The Death of Pookie

There are certain cliche's you hear whenever dead people are involved. For example, we'll use a dead 20 year old high school drop out. He was trying to sell drugs when a rival dealer shot him. It didn't come as a surprise to the deceased, as he had his own loaded .45 in his hand upon death. His family will invariably say something along the lines of:

"He was turning his life around, going back to school and making something of himself."
or the more bald faced lie:
"He was a straight A student with his whole life ahead of him."

Credit for below goes to Garey McKee of Police Limit Comic Strip (hosted on policeone.com)

The truth is that in most cases the guy who got shot pretty much deserved getting shot. For the most part criminals don't spend money on ammunition going around and shooting random citizens. Granted, there are exceptions who are few and far between so naturally they get media coverage far over representing their frequency. In most of the cases where the person shot didn't deserve it, he was standing near someone who did. This accounts for drive by shooting victims most of the time. Gangbangers really need to work on their aim.

And lastly, the logical conclusion of the above comic strip, thanks again to Garey McKee:

How to get away with shooting someone

This is a step by step instructional guide on how to shoot someone and get away with it. Scot free. No consequence. Honest. 

1.) First, obviously, you need to shoot someone. Grab two of your closest friends, pile up into your personal vehicle and drive over to the targets (preferably someone who knows you and your car very well) house (preferably within several hundred yards of your home and surrounded by witnesses) and unload a few rounds. Try to make sure you get as many shell casings as you can to land inside the vehicle, and maybe let a few token ones land outside for the CSI guys to compare. 

2.) As you drive away, be sure to take several pictures with your camera phone of you and your friends holding the guns. Captions reading "Take that sucka" or similar sentiments are encouraged. 

3.) As the sounds of sirens get closer be sure to start texting all of your friends asking how the police could have possibly found out about the shooting, and asking for advice on how to hide the guns. For greater effect, attach full names, birthdays from facebook, and addresses to the contact info on your cell phone. 

4.) Ask your friends on facebook how to evade the police and hide incriminating evidence. Do not use private messaging. This will not work and your friends will think you have no balls. Only use public posts. Preferably searchable through Google. 

Following these simple steps will ensure that you will never be found by police and are free to continue your vendetta against random teenagers. 

There's a Time and a Place

Far be it from me to tell you to never question authority. Often, authority is just some guy like any other doing a job he likes just as much as you like yours. I always maintain that a man should always be able to ask why, or for clarification, especially when people who are supposed to serve the public trust are involved. However, when I come running up to your car after you've been in a wreck yelling "Are you okay? Get out of the car now! It's on fire!" perhaps you should consider holding any questions and getting out of the burning vehicle. You're welcome to ask anything you want once we're out of range of the melt-your-clothes-to-your-skin flames.

Angry Angry Dogs

Pregnancy can cause a great variety of unusual problems for the mother. In addition to cravings, and swellings, and joint pain and tenderness and all that, apparently her IQ can drop to dangerous levels. It was a dark and frosty night, with temperatures plunging to the low 90s (30s for our non American friends). Our little lady is chilling at home with her dachshund when she makes the mistake of pissing the little guy off and, being a dog, he bites her upon the foot. Immediately the city screams out and fire and police come rushing to the scene. By which I mean everyone looking quizzically at their call sheets and wondered who was playing the joke. This lady called on her own dog? Does that make this family violence? Will supplement reports be required? But no, the young lady was worried that somehow the dog bite would influence the baby. I see, perhaps the dog crawled into your uterus to bite you? Like some kind of horrible fetishistic remake of the end of the Shawshank Redemption? Did you hear the voice of Morgan Freeman anywhere? Lastly, that kicking you feel is the baby trying to slap the stupid out of you, because he knows he's gonna need you for everything and won't make it if you're the intellectual equivalent of cabbage.

I Ams What I Ams

There are some things I just won't believe, like the status of Wyoming's statehood, or the existence of intelligent life in Oklahoma. So when a girl who's obviously no older than 26 tells me that she's a 40 year old who'd undergone some massive plastic surgery for her face, and ran 80 lbs of fat worth (if there some kind of fat to miles conversion please email it to me) off and somehow has no scars or stretchmarks anywhere I'm gonna be somewhat incredulous. I've been around long enough to know that 99% of everything I hear is a lie and 80% of everything I see is a lie and 100% of everything in Australia wants to kill you or can. Shockingly, giving me ID didn't settle things because the photograph and the person standing there are obviously two different things. Surgery can fix many things, and alter a great many more. What it's not going to change is your ears, if what you had was a chin tuck. I have no idea what a forehead lift is, but I doubt the surgeon is going to dent your teeth in getting in done without letting you know. Further, what kind of quack plastic surgeon would "fix" your face but mess up your teeth and then not tell you about it? That goes beyond malpractice to saturday morning cartoon villain levels. I was unaware the reincarnated ghost of Josef Mengele was a plastic surgeon in "Cali".

