Quit resisting!!

I was at a local high school with a K-9 unit yesterday and was reminded of all the less-than-lethal options we have as police officers these days. Many years ago if an officer encountered a violent suspect there were two options, shoot them or beat them half to death with a baton.

Nobody wants to fight with a suspect but we now have tools to end the fight quickly and it usually prompts a big smile for the officer. Dogs for example, are great for running down suspects and taking them to the ground. And it is really cool to watch. I don't care how fast or strong you are, a 75 pound German Sheppard with the intent to eat your ass out like a lioness on a wildebeest is going to win that encounter.

Then came O.C. or pepper spray. O.C. isn't that much fun during the fight because it often cross-contaminates the officers. The fun part is after the fight and on the way to the jail or hospital. See ten minutes prior to the transport the guy in the back seat fancied himself as a bad ass and threatened to beat down every cop in the area. Now he can't open his eyes, he is having trouble breathing, he has his head stuck as far out the window as he can reach (kinda like a Labrador on a Sunday drive), he is begging for the officer to hurry up and there is a stream of tears and snot streaming from his face like the tail of a kite.

Then we got tasers. Oh shit, you do not want to be lit up with a taser. But it is fun to be the one pulling the trigger. Imagine a dude 6'5", strong as an ox, high as hell and wanting to fight. All we have to do is keep about 10 feet away and decide where exactly we want to shoot him up with electricity. Then let 'em have it. BBBZZZZZZ and he's down, laying in the fetal position, shaking, trying to uncurl his toes while wondering what the hell just happened. One thing is certain, he isn't interested in fighting any more.

Lastly, we got less-lethal rounds that we actually shoot out of a shotgun. Bean bags, rubber and plastic balls, they even make grenades that can be deployed in rooms or rowdy crowds. One of the funniest pursuits I have ever seen was recorded in L.A. Patrol is chasing this guy and he is constantly cussing at them and flipping them off when all of a sudden he stops, jumps out of the car, moons the patrol officers, flips them off and he hauls ass in the car again. This went on for a while and dude stops again. This time he jumps onto the top of the car and is screaming while flipping everyone off again. A Sgt. comes into the picture, jacks a shotgun round into the barrel and points it at the suspect. The suspect is not phased, after all, he had not done anything to warrant deadly force. Oh how unlucky for him. Sgt. blasted this guy in the gut with a bean bag. Needless to say the chase was over and the officers that were infuriated had to be giggling inside when they saw him take the blow to the gut and fall off the car.

Unfortunately for us, we usually one get to use these options once on a suspect. They tend to leave a lasting impression and if a suspect decides a week, month or year later that he wants to show his ass, all we have to do is show up with the same amount of force used on him previously. He got sprayed last time? Ok, just pull out the O.C. can and watch his attitude change.

The Ultimate Bitch

Beware men, there are thieves among us!!

This story is true and I have seen the unfortunate consequences and I still have a hard time believing it. But here it is...

Sam started working for me a couple of months ago after coming home from an 18 month tour in Iraq with the National Guard. I knew Sam before he left, he was a deputy for the sheriff's office. He had a wife, kids, lived next door to his best friend (who had a wife and kids) and was a good-hearted man. Then he went to war.

He ends up in Iraq getting shot at every day, killing people on a regular basis, and gets one phone call a month. He is making good money for a cop from this area, so the focus is to send home some money and make it home alive to get back with his family. He even received shrapnel injuries, got stitched up and was sent back to duty without any leave or even a cup of ice cream.

All is good though for about the first year. He is sending home money and the misses is upgrading furniture and (so he thought) starting a savings account. After about a year he hears that his "loyal" wife is banging his best friend. So he uses his one phone call that month to call and confront his best friend. No good results from that, denial is on the main menu and he is told not to call back.

So Sam does his duty, serves his Country and, after 18 months at war, comes home. He is tired, hungry, confused, (I'm sure horny) and anxious to see his wife, kids and home. He stepped off the plane with two large duffel bags of military clothing and was met by his wife. His wife, a key to a house he didn't know she bought and divorce papers. The divorce papers allowed her a shit load of child support and limited visitation with the kids, but Sam didn't read it, just signed it and prepared to refrain from killing her on the spot.

That in and of itself qualifies her as a bitch but we aren't done. She used power of attorney to qualify for his one and only lifetime, low interest VA loan to buy a house he can never afford to pay for. He gets to the house to find that there is a dirty sock and one chair and no other furniture. The bank account? In the negative, naturally. And guess where she is... his best friend. That's right, he goes to war and she goes next door. She spent every dime he made and/or took it with her, moved the kids more than two hours away to live with his former best friend (who she married only days after the divorce was final) and somehow Sam hasn't choked her to death.

She left him with a house he didn't know he had and can not afford, child support he can't afford to pay, a negative balance in the bank, no furniture, no food, no kids, and she is still trying to get more out of him. Here's the real kicker, she and her family are loaded. Yes, loaded. She doesn't know what it is to "want" something, she gets whatever she asks for.

This bitch is off the chain. She is no gold digger, she already has money. Anna Nicole Smith may be qualified as a gold digger, she was white trash that impressed a very rich and very old dude, that took care fo her for having thick lips and big tits. This bitch here deserves to be carried to the zoo and let the gorillas run a train on her... twice... because she is the biggest bitch and rapist on the planet.

Celebrity shag list

I happened to be at the Country Club yesterday for a bite to eat and a beer or two and see a young couple at the bar. I know the misses and know that she is recently married and get invited to sit with them. It's all good, we have both the NCAA men's tourney on and the final round of the TPC at Sawgrass and we are talking sports.

So I am talking with the hubby and having a great time when a commercial comes on. I don't recall the commercial, but he made a comment to his wife about how good looking the actress was. At that point I was reminded of newlywed life.

I am no Dr. Phil but I know that certain things happen for certain newlyweds. Some folks have pre-nuptial agreements. Others have a celebrity shag list.

If you don't know what shag means you can move to England or get out of the trailer and rent Austin Powers. Anyway, Tasha and I had a celebrity shag list and I asked the couple at the country club if they had one and they did!! Incredible. Not that I made it up or anything, just funny.

Ok, here's the deal... you get married and you have a list of 5 celebrities each, which each of you can lay, without consequence, if the opportunity ever presents itself. Sounds good for the guys. Permission to shag 5 super hot, famous women without consequence. A guy had to have made this up. You have to name the celebs, keep to the list, and that's the deal.

After several months I got to thinking. What are the chances that I ever get to meet a person on my list, and if so, what are the chances I get laid? Nil, nada, zip, zilch, no way in hell. Even if they happen to be passing through, I save them somehow in a life or death situation, there is no way I get laid. Then I think about the wife. What are the chances that, if she lists a music star and he comes to Little Rock, and she is there, that she gets an invite backstage. And if backstage, that she gets what she wants? