate as best he knew. I told him he was drunk in public and waking up several guests, yelling. He responded with, "Si."

(Great confession, but I didn't think he understood what we were telling him. I thought he was just being polite to the PoPo. But I couldn't read his mind and assuming the language barrier was part of this assumption may have been a stretch)

I told him it was illegal to be drunk in public in America in Spanish. Wow. That was confusing to write let alone tell him in what I call Spanglish because I sucked. I don't like language barriers, by the way. I always wished I spoke several languages fluently. It is important to know what is going on around you and how to communicate with several people.

Anyway, he still didn't understand. I wonder why. Perhaps because my Spanish language skills sucked and so did his English skills?  We had a global misunderstanding.

He was arrested and placed in the cruiser.


He did understand the process. It was the longest short ride to the jail. After 400 bazillion "I do nothing wrong" statements, we started to ignore him. We turned on the music and "bopped" to it. Pretty soon, we heard a noise in the backseat...

"I do nothing wrong! I want out!"

Was he singing it? Gary and I looked at each other and shrugged, but we smiled. He did what every good rookie would do, he ignored him and kept driving us to the jail on the hill.

Me, not so much.

After doing this job so long, I am really not afraid of what I say as long as it is legal. So, I sang back to him.

(Yes, it was recorded. I am who I am. They know this.)

"You can't get out!"

It became a song. I am sure it will be a hit. He sang back.

"I want out!"

I sang back, "You are drunk. You can't get out. You go to jail...go to jail...go to jail!"

He again sang a reply in a lower tone, "I not drunk. I want out. I do nothing wrong."

Now, Gary had to have a piece of the action. Fun must be had by all.  Gary and I sang in unison louder and somewhat in an opra-like rendition. "You can't get out! No out!  No out! No out!" 

We smiled at each other because, well, we were funny. Duh. We amused ourselves. We were not sure what the little guy thought until he responded.

He spoke with a smile, "At least...you guys funny." 

So, we arrived at the jail with our little Elvis and booked him in. I bet he will never forget his privileged serenade in my g-ride.

Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Paramedic Meltdown

The start of every day or night always began with coffee. Always. Or a protein shake. Well, both really. It was a routine. 

What was not routine were the shifts. 

Each shift was unique and each day brought new dysfunction. The first year of my career, I learned to enjoy it and not carry people's burdens. We're there to help. That's what the police do. And if we got some amusement out of it, it was a win-win situation. 

Cops do have box office seats to pure entertainment. Actually, that first row seat belongs to all first responders. On occasion, we get to observe and just stand guard. It was rare to see a colleague from another division of first response melt down. And so on this day I happen to have to call the ambulance. Sometimes we just need the popcorn...

On this night we were plagued with endless drunks...in fact it was an epic night of loser boozers. It was more like an epidemic. A plague. See what I did there?

Some drunks hit walls, some had vehicle rollovers, some ran from the fuzz...one got away...not from me, though. In fact, we didn't have enough cops to cover the burglaries in progress, the fights, etc., so I was held over from my shift two hours late. Ack!

One very small, 5-2, 125 lb, 44 year old drunk man was in rare form with the paramedics tonight. Most of the time spent with him was very annoying as most drunks get irritating at his level.

Later, at the hospital we found his blood alcohol content to be a whopping..[.45]. He was pretty high functioning even with that much in his system. I would have been dead.

He hated me, then I was nice, then he didn't like me, then he was in love with me, and also wanted me to arrest him tomorrow.  He really hated our hulk sized cop who was there as my backup...who was being very nice.

The drunk dude got beat up because he started a fight with a girl and someone finished him off pretty good. We really didn't have to ask because we could understand even with his pickled state.

He was not our favorite drunk of the night. Hmm, wonder why? Maybe it was his ability to keep us all in a perpetual state of vexation.

Because he was beat up and drunk, we had to involve our ambulance friends. They really don't like it when we have to call them for these things, but it is a "cover your ass" policy and so be it. It saves us all from future problems and I look at it as theatre.



(Paramedic)       What's your name?
(Drunk dude)      I don't know. Ask her. I told her my name.
(Paramedic)        I have to ask you some questions to make sure you don't have a concussion. You might have to go to the hospital.
(Drunk dude)      I will answer your questions.
(Paramedic)       What day is it?
(Drunk dude)      Monday.
(Paramedic)       How many quarters in a dollar?
(Drunk dude)     How many quarters ARE in a dollar?
(Paramedic)       No, I'm asking you.
(Drunk dude)     No, I'm asking YOU.
(Paramedic)       How many quarters in a dollar?

     [Silence and stare down]

(Paramedic)      Ok. Let's try another one. Where are you?
(Drunk dude)    Here.
(Paramedic)      What city?
(Drunk dude)    Springfield, Illinois.
(Paramedic)      What city are you in?
(Drunk dude)    Springfield, Illinois.
(Paramedic)      [Sigh]Who is the President of the United States?

(Drunk dude)    Who IS the President of the United States?
(Paramedic)      Quit making fun of me. Who is the President of the United States?
(Drunk dude)    I don't know. [Silence]That black guy!
(Paramedic)     What is his name?
(Drunk dude)   What IS his name?
(Paramedic)     [Sigh]No, I'm asking you.
(Drunk dude)   No, I'm asking YOU.
(ME)               Maybe you should ask him a different question.
(Drunk dude)   Yeah, ask me another question.
(Paramedic)     What happened to you?
(Drunk dude)   Nothing. I'm still here.
(Paramedic)     No, what happened to you? How did you get hurt?
(Drunk dude)   I don't know why you're trippin'. I'm good.
(ME)               [Addressing the paramedic] It's free entertainment. [Shrug] 

[Paramedic not impressed]

(Paramedic)     You need to be serious.
(Drunk dude)   Oh, I am serious. You need to be serious.
(Paramedic)     [Sigh]What time is it?
(Drunk dude)   For what?
(Paramedic)    No, what time is it now?
(Drunk dude)  It's Miller time. What time do you think it is?
(Paramedic)    TIME OF DAY. WHAT TIME OF DAY?
(Drunk dude)  It's dark.
(Paramedic)    TIME! TIME! TIME! If you were looking at a clock, what time is it?
(Drunk dude)   [Looking around]There's no clock out here. We're on the street.
(Paramedic)    NO! What time is it now? Guess!
(Drunk dude)  I can't guess. I might have the wrong answer.
(Paramedic)    [Looks at me]
(ME)               I think it's time for the PoPo to take you to the hospital because I think you are about a .50 (point five-oh)
(Drunk dude)   I'm the FIVE-O? I want to be the FIVE-O.
(ME)               No, I'm the FIVE-O, you are about a point FIVE-O
(Drunk dude)   I know you're the FIVE-O. Why you sayin' I'm the FIVE-O. That's what you said. You said.
(Paramedic)    See!
(ME)               Turn around and put your hands behind your back.
(Drunk dude)   Ok, beautiful lady. What for?

[Of course I took the compliment lightly, after all, he's had multiple drinks. I think I'm about a case of beer beautiful. What an insult! ACK!]

(ME)              You're under arrest for public intoxication and we're going to the ER to get your head checked.
(Drunk dude)  This is BUUUULLLSHIT! My head is fine. You're the one that said I was the FIVE-O.
(ME)              I AM the FIVE-O.
(Drunk dude)  Nooo....you said I was.
(ME)              Zip it.
(Paramedic)    [Directing this at me] See, how do you like?
(Drunk dude)  Like what? You don't have to get all up and nasty. So what! I'm going to jail.
(Paramedic)    I wasn't talking to you.
(Drunk dude)  Well, I'm not talking to you either.
(Paramedic)    UGH!

It didn't get any better in the car. I had some of my rap music playing in hopes of drowning out voices coming from the back seat. It was standard procedure.

(Drunk dude)   Ooooh, you can't be playing this music for a brother.
(ME)               You don't like my music?
(Drunk dude)   No, it makes me fall in love with you. Are you doing a brother?
(ME)               What?
(Drunk dude)   What?
(ME)               What are you talking about?
(Drunk dude)   Will you take me?
(ME)               I am taking you. I'm taking you to the hospital, then jail.
(Drunk dude)   No, take me...I'm a brother. You like brothers?
(ME)              I have one, yes. What does my brother have to do with this?
(Drunk dude)  NO! ME, ME, ME!
(ME)             Yes, I'm taking YOU YOU YOU to JAIL JAIL JAIL!
(Drunk dude) NO! Will you go out with me?
(ME)             No, it's cold. We're going inside...to the hospital and to jail.
(Drunk dude) NO! WILL YOU GET IT ON WITH ME?
(ME)             The handcuffs ARE on you.
(Drunk dude) AAAHHH! You damn frustratin' woman!
(ME)             See! How do you like it?
(Drunk dude) Like what? Are you being NAUGHTY?
(ME)             No, you are being naughty. You got arrested.
(Drunk dude) I'm done which you. I am SOOO done which you.
(ME)             [Sigh] Yippee.
(Drunk dude) You got to pee?
(ME)              [Sigh] Never mind.

Yes, it was all video and audio recorded. Can't wait until the Captain sees that one...

In retrospect, the Captain never said a thing. I doubt he saw it. I am assuming he missed the whole show. Apparently, reviewing my recordings was not worthy of company time. 

Too bad. 


Some of those would be better than most comedy acts you pay big bucks to see and he would have gotten paid to view them. 


What better gig is that?

Thursday, March 23, 2017

Pork Sausage

People ask me if I miss cop work. Every single day. 

People ask me if I ever reflect on my police calls, people, places. Every single day.

It isn't that I am pining for the job or even mourning its loss. Just reflections of fondness and little things can spark a memory. 

Now more than ever, I realize my training was so critical to the recruits. I know there were days or even months where I was not 100 for them and many times I was downright worthless. I worked two full time jobs and lacked sleep. Sometimes I fell asleep in the passenger side because the motion of the car has ALWAYS put me to sleep, but worse when I lacked proper snoozing time. That's when I reported myself to my supervisor. At the time, he was very disappointed, took it up the chain. I didn't get disciplined, but they didn't take me off training either. I had to do the best I could. 

Thankfully, they understood my personal dilemma and my needs to salvage what I had of my life at home and with my personal business. But it came at a cost to my profession. Later, I chose my profession and closed the personal business. 

The realization of my errors makes me regret that I wasn't better. I went through a divorce (22 years with Bug's father) and a miscarriage during some training times which really gave me head damage. No one really takes into account those things because you aren't supposed to bring your baggage to work. Well, that's a nice perfect world, but it isn't true life. I asked for breaks and so did others, but we were all denied despite our various reasons because we were so short handed.

So it is what it is and has become. People got let go because they weren't cut out to be cops. Nothing I could have done or said would have changed that. And that is how it should be. But for the ones who passed their training, I could have served them better. 

If I can leave anything to forward to administrators and trainers it is that they should be in top form and if not, realize a break is needed. Monitor your people. It is necessary for the trainer and the organization. More importantly, make sure fair is fair to the recruits. They expect the best. Administrators need to be on top of those requests and know that a trainer who recognizes they aren't top notch and need a break should be evaluated carefully for the better of the department. A department cannot afford to make this kind of sacrifice just because they are short-handed. 

I think administrators lose sight of the big picture sometimes or maybe they have so much faith in that trainer that they think he or she will pull it through. Trainers are human. They also can generate human errors. It is critical to organizational success to have them all in prime condition mentally and physically. 

As a trainer, there are times you get a very endearing young person as a rookie, but they just are not street wise. In fact, you can see early on they have to make great strides to overcome things or they are just not cop material in the first place. It is almost always that obvious. Some are salvageable and we do go leaps and bounds to get them training needs. But you really need the right people. 


These candidates I speak of above, passed the test and have dreams of grandeur to be a savior to people and put on the uniform with pride. That part is the cool part. I had those feelings when I first started and the uniform pride continued until the last day. I don't know if I was really street wise at first, but I knew how to read people and detect criminal activity right out of the gates. I loved problem solving.

Some rookies are dangerous. Some are just dense in the head. These are the ones who need to be terminated as soon as possible. Of course, it has to be justified and documented. 

Additionally, some rookies just aren't cut out to be cops because they are true bleeding hearts. They cannot fathom nor see nor detect evil. They miss criminal action unless it is blatant. They cannot even sense suspicious activity. Some are just academically intelligent and are fit for other careers. They are in a world of blissful ignorance but only because they are darlings. I have had my share of darlings. 

I loved this rookie in the mother sense and loved his good heart, but I knew early on, despite his wishes, he would not be cut out to stay a cop. He did well, generally, even in dynamic calls, but I could tell it was too much for his psyche. He really had no idea about the street side nor really grasped hints of danger. 

And what mother would want the purest of hearts to be cynical and jaded for the rest of their lives? I kind of liked his innocence. It was a sign that kids were still raised right and the 1950s existed. 

After he left the department, I would see him around town and we had great reunions and hugs and laughter. He even anonymously bought me a Starbucks in the drive-thru one day. I chased him down to thank him and he was the same happy kid. He is very intelligent. I always wished him well and I know he has and will continue to do good...just not in police work.  

That was one we saved for his mother. He was restored to normalcy. 

But on this day...he was in training...with me...

Late night lurking.

He doesn't do it very well...but he does try.

Pretty soon...a loud noise grabbed our attention to the left. A speeding motorcycle. Most of the time, bikers enjoy riding around our vast neighborhoods and mountain roads. However, at this time of night, we usually get teased by pursuits. Well, we used to because a directive came out that we were not to pursue them in most circumstances because of the danger to them and others going over 150 mph. There was a group of them out there riding together teasing the PoPo. The problem is they knew we couldn't pursue them unless circumstances elevated above a misdemeanor, so they ruled the streets.

Sausage at first ignored this motorcycle rider. He was the only motorist on the road at 2 AM. Hello! It should grab your attention at least for a look-see because it is the ONLY thing on the road.

ME: Seriously? You aren't going to follow him?

SAUSAGE: Well, he was going fast. I guess I could.

ME: He was going about 40 in a 30.

SAUSAGE: How can you tell?

ME: We are all trained in speed estimation. It's a matter of whether or not you use it. Go after him.

SAUSAGE: He's about a mile down the road.

ME: How fast are you going?

SAUSAGE: About 60 mph.

ME: And  you're not catching him. He is speeding up. Probably saw you. Go after him.

SAUSAGE: I have no reason to stop him.

ME: *blink*blink*

SAUSAGE: What do I have?

ME: My speed estimation, no visible registration...oh looky there...he's swerving in both lanes of traffic. He's probably drunk.

SAUSAGE: I don't think I have enough.

ME: I'm gonna slap a bitch.
Me...trying to avoid saying cocksucker



Soon, we were closer to the motorcycle which accelerated even more and the dude swerved all over the road when we got about two car lengths behind him. It was apparent he was going to hurt someone if we didn't stop him and he was trying to outrun us.




ME: Pull him over.

SAUSAGE: I don't have enough.

ME: Pull him over before he kills somebody...NOW!

Activating our lights had no effect; the dude kept going and ignored our disco show. I pushed the siren..like one little hi-lo and an air horn bleep.

Crash. Beautiful. Wreckage.

Oops.

Even though he wrecked his motorcycle...mechanical carnage everywhere...he was fine. Standing up and scratching his head, he faced me. Bloodshot, dilated eyes. Smell of a brewery. And...swaying... with pee pee pants. We call those clues. Very drunk this man was, Yoda. Or it was the new age of motorcycle driving with wet pants and bug eyes. Maybe it was a summer thing since they didn't have air conditioning on those rides. Well, I guess the wind in your face would be somewhat considered an air coolant of sorts.

We talked to the man. Sure enough. He came from a bar...had a lot to drink...slurred his words...couldn't get anything out of his wallet. He looked like a character out of Mad Max. Yes, I'm dating myself. But he was.

Crazy hair. Jeans. Black boots. Face grime. Big, furry mustache...like a squirrel on his face. It could have been a pet squirrel.  It was hard to tell. Big ass glasses. Actually... big ass glasses are the first sign of a pedophile. But in this instance...Mad Max character. He looked like a Festus, although his name was Robert. Names were not changed to protect the guilty.

ME: What happened there?

ROBERT: [holding a piece of handlebar] Put the brakes on too hard.

ME: Hmm. Sure it wasn't because you were impaired?

ROBERT: What's impaired mean?

ME: Super. Why don't you talk to SAUSAGE here. I think he speaks your language.

SAUSAGE: Now. How much did you have to drink at the bar?

ROBERT: 4 beers.

SAUSAGE: How long ago was your last one?

ROBERT: I guzzled two about an hour ago.

So Sausage went through the routine questions. Then he went back because he forgot some questions...standard ones...or something.

SAUSAGE: How big were they?

ROBERT: What?

SAUSAGE: The beers.

ME: Big enough to make him pee his pants. Or did the PoPo scare you?

ROBERT: I think I did that when I wrecked.

ME: Aha.

SAUSAGE: I didn't even notice. You did pee your pants.

ROBERT: Yup.

SAUSAGE: All be darned. Is that uncomfortable?

ROBERT: A little wet.

SAUSAGE: How can you pee your pants? Don't you know when to go?

ROBERT: Yes. I was scared. Couldn't control it.

SAUSAGE: I don't understand. Couldn't you hold it?

ROBERT: I tried. It just came out.

SAUSAGE: How long was it before you realized you peed your pants?

ROBERT: I dunno.

SAUSAGE: Isn't that gross? I mean...especially when the temperature goes from warm to cold. And you peed a lot. Is it cold now?

ROBERT: Yup. It's a little cold and wet.

SAUSAGE: Did it go down to your boots? Because it looks like it did. There's a trail and all.

ROBERT: Maybe, not sure. Have to take my boots off and check.

SAUSAGE: Are you going to keep those boots after you peed in them?

ME: Oh for the love of Harriet. As interesting as this conversation is...I think I will interrupt.  Sausage, he's drunk. You lose control of those things when you're drunk. And then he wrecked. Whether or not Mr. Robert here peed before or after the wreck is irrelevant to our investigation. Robert, would you be willing to do field sobriety tests to see if you are safe to drive?

ROBERT: Hell no.

ME: Awesome. Turn around. You're under arrest.




And so I arrested him. Sausage stood there. With all his driving patterns and the observations I made and later had to articulate, this old salty dog was surely not going to let Mr. Pee Pee Pants go free. Sausage later asked me how I could have enough to arrest the man. [head hit dashboard] Apparently, we did not teach him enough to know to recognize what reasonable suspicion was for the stop and needed probable cause for an arrest.  Good question for Phase I. We are at the end of Phase III. Perhaps if the Captain wants to salvage him...he could be his assistant...make coffee for him and solve crime by binary code. I worry about the kid getting killed because he is just good and pure of heart.

ME: You know what, Sausage, it's too bad we didn't siphon that pee pee out of Robert's boots or squeeze it out of his pants and send it in for testing of his alcohol content. With a search warrant...we could go back and do that if you would like to.

SAUSAGE: Are you being sarcastic?

Wednesday, March 22, 2017

Useless As A Bag of Dicks

We have gotten so mean



In case you were wondering...this is the Boogie Man focus today...to flush out the meanness and expose it like a naked old lady in front of the courthouse. If you think this sounds a little harsh, read on.

I must also give an introduction that I believe there is much buffoonery afoot in our political system including acts by the presidents. These are normal in all political arenas even if you might think they are extraordinary. Apparently, you don't pay attention. While I will agree that some things are more extreme or deviate from the norm than others...politicians come with many faults and personality quirks. They are just observations on my part which do not align with things I agree with but it should be noted it is just my opinion. It doesn't mean I am going to start labeling people or starting things on fire nor retreating to my safe space. I still am an avid conservative and have faith in our system.

                 But first...a word from our sponsors...

Today's post is brought to you by underscoring, critical thinking, the color 7, and spring blossoms. 

Weather report: I am praying the show of bulbs really does happen and Mother Nature doesn't freeze their balls off. Right now it is freaking cold outside because winter is here for a day and then back up to 60s and 70s. WTF? Over.

Expert introduction: Fargo, unknown blogger of The Boogie Man Is My Friend, is today's jack of all trades, master of none. She has graciously accepted the invitation to talk to us about some humanitarian issues, politics, and worldly views. Yes, now is your chance to click off. You might think Fargo has fallen off the train of funny farm candidates choo chooing their way to the asylum after reading today's post.

And now without further ado about nothing...heeeerrrreeeee's Fargo!


"Thank you, Guy! I love your tie, by the way. You look very patriotic today."

"Why, thank you, Miss Fargo."

"Oh, please no formalities. Call me by my first name."

" Ok. Miss."

"Uh. No, Guy. 'Miss' is the prefix. Fargo is my name."

"Oh. Oh good. I thought that was weird. Carry on, Fargo."

"Good day to you all! I hope the sun is shining on you today and all that other zen crap. Peace. So, today I am proposing a totally new and different look at things. What things? Many things. Stick around. You might find this interesting, boring, or falling in the 'I don't give a shit' category. You can respond accordingly afterwards when we take questions from the audience. My dad often said, 'Who GAS?' Translated, this is a nice way of saying, 'Who Gives A Shit?' Get it? Got it? Good.

I just want to you to think about some of the underlying things I present today. I'm not saying this perspective is right or wrong. Truthfully (that is a sign of a lie about to come out), it might all be fucked up for all I know. I just thought about it and decided to go around the globe and speak about it. I am just throwing it to the wall like spaghetti in hopes that some of it might stick. That means the spaghetti is done, by the way. Free cooking tips are always appreciated, right?"

Ok. Intermission, folks. I need some coffee."

[pause for coffee break]

Fargo returns with a second outfit and new hair do. 

"Hello again! So about all this meanness. First, I want to say that I don't care if you like, dislike, or even hate President Trump or anyone else I am about to talk about. I am going to talk about what is happening to people and break things down a bit. Have you heard or even said yourself that Trump is mentally disabled or has a literacy problem, etc. and so forth? Who here expects our president to be top notch and super smart wonder brainy and all that?"


*crickets*

"Come on, mother fuckers! Are you alive? Pinch your neighbor."

[screams and moans and many "ouches"]

"See what I did there? You guys are all mean. So anyway. Back to our scheduled program. So what if our president has a learning disability or a literacy problem. What should we say about that? Isn't that sad, right? We have failed one of our citizens or perhaps the result is the best he can do and has come a long way. Does it prevent him from doing a job? No. Why not? Because he has support. That's what our country is about. Albeit it would be nice if the support were not a bunch of assholes and underminers. But hey, dicks can have jobs too. America is all inclusive.

But why do we think we are so perfect? That's right...little ol' us out here in the boonies of society. Do we expect a president to be perfect or represent us in truthful and pure demographic representation? Are we so snobby that we are going to exclude handicaps, disabilities, and imperfections in our leaders? What about Temple Grandin? What about Stephen Hawking? Huh? What about Einstein? We are pathetic hypocrites, aren't we?

Some say Trump is going all willy nilly with orders and rules and blah blah blah. Well, he, like many feel our country has become disorder and he is trying to scrape by what he thinks will help. Possibly. Anyway that is a theory or what we gather from what he says. Sure. There is always some personal agenda in politics. Duh. Is he different from other politicians? Aren't they all the same? Oh and yes, he has now become a politician by the way. He is in office, thus dubbed thee.

About the uproar in executive orders, persuasions, and ruling thoughts. I use ruling lightly, btws. But you forget we have checks and balances. And boy howdy...are we using them.

Sawright! That's what the system was designed for...keeping all branches in line. Think of it as an insurance policy. Hey, we impeached Nixon, right? And when he got old, people loved him again. Crazy turn of events. Is that forgiveness or memory loss? I'm not sure.

Now, I am going to take some sips of coffee and I recommend you do too. Heck, I'm going to get my last costume change on which represents Americans. Be right back!"

[exits stage left]

Fargo returns or we think it is Fargo. 

"Howdy! Yep. This is me, representing America. One of you motherfuckers is going to call me out on my color and ask why I didn't choose a different color and why am I highlighting green. Well, two things here. First, Oscar the Grouch is fucking green. The fucking Sesame Street god made him that way. Second, if you mix all the colors of the world up in one melting pot...you get this puke green color. So there. I am inclusive of all. Shut the fuck up.

Why are we so judgy? So perfect? So critical of every little thing. I'm like relax, relax. You gotta be wearing down that ticker being so wound up. Can't we have any fun anymore? Are we so high and mighty that we can't accept each other's faults? What the fuck happened to June and Ward? What about the Partridge family and the Brady Bunch? The Jeffersons? Sanford and son? And so forth. Didn't you learn any lessons? Friends? The Andy Griffith show? Clifford the Red Dog. Sally and Spot. The Velveteen Rabbit. Come on. Even though some of those shows would not be accepted today, they had good lessons. The books were awesome. Books are knowledge. Books are power. Read more. Go books! Don't put them in my house (points to garbage can.)

No. Random House did not pay me to say that. Let's shift to some more political mumbo jumbo mixed with a little sociology and morality and yada, yada. Have you noticed this presentation is all over the place with no organizational thought? Yeah. Shad up!

Here's a thing...if someone has a learning disability or mentally or physically handicapped...why can't they be president? Or any big shot? Eek! You say and gasp with disbelief. Think about it. Are we being a bunch of assholes? Of course, there is some competency needed. Duh. But so what if Trump can't read and write very well? So what if he has some narcissism? Should all that be an exclusion? You decide. I think we have become big assholes about something and expect purism.

Moving on to free speech. When did we decide that free speech is only if it aligns with a certain viewpoint. All others will be quashed with violence, noise, disruption, etc. Thus, creating a censorship. In turn...that is really no free speech. You really are censoring things when you shut things down or cause someone to cancel a speaking event or prevent passage. This goes for Trump, too. He just says it rather than burn you to the ground if you don't listen.

You are limiting what people can say and do on television and radio and in person. Yes, of course, we have some standards. But mostly anything goes these days. Look at me. I say bad words and I am entirely inappropriate. If you don't like it, don't listen. Walk away. Click off. Don't sit there and click on it because views equals money. Sure, you can speak out, but when extremism rules over some type of diplomatic or at least discernible communication and free speeches, then we really don't need the stinkin' Bill of Rights, correct?

When you flop around like a fish out of water in front of something because you don't like it or walk around with a vagina on your head, I can't respect you. You are an idiot. I'm sorry. I just think there is a time to be cute and a time to really be adult about things. I still believe in contacting our representatives, commenting on social media, petitions, peaceful protesting, even organized speaking events or platforms. I can't support all this nonsense I see nor the censoring of the language. Shit. We are so afraid to say anything about anything because it might offend someone. Well, fuck off!

I'm sure that offended my mother in the least.

We dwell too long on stupid things. I don't like Trump's Tweets. But he has free speech rights just like my neighbor. I just wish he would choose wiser when to use them. People are shouting to take Twitter away. He shuts out media. He tells people they are fake or fake news. So what? I get sick of it. I agree he needs to grow up and act like an adult. If you don't focus on it, maybe it will subside. Don't feed the fire. But neither he nor should you or I try to shut people down. It's censorship. It is squashing rights.Something for all of us to remember when we get up in arms.

I didn't like how he treated Merkel. It was awkward and unfriendly appearing. Well, not every meeting with any president of any generation is all perfect. Let it go. Move on. You criticized, we saw. Next!

Another point...so what if Trump brings his daughter into the White House? He's the fucking president. I happen to like her better than him. So what if it is unprecedented? Are we stuck in the same wheels of thinking that we can't look at something different or something new? If it doesn't work, don't you think it will be corrected? Fuck. I think I just want to shake people. And actually, who can the poor motherfucker trust these days anyway? And those of you who make fun of it being some sick sexual relationship...fucking shame on you. Incestuous relationships and molestation are no laughing matter. Fuckers. Grow the fuck up. You can make a lot of jokes, but that is some sick ass shit.

Of course all of their vacations and place of residency is also under contention. I don't fucking care. Should I? I don't know. They can just go print more money. Come on. I'm kidding. Trump has a big family which equals a big price tag. Down the road there might be a president with more expenses and more family. Here's another thing...inflation. Today's cost don't match yesterdays or tomorrows. So what is the value? I don't know. The Kennedys were lavish vacationers and probably in that day they spent wads. Well, he got killed, so didn't we do a fancy job? Can we stop fucking making it headline fucking news. I'm about to put Donald and company in the Mount Rushmore heads so his location isn't always advertised to the enemy.

I could go on about irresponsible media, but we don't need to. They do a great job of exposing their bullshitness all by themselves.

Continuing on down the road to nonsense. Let's talk about our colleges and universities. Somehow we have given too much power to these professors who now encourage unruly behavior, censorship, and abandon the fucking classroom to throw a tantrum and try to extinguish free speech somewhere. I fucking pay for my education you motherfuckers. I want you in the classroom. I want my degree. I don't want you to be a political embarrassment. Stay in your fucking lane. Oh and the greatest thing is they influence the students to join along with them. Meanwhile, I'm the only fucking student in the classroom showing up for my education. And this is tolerated? What the fuck is wrong with you people?

In closing, have we all forgotten where we come from and where we want to be? Have we forgotten the Golden Rule? I, personally, am sick of the lack of common sense and the meanness in people. It really makes me want to become a Viking and wield an ax around. If everyone else feels that way, then we might be at war soon. I will be ready. I will be shouting from my balcony-"you stupid motherfuckers....this is friendly fire...stop killing each other"-anyway, that was hypothetical. Be nice. Don't be a mean motherfucker. I wasn't raised that way. I have not raised my child that way.

I leave you with my biggest words of wisdom, 'Don't be as useless as a bag of dicks, you mother fuckers! Oh. And be kind.' "






Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Amongst Many Men Lies An Asshole

There are many moments of training days, I look back and think. Whew. Glad that turned out the way it did. Otherwise...I could see me getting some suspension days because I let things escalate a little too far in order to let rookies figure things out on their own...

Now to preface this call...I despised both the girlfriend and the suspect. They thought they were big shits on turd mountains. Truth is...they were half right. They were both turds. They were not nice people. Like ever. In their entire lives. I'm pretty sure I could make that blanket statement based upon my police history with them. 

To preface...Squirrel is really a good guy...smart...and eager to be a cop. He just needed to find his way and remember his Marine days were behind him. 

A side of Squirrel came out that I had not seen before. It was the hard nosed Marine persona going into battle with the ultimate enemy. He was obsessed. After two different calls with two different persons that pushed his buttons, he was thankful I was there to diffuse the situation.

The first...was a drunk male about 5-10, 250 of solid muscle.

It amazed me we were in one of the richest neighborhoods for a family fight only to find the couple fighting were both felons now turned millionaires. WTF? I'm totally doing something wrong.

She was stupid, pushed around by her abuser boyfriend, and didn't remember I had put her away for dope and forgery when I was a detective. She had also been a cocaine dealer taken down several years prior.

Her boyfriend...of the same caliber...only he had a rep for aggravated assault against the PoPo. Apparently, once they were released from prison, they hit the good life by starting a legitimate business in the oil field.

Beat me.

We both wondered why honest, hard working Americans stayed in middle class or upper poverty such as Squirrel and I and felony stupidteers became millionaires.

Randy had fled the residence on his Harley and shortly thereafter returned. Prior to his second arrival, we had discussed the family fight with his intoxicated girlfriend. Never mind the details of the fight, the conversation between Squirrel and Fireball was precious. I watched it unfold and didn't interrupt until they were within 2 inches of each other and challenging the other to a duel. It was like an old west showdown only new.

FIREBALL RANDY: How old are you, boy?

SQUIRREL: What does that have to do with anything? I'm calling  you a liar. Doesn't matter my age.

FIREBALL RANDY: You guys in blue think you can just come in here, into my house?
Fireball Randy


SQUIRREL: We got a 911 call from your kids. They were scared. We have a lawful presence to be here. So quit your blatant lying. I could take you to jail right now, but I gave you the courtesy of asking what was going on.

FIREBALL RANDY: I've taken on challenges bigger than you. You're just a cop and small man. Let's go. [put his cell phone and keys on his truck bed] Do it or arrest me already.[bowed up his chest and walked forward in a challenge to Squirrel]

SQUIRREL: I'm not scared of you. I've fought in battles and killed people. Been shot at. You're nothin'.[ Put his Maglite in his belt and moved forward.]

So this was getting interesting. To FTO or not to FTO. Perhaps I should be a good trainer and intervene. 

Ah. Maybe later. 
Yep. This is better than popcorn


FIREBALL RANDY: No youngster is going to come to my house and talk to me like this, fucking punk.

SQUIRREL: You are in the wrong. You are drunk. You're kids are scared of you. You better quit fucking lying to me. You think I'm stupid? Fuck.

FIREBALL RANDY: Bullshit. They are not. My kids are not scared of me at all. Don't twist things or lie. I just bought her a $7,000 ring. And you are cussing me out. You can't do that.

SQUIRREL: I don't care about any Goddamn ring. You come home drunk and blatantly lie to me.  I could arrest you for DUI right now. And I can cuss at you if I want.

FIREBALL RANDY: Do it. You didn't see me drive my bike. And I see how it is, we can't cuss, but the police can.

At this point, I was losing Squirrel. His eyes turned black and he was blank. He was trying to control himself, but I could tell he was lost somewhere between being a cop and a soldier dealing with an asshole that had pushed him over the edge. Martial law was about to consume him. Although this was entertaining and rookies need to make their own way at times, I thought perhaps it was time to be a trainer. Or a mother. Why are guys so full of testosterone?
Squirrel

ME: I'm calling bullshit on your crap, Randy. You rode up here on your Harley. We both saw you because your garage door was open and we have eagle eyeballs. You are drunk. You had an argument with Cindy. Your boys called 911. Fight with the PoPo and you'll lose. I think you know that from experience. Another felony. Get your fucking ass in the house and consider yourself lucky we aren't arresting you. Mess with Squirrel and he will kick your ass. He's a decorated soldier and you are nothing but a hot head turd. We are done with you. Take it inside. Don't come out, or you go to jail.

So..with that...the BITCH had spoken and FIREBALL RANDY went inside with his drunk girlfriend. I don't know why. Maybe he was scared of blond chicks. Perhaps it was because I didn't say a word until then. I had let Squirrel handle the call. Randy didn't argue...he didn't bow up...he turned about face and left, shutting the garage door on Squirrel's last words...

SQUIRREL: You come out, you're mine. You're going to jail. Lie to me, you go to jail.

ME: Settle down, Crackpipe. Geez, you just about got into a fight we didn't need. I had my Taser half out.

SQUIRREL: He was mine. He was over the mark. Once I get in the zone, you can't stop me. I feel like I am at war and I don't quit.

ME: Yep. That's what I'm afraid of. Now stateside, you are going to have to control that or you are going to see a lot of suspension time.

SQUIRREL: I hate that guy. He is a liar. I hate liars.

ME: People lie to the police all the time.

SQUIRREL: If you hadn't been there, I would have piled him up. He wouldn't have had a chance and I wouldn't have stopped either. He made the first move. I would finish it.

ME: I know. And you should know he is a handful. Even the biggest cops have struggled with him.

SQUIRREL: I've had worse in the Marines. He's now a project.

ME: [big sigh] Boys. Too much testosterone.

SQUIRREL: He's an asshole.

ME: Amongst many men.

Thursday, March 16, 2017

The Prostitots

So there are moments of professionalism, grandeur sleuthing, and then the ugly human cop moments. I hate it when we are human. It happens. Why am I sharing such travesty of justice and showing a horrible moment when I was very unprofessional? Because it is real. I'm not proud. It is just showing the true moments when police are not perfect. Did I get in trouble? No. Did I get a complaint? No. Should I have been more professional? Yes. 

So here it is...me in my NOT-SO glory. 

Got to love the kids that break out of the Youth Crisis Center. Running amok. All over our fair city.

Cornfed caught a car load of kids who happened to steal mom's sports car.

Sweet.

And they ran into the Popo's attention at 0200 in the morning.

DUM  kids. They didn't even meet the spelling of the word. Yeah. I'm not proud to use that analogy of their intelligence level. It is really degrading. But it is all I got right now.

One was a fugitive runaway. They were all very misbehaved and disrespectful. Like LOUD. And NAUGHTY. And VULGAR. What do I do? I fight fire with fire.

They were dangerous criminals....maybe in 10 years...maybe sooner.

Mom was a prize. Sent over her felon boyfriend to check out the situation because she was too drunk at the bar to care and couldn't be bothered away from her current shot glass full of Fireball.

We started from that point.

It was one of those moments where you just throw up your hands. Mother voice doesn't work. Voice of reason doesn't work. Professional voice doesn't work. Frustration just kicks in and one of my pet peeves is disrespectful kids. I was raised better and so should they have been.

Possibly, Auntie Flo, the bitch, had something to do with my attitude. Maybe...I don't like to see kids with bad attitudes...and scantily clothed.  Smash 'em like a bug. Teach them to have some respect for themselves.

The kids were all smart- mouthed. The girls were dressed as Prostitots and the boys were Gangsta G. All of 14 and under. Groovy. And that is no exaggeration.

Cornfed just continued to do his job and took all of their shit. Nothing phases him. But I was there. I was there to set the record and adjust some adjusting. Some things just slip out of my mouth. I could blame it on Tourettes...if I had been diagnosed with it. I think I might have had temporary Tourettes syndrome...TTS.  Or multiple personalities? Sometimes it was a voice in my head. When they both occur side by side...I have to have some medicine [wine, beer, mojitos, rum]. It's a sign. [FUCK ME IN THE ASS!]

An 18 year old boy walking on the street stopped by the traffic stop and tried to pick up the girls Prostitots. I'm not kidding. He was a genius.

They worked it. [SLUTS] Their flirting and scant clothing was too much for my mother instincts. Besides, anyone who walks up on the police is at least one sandwich shy of a picnic. 

It was Cornfed's traffic stop. I tried not to interfere. [FUCKOFF, whatever] But I would never let an unknown subject just walk up on a traffic stop. Not unless I wanted to get killed.

I couldn't stand the fact that the male had walked up to the suspect YOOTs' car. What was he doing? Why did he think that was OK? Was he going to jack us all? Ok. Maybe I've seen too many movies. It bugged me a lot. [COCKSUCKER!] I had warned Cornfed the dude was coming up behind him...thinking Cornfed would approach him. He was very busy. That is why we have backup. I decided to exercise my duties as backup queen. So I crossed over Cornfed and his note taking and shoved the male back just before he reached the super danger zone. The male was immediately pissed off. [PUSSY! BALLZ!]

ME: What do you think you are doing? [FUCKAH! NUTSACK!] Get out of here. You don't walk up on a traffic stop, peer in the patrol cars, and then make contact with a stopped vehicle with the popo. [MONKEY BALLS] That is a good way to get hurt. We could have some dangerous people here. 

TREE HUGGER: What? I was just wanting to know what was going on?

ME: Really? Are you fucking kidding me? It's none of your business. [ASSHAT. BUNGHOLIO!]  ID. Now. But now you just made it your business.

TREE HUGGER:  [handed me his ID]

So...I ran him and he was clear. No warrants. Not even for felony stupid. [KISS MY ASS. FUCK!]

ME: Get out of here. Leave or I will arrest you for interference and don't ever do that again. Ever. [FUCKFACE. BUCKAWK!] 

PROSTITOT:  He was just talking to me.  I wanted to give him my number.


No, they weren't cute like this. 


ME: You know what? Stop acting like a whore. Act like a young lady with some sense. He's over 18, you're 13. Can you say nasty, creepy, inappropriate? Oh, wait. I say ILLEGAL. Next thing you know...you'll be found in a dark alley...beat up or worse.  Fucking dumb kids!  And get some clothes on. Slut!


[pointed to her to get in the car and slammed car passenger door when she sat down and looked at me in disbelief].

CORNFED: Wow.

ME: Did I say all that out loud?

CORNFED: [giggle] Yes.

ME: Oy... the voice in my head...

CORNFED: Tourettes?

ME: Auntie Flo. She's such a bitch.

Monday, March 13, 2017

Comprehending Squirrels

Fuck is a word that encompasses many meanings. As Dr. Henry Lee always says in his classes...fuck is a noun, verb, adjective, conjunction, etc. It is the greatest word in the world. He, himself, has said it is the best word in the world and has universal meaning. I have had him sign his textbook for me at a class I attended. He asked me if there were people in Wyoming and quipped about the isolation. He thought perhaps I was the only cop there. My partner was right behind me. He signed mine "to the best detective in Wyoming" and when my partner came up I told Dr. Lee that he couldn't have the same thing on his textbook, so he signed his as "to the second best detective in Wyoming". Fitting, right? I enjoyed his humor. He isn't afraid to share it.  He ended our chat with, "Embrace fuck. It's a beautiful word." So I do. I mean, he is an expert. It's how you say it, not what you say. You could read porn to an infant and as long as you say it nicely, it doesn't matter because they don't understand. They are listening to the delivery. 