On the other side, if you want to give a more believable alternate identity, at least someone who looks like you (like a brother), you should probably check out why they suddenly fled the US before just dropping their name as your own, lest you get caught up in a murder investigation trying to dodge your probation violation. That's not out of the frying pan into the fire. That's frying pan to putting your nuts in a C clamp and slapping piranha with it.

Shortest Post Ever

Don't call 911 because someone took "your" parking spot at the mall. There are far more important things happening than forcing emergency services to deal with your incredibly petty bullshit.

Lessons When Allowing People into Your Car

Chris Rock actually did this already, and he did in a far better, catchier, and probably more thorough manner than I did. You can see his version here:

Just skip ahead to 2:20 to see what I'm talking about.

"No man" said Donne, "Is an island." He was wrong, but not for reasons relevant here. We all have friends. We all try to go out and have some fun with friends. Our friends have friends. And at some point we'll find that four or five friends can fit in the same car to go out. While I'm sure you love your friend, and you trust them completely, and you'd never do anything to throw them under the bus, so to speak, try to figure out who his friends are. See what they're carrying with them. Find out a bit about their background. If you're an insurance adjuster at heart, make a form:
Do you have guns? Knives? Drugs? Warrants? Are your stickers out of date? Is there anything about YOU that's going to land ME in jail tonight? If the answer is yes to any of these questions, then fuck that guy. He doesn't need to be in your car. Or if he's giving the ride, call a cab. It's just not worth it to take that kind of risk. If you're carrying drugs, plan on going to jail. Odds are you won't, as people who get away with carrying get good at blending in, but try to plan for the worst anyway. For instance, if you decide to carry your drugs to a bar and decide that no-pants is the way to go to the bar, bring some pants just in case. It's not in any way my fault that you decided to leave the house without pants today. Nor is it my fault that you get to ride downtown without any pants.

Lastly, we have enough children with severe problems in America. Too many kids in foster care. Too many kids in abusive homes. Too many kids with debilitating illnesses and birth defects that will only contribute to an environment of neglect and/or abuse assuming they survive for very long. Fetal Alcohol Syndrome is a bitch. So please, quit smoking drugs, getting wasted, and getting high while you're pregnant. That's just idiotic.

No Arms, No Legs, No Problem

A gentleman with no arms below the elbows and two legs that don't work got drunk and was found in the middle of the street passed out in his electric wheelchair. He had no cash in the bag strapped to the side, a touchscreen iPhone, credit cards, and a wallet with ID inside. The questions this proposition raises are:

1.) How did he get drunk?
2.) How does he lift a cup?
3.) How did he pay for the drinks to get drunk?
4.) If he used a credit card, how did he sign it?
5.) Why does he have a touchscreen phone if he has no fingers?
6.) How does he call people?
7.) How does he get the phone out of the bag without hands?

These questions aside, there is also the matter of the guy driving drunk in a public street on a motorized wheelchair. While I don't pretend to think that he might lose control and hit someone, he will probably get himself run over. So, we get him off the street and switch off his chair while we try to figure out who he is. This causes him to wake up, turn on his chair, and try to drive away, running over my boot in the process. As that just won't do, I turn off the chair again and ask him to wait and if there's anyone who can pick him up.

Being drunk is generally accepted as an impediment to rational thought so perhaps it forgivable for this gentleman to become irate. What wasn't acceptable or forgivable was his immediate and frequent attempts to strike me with his stumps. My initial concern that he was having some sort of fit was put to rest when he, rather eloquently, informed me of all the different ways he was going to beat my ass. While I stood behind him. And he was unable to turn around. This was a fight even Scott Blevins could win, though he'd still be a douche for trying. Instead of taking advantage of the obvious I simply let the man tire himself out trying to bludgeon me to death without turning around.

Further questions that came to mind:

1.) If a man has no wrists, how do you handcuff them?
2.) If the person attacking you is at higher risk for hurting their own self instead of you, is it still assault?
3.) Would it be inappropriate to somehow tie or duct tape this man's arms to his torso?

Regardless, it's just too much hassle to haul a 300 lb wheelchair just because someone's too drunk to think straight so a friend came by and got his friend.

It ended okay though, as the drunk man apologized and explained "It's nothing personal man. I just really hate you."

Great.