That's what I'm talking about. It's not what you say, but your delivery. Em-pha-sis on the correct syl-lab-ble. Squirrel has yet to learn the meaning of fuck, delivery, or emphasis on the right syllable. It only makes sense if you were there and if you appreciate the word.

So in order to further explain my meanings and understandings along with some comprehensions...I must demonstrate in dance. Not really. I will bring up an old story...

My rookie, Squirrel, was new in the captain's chair of my g-ride. So far, we had many humorous moments and clashes of the Titans. He was a great guy with a good heart, just punchy and over zealous. He was beyond Wheels. Wheels was compassionate. Squirrel was even more robotic and tried to keep a poker face all the time. Behind his persona was a little tiny temper. It flared once in awhile, but he really did a good job of keeping it under wraps.

We were called to back another officer on a DUI stop and deal with the passengers while he and Officer Billboard did sobriety maneuvers on the driver. Ultimately, the driver got arrested.

We were soon engulfed in a conversation with a drunk passenger. Intoxicated. For all intense purposes, he was drunk as fuck. Whatever that means. Maybe he was a drunk fucker or a fucking drunk. I don't really know which fuck he was, or perhaps...all of them. See the beauty of the word? Gotta love it.

Dr. Lee was right.

Anyfuckingnonsense, the dude soon became more and more obnoxious and was disobeying orders.   The drunk male passenger was a cowboy... handsome, tall, dark....with five o'clock shadow. All of 25 years old. The other passenger, female, was more drunk as fuck. Does that make sense? She and the other drunk fucker started to fight. It was beautiful. Action.

I enjoyed the banter to a point when the "f" word started flying loudly and citizens in the park nearby were getting offended. Had to put an end to that fucking nonsense. So I did. They shut the fuck up for a little while. Then they started in again. This time Squirrel had to interject.

At this point, the male passenger, Ranier Robb, snapped at Squirrel's brashness and started yelling at the PoPo.

RANIER ROBB: Dude! Calm the fuck down. I want out of here. She is pissing me off.  You are badge heavy. Geesh! I am laughing my fucking ass off. Little military guy. Fucking badge.

Squirrel at this point went off and the "f" bomb came out of his mouth as he pointed and leaned down into the car. The argument between the two of them was precious. Soon...that half smile, half smirk thing came across my face.  I really don't know what I just had witnessed, except it looked like a fox down a rabbit hole with his tail sticking out, trying to go after his prey. Squirrel was leaning more and more toward the dude in the car and the dude was barking back. It was nuts. As a good FTO, I felt I should have interjected sooner. I was not a good FTO. Moot point.

RANIER ROBB: Look. Your partner even thinks you are ridiculous. Fuck.

Squirrel turned and looked at me and then sauntered back toward my direction.

ME: How did that work out for ya?

SQUIRREL: Fucking crap. Asshole.

ME: You need to calm the fuck down.

SQUIRREL: I'm not bothered.

ME: Yes, you are. He is winning.

At that moment Robb leaned out of the car and antagonized Squirrel and harassed him for several more minutes. I didn't say a thing. He then pointed to me.

RANIER ROBB: You...I respect. Him. I do not. Fucking rookie soldier with a badge heavy attitude. Fuck him.

ME: Knock it off. You've made your point. Shut it.

SQUIRREL: I can defend myself.

RANIER ROBB: Apparently not. Mommy's boy.

ME: [stink eye] 

I really tried not to bust out laughing. This was a good lesson. I just needed to make sure it did not escalate out of control. It was a fine line. But sometimes, you have to let the newbies drown so they figure it out on their own.

RANIER ROBB: Ma'am, I can heckle the po-lice. It's not a crime. I respect you. Him. He can kiss my ass.

ME: Ok. You did it. Got it. Good. Done.

RANIER ROBB: Yes, ma'am!

SQUIRREL: It's OK. He's not bothering me. You don't need to protect me.

ME: [*blink*blink*] Sinking ship.

SQUIRREL: He's nothing. Doesn't even get to me.


RANIER ROBB: Whatever. I'm felony free. Felony free, baby. Fucking never been in trouble and you can't handle a drunk man making fun of you, little man. Haw!

I was again trying not to laugh. Squirrel was getting so stirred up and really trying not to get embarrassed. I think he knew he was losing the battle at this point. We waited 45 minutes for a cab for RANIER ROBB. It was a long 45 minutes. He was relentless. When the cab came up to pick up Robb, he had the last words to Squirrel and turned to me.

RANIER ROBB: I'll be going back to the bar. My big jacked up black truck will be sitting there all night. I will get a ride the fuck home. Big truck, black, sweet, nice. At the bar.

ME: I'll be watching for you. [Fingers to eyes and back at him]You know what they say about big trucks. [Held up my thumb and forefinger signifying "small".]

RANIER ROBB: Big truck. Small penis.

ME: [shaking my head in affirmation] Yep.

RANIER ROBB: You are naughty. But I like you. I don't like him. Be at the bar later. See if you can find a reason to arrest me, little soldier man.


ME: I'll keep my bracelets handy for ya.

RANIER ROBB: Fuck yeah.

SQUIRREL: Dumbass. It wasn't sexual. She's going to arrest you. Maybe not before I will.

RANIER ROBB: Wound tight. Talk about little problems. Yours is tiny.

ME: Get. In. The. Cab. [smirk]

RANIER ROBB: [laughing] Good night.

I smirked as he was hauled off by the cab. Squirrel started to chime in after me.

SQUIRREL: You need to be more assertive. You let guys like that win. He thought you were a pushover and a pansy.

ME: [glancing down at him] Really? Perhaps you had better reevaluate that. You don't need to get all assed up at people. You can also relax and go along with their nonsense to keep the peace. And I don't really give a fuck what he thinks of me. Just because I talked in a calm voice, laughed, and stood back and let his banter rage on, doesn't mean I didn't have authority and control. He knew it. Who had more control anyway? Me or you. Imagine if you were alone with the guy. Or I was. Which one of us would have gotten through that without a scuffle or high emotions? 

SQUIRREL: You give in to them. You are too laid back all the time. You need to get in their face.

ME: Never. Command presence. Delivery. Choice of words. Confidence. Emphasis on the right syllable. Much to learn, grasshopper. You see, when he got way over to the right, I reined him in a little. I didn't infringe on his rights of free speech. Tone. Pitch. Voice command. I really didn't care what he was saying. I was watching his body language. Keeping him busy until he could get a ride. Sometimes...that involves entertaining their notions without letting go of control. Interject a little, let a little go. It's like fishing. Learn the meanings of fuck. And the one you really want to know is how not to look like a fucking idiot cop. You get assed up and let them see you struggle, you lose. Then they know your triggers and keep pulling them. 



Squirrel still didn't get it. He strutted his turkey feathers back to the car. Smashing his turkey feathers was going to be the death of me.




Friday, March 10, 2017

Let's Get Naked

I know all you perverts clicked on this post because of the title. Sickos.

Getting naked isn't always about taking your clothes off and parading around in your birthday suit. It might be about exposing your feelings. Well, this post isn't about that. I don't have feelings. Getting naked might be about going without makeup. Who does that? Silly.

No makeup? Pshaw.

Well, not really. I go without makeup a lot. You know I am only a semi-princess type. It depends on my mood or an event or whether I want to scare people. Drain the color right out of their faces. Like me, today, for instance. The color has been drained.  I have noticed I am looking a lot older and I am supposed to be looking younger with this skin regimen my doctor put me on. It is supposed to reverse aging, sunspots, and prevent skin cancer. Apparently, I am a mess. Well, it makes me look fucking old. It's terrible stuff. And my insurance paid good money for this. Gah. I'm torn. Do I want to look young or die of skin cancer?I'm not sure yet. In the meantime of my vacillation (not a pervert term), I will continue to use the shit.
I see old people!
Here is my latest on the serious side...oh look...it's about deviant behavior! Just what you wanted to talk about, you perverts! If you have me on your Facebook feed, please click, like, share, comment or pass me around like a Friday night hooker. And leave any discussion you like...anywhere. Have no inhibitions.

Wednesday, March 8, 2017

We Don't Do Fashion

Sometimes we run into people that by their mere existence irritate us. Why is that so? We are supposed to be  non-judgmental (whoa) and full of grace. So is it window dressing? Are the police really objective and not subjective? Come on, now. We are humans. I think sometimes our objective views are subjective. Does that make sense? I try to be neutral, but sometimes I get tired of being the fence.
I'm an angel. I love all people. No one irritates the police. 

Officer Friday and I had taken a call where an elderly woman had been beaten up by her daughter who was an alcoholic and on a binge. The daughter was the alcoholic on a binge, not the elderly mother. But the elderly mother was also an alcoholic and on most days had "continent issues" according to the son in law. I was confused upon this notion and asked about it for clarification. Not land issues. Incontinence. Whew. That made more sense. The woman had MS and was about 75 years old...the mother. She wore depends. Her daughter had been her caretaker for years and was in and out of trouble, a drunk, and all this at the age of 49 years old. Her son in law was reporting the crime, crying, and telling the woman...the mother... it was time to tell the truth and stop covering up for the daughter.

Who wants to tell the truth to the police? Like no one.

She was bruised, cut, and beaten. The house was in disarray with several things broken and the phone ripped from the wall. It was apparent the house was normally neat and tidy. However, today was a special day of domestic violence decorating and boozer interior design takeover. While calling 911, the daughter took the phone away and jerked it out of the wall.

The suspect fled after beating her mother over an argument about beer and Depends. I shit you not. Wait. That pun was not intended.

Mom wears Depends due to her loss of bowel functions, or perhaps it's just easier to drink and drink and pee and not have to get up. I don't know. Maybe it's a drunk thing. News to me.

Anypeepeepants, after having a few Bud Lights, Mom peed her Depends.She asked her daughter if she could help her change them and started to get up to the bathroom. Whammo! Mom was knocked down and well...the rest is above.

Enter the PoPo.

I got Mom to tell me the truth, photographed her injuries and the house. Daughter was on the run.

She would be back. After all, she was drunk. I know drunks. They like to be next to their beer. And I was next to her beer. So there I was.

Sooner than later, the daughter came back. We were around the corner waiting like a fox in a hen house. Well, actually, foxes don't wait in the hen house. How about similar to a fox in a rabbit hole? No. That's not it either. They just have their butt in the air while catching dinner. How about NOT comparing the PoPo to a sly fox. How about a wolf stalking Red Riding Hood? Yep. That's it. I think. I don't know what the heck got me started on that.

Anydigression, the daughter called 911 asking to have drug dealers removed from the house. Whiskey-tango-foxtrot? I don't know. Drunks are hard to figure. Where were the drug dealers? I can always spot one and certainly had not in my visit inside this particular residence.

We enter. Again.

She was loaded with alcohol and probably some prescription candies, yelling, and had a gravelly voice which irritated me. She definitely wasn't Adele. So. I told her she was under arrest. The fight was on. For about two seconds.

I took Miss Elder Abuser (all 110 pounds) and threw her onto to the sofa and handcuffed her up. I don't think I even broke a sweat. She was bitching, yelling, and carrying on. She also was yelling at her mother to tell the police that she didn't hit her. Officer Friday and I ignored all the raging and ranting.

It was winter. (random sentence)

As a nice police officer, I thought I would offer her some shoes so she would not have to walk out there in the cold Wyoming climate...barefoot. She kicked two different pair of shoes away. Apparently, she didn't like the fact they didn't match her outfit and she would not wear them.

Yeah. No.

The PoPo obviously don't do fashion. Otherwise we would match our nails and lipstick to our uniforms with pretty hair ties and we would give a shit about what all our prisoners wear and coordinate, including fantastic accessories. I could give a shit if you wear a bunny suit or go naked. When I say you are going to jail, you go... the way you are. So if you are planning on going to jail...make sure you match and have clean underwear. NOT MY JOB.

As you would guess it, the daughter was taken to the police car by Officer Friday and although we could have carried her, she was a big girl and had to walk across the ground. Maybe...next time...she will put shoes on when they are provided to her. Again, I think people over 18 can adult.

I was THE bitch. Not A bitch, but THE bitch. I was so proud.

DAUGHTER: You know you are a BITCH! I can't believe you made me walk across cold ground. And you ripped me from my home for NO reason. I didn't beat my mother. I am not drunk.You listening to me, Bitch? Cop? You hear me? You have false arrested me! You need to take me home right now!

ME: Yep. We just picked on you for no apparent reason. What is false arrested? Is it like false teeth?

DAUGHTER: Bitch! You ripped me from my home!

ME: YES I did.

DAUGHTER: Why did you do that?

ME: Because you didn't go willingly.

DAUGHTER: I didn't do anything.

ME: Bullshit. Besides when I say the words UNDER ARREST, that means I'm the boss. About everything.

DAUGHTER: Shit. Well don't you think you are Miss Princess.

ME: Actually, I am the PRINCESS PARTY POOPER. No more beer for you. Perhaps when you sober up, reality might set in, and you can make better choices.

DAUGHTER: I don't understand why you have to be such a bitch.

OFFICER FRIDAY: Now that's enough. You got yourself in this situation.

DAUGHTER: I was asking a question!

OFFICER FRIDAY: We are tired of your questions.

ME: You have the right to remain silent.

DAUGHTER: Well, I don't want to be silent.

ME: O..silent night. Holy night...{singing in my Opera voice}

DAUGHTER: Christmas is over, bitch! You think you are so funny.

ME: I am. Aren't I? Officer Friday, aren't I funny?

OFFICER FRIDAY: You ARE funny and you are such a BITCH!


DAUGHTER: Thank you. 

ME: So happy we could finally please you.

DAUGHTER: Could you please pull up my shirt so my titties aren't hanging out when I get in there?

[record scratch]

[nasty]

ME: Yeah. We don't do that.

DAUGHTER: Why not? I asked nicely.

ME: We don't do FASHION.