Stealth Mode Error

If, someday, you find yourself in the position of being wanted for some felony that you may or may not have committed and you wish to avoid capture by the police your best strategy is to go home, or go to your girlfriend/baby momma/mother's house, and stay there. Going out in public, where the police are, is not conducive to your staying under the radar. However, if you suddenly develop a craving for cheap tacos that, somehow, overrides your desire to avoid capture by police your best strategy is to be inconspicuous. Even in the largest police departments, patrol officers are regularly outnumbered by citizens anywhere from 100s:1 to 1000s:1. You actually have a pretty decent chance to head out, grab food, and make it home all without even seeing police, let alone having an encounter with one. So, if you're getting your cheap tacos in a relatively crowded cheap taco place, and you see a squad car pull up, the last thing you want to do is draw any sort of attention to yourself. You're like the Predator (tm I'm sure) blending in with the surrounding branches and stuff. Immediately flipping out and running away screaming is like water and/or Arnold Schwarzenegger to your Predator cloak. Suddenly you have the attention of the staff, the officer (who probably just wanted a cheap taco and five minutes of peace with which to eat it) and every officer within a few blocks who just heard that first guy say "Some chump just tore out of here when he saw me. He just might be wanted."

So, to recap:

Don't commit felonies.
If you do, and you become wanted, stay home.
If you can't, be inconspicuous or get someone else to get you tacos.
If you are some kind of friendless hermit who's also wanted, act like everyone else in the taco place.
If you can't follow these simple steps, just turn your self in and save everyone else the drama.

Predator is probably copyrighted by the copyright owner. Arnold is just Arnold. 

Our Lady of Fast Food Lubricant

This is a rather unfortunate story. A couple driving along the border between a city and its suburb get into an argument over something the young lady saw on the young man's cellular phone.

On a side note, it's somewhat staggering how many relationships die as a result of Facebook and text messages. Granted, if your significant other is spying on your wall and sneaking your cell phone to check its messages, your relationship was probably in trouble anyway. 

Back to the story. This couple got into an argument while driving home and the lady became so upset that she began beating her husband while he was driving. This turned out exactly as you expect, though to a less dramatic degree, and the couple was pulled over by suburban police for driving erratically. When the police realized that the driver wasn't drunk and why he was driving like he was they called for the urban police department for two reasons: 

1.) Police are lazy

2.) Domestic violence cases are a pain in the ass and nobody wants to deal with that. 

So the urban po po show up. They observe two suburb police cars in the parking lot of a fried chicken establishment. The vehicle they pulled over was a Volkswagen Beetle. The new version with the cramped "we're in a rocket capsule going to the moon" cabin. The young man driving this vehicle stood 6'5" and weighed in at a healthy 370 lbs. Naturally the first question was "How did you fit in there?". And just as naturally this was answered with a healthy "Fuck you.". He relates his story and the urban police move on to the lady. This young lady stands about 5'10" and a good 320 lbs. And again, the first question was "How on Earth did you both fit in there? And get your arms up to hit him?" This was met with the exact response you'd expect. "Fuck you.". She relates her story, which mirrors the one above, and is placed under arrest for domestic abuse. 

At this point we need to examine a bit of history. The most commonly envisioned police cruiser is a family sized Ford Crown Victoria, first put into use by various police departments somewhere around 1950. Other common vehicles are Intrepids (which look to me like little flying saucers), Chevy Impalas, and perhaps currently the most widely in use, the Dodge Charger. All of these vehicles are four door sedans, but they are not all built to the same technical specifications. Anyone who's seen a Charger driving down the highway will notice that it's quite a bit larger than an Impala or Intrepid. I can't say I've seen one drive next to a Crown Vic, though I'd bet the Ford would give a good run in the cabin space dept. 

The vehicle that was going to be transporting our young lady was going to be a 2005 Chevy Impala. Without a cage this probably wouldn't be terribly hard if you shoved the passenger seat all the way forward. With a cage there is about 2 feet of clearance to get into the car. The prisoner first tried to enter the car the traditional way, one leg at a time just like pants. This did not work. Then she tried backing in. I know all of you just had that beep you hear when trucks back up playing in your heads and you should know you're horrible people. But that's basically what it was like. It also didn't work. Eventually it was decided that the best way to try and force this fit was to have her enter head first, on her side, and worm in like.... well... a worm. It was the best fit, but she still got stuck. 

In every job there is always that guy who's a complete asshole. Whether he's the guy who jacks your lunch from the break room fridge, or the guy who lets the coffee pot boil tar dregs instead of making a fresh pot when he takes the last cup, it's unavoidable that one day you will work with this person. I suspect that there's some kind of hiring quota every HR department must fill. Or perhaps it's the offices themselves that are haunted by the spirit of soul sucking asshole and some poor chump must be the vessel through which it is channeled. Either way, this guy was there and had some helpful advice as to how to make this prisoner fit in a car. And it wasn't to call for a larger car. Officer Ass runs into the fried chicken establishment (Yay Chekhov's Gun) and returns with whatever cheap fast food industrial equivalent of Crisco they have and proceeds to.... lubricate is the right word.... the inside of the patrol vehicle. Though incredibly pissed off, the prisoner fits, with the assistance of two people pushing and one pulling from either side of the vehicle. 

You should know that cages typically have some kind of grill through which officers can speak with prisoners in the back seat. Most of the cage is steel and plexiglass, but the grill can be iron, plastic, whatever so long as air and sound passes through it. In this case I will only say that trying to drive while fat, squeezed through the grill like Satan's Jello or Play Doh, jiggles in the corner of your eye every time you hit a small bump. 

If you ever spray down a cooking pan with Crisco or Pam or whatever and let it sit you discover that it loses some of it's slippery properties, even on Teflon. It's a minimum 20 minute drive to jail. After trying to explain to an incredulous jail staff that their help is needed to unwedge the prisoner from a vehicle it took a whopping 6 people to get her out. 

Crisco, Teflon, Pam and other proper nouns are owned by their respective owners. 

The Tough Guy

Domestic Violence is a problem, or rather has been a problem, affecting a tremendous number of people within our nation ever since someone realized two people can inhabit one room. Not to slight other nations, or insinuate that no such problem exists abroad, but I have no numbers to back up any opinion I might form about domestic abuse overseas. I do know that here in the US a disproportionate number of arrestees awaiting arraignment are in jail for family violence assault. I also know that the vast majority of these arrests will never make it to court as the victim will decline to pursue charges. However, there is one story I'd like to share as a lesson on how not to build "cred" in prison. Everyone gets hauled into jail with hands behind their backs and metal bracelets on. A select few are rolled in strapped to a dentist chair on wheels, possibly with a mesh "spit bag" over their heads for being a bit... enthusiastic.

Our gentleman was brought in walking, with his hands behind his back and a fresh golf ball on his forehead. Despite what TV and movies will tell you, it is wholly unnecessary and extremely unwise to start any fights, or stab anyone, or whatever else you see on Oz, in order to demonstrate that you're "nobody's bitch". But with the egg on his head, our AP should have been able to convey that he's so bad he had to be knocked out to get dragged in.

In actuality, he was under arrest for assaulting his wife. Specifically, he grabbed her arms and pinned them to her body, thus preventing her from fighting back. Then, with both appendages thus occupied and utterly unaware of the very concept of the term "kick" tries to headbutt her into submission. The human skull, as we all know, is constructed of some pretty thick bone and serves to protect our brains from impact and trauma.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skull

The human face, while also pretty hard in some places (try punching someone in the mouth and enjoy the stitches) contains considerably more holes, soft points, and soft organs than the top of your head. So, as our arrestee smashed his face into the top of his wife's head over and over he did cause her pain. He also knocked himself out. She walked away with a headache and a slam dunk divorce case while he was checked for a concussion and taken to jail where he either had to explain to a judge that he beat his wife so viciously that he knocked himself out, or that he beat her so ineptly that he suffered the most damage. Best case scenario, he goes to the mental hospital for evaluation due to self harm.

How Not to Engage the Mentally Ill.

We begin with some basic word or phrase association. If I asked you to describe something like an Air Force base to me what would come to mind? Now if I asked you to describe a one bedroom apartment to me what would come to mind. Specifically, contrast the size (or acreage) of your typical military base and 400 square foot apartment. With all this in mind, we begin.

A charming lady calls for assistance as there is an American Air Force base in her living room, and it is frightening her cat. Arriving at the location I was unable to find any base, airplanes, or personnel in her living room (which wasn't surprising) nor was I able to locate her cat (which was surprising). While I'm not one to mock or make light of mental illness, there truly isn't anything I can do except try to convince her that there is no such base and the only noises were coming from her television (which she assured me was turned up to drown out the noise of the base). Understandably, she takes offense to my remarks and lectures me about advances in stealth technology which allows the Air Force to undertake such tasks as installing bases in random people's apartments.

With no resolution in sight we suggest that perhaps we can escort our client to a hospital for mental evaluation. She replies by demanding a supervisor. Our supervisor arrives shortly, and having performed at this job for a great deal longer than myself, goes the opposite route and buys wholly into the madness, so to speak. He is able to, in short order, convince our client that he is a high ranking officer and has such power that he will have the entire base dismantled, equipment moved, and personnel reassigned forthwith. He laments, however, that despite his lofty connections and ranking the sheer logistics of moving hundred of people and thousands of tons of equipment and infrastructure will take several days. Three, specifically.

At this news our client, who has reliably called about this problem twice a day for the past week, jumps up and down and even hugs the supervisor. She has not called since. I have been told since this time that this was a dangerous or stupid thing to do, as mental illness isn't a game to the sufferer. I am reminded of one of Murphy's Laws of Combat. "If it's stupid but it works, it's not stupid."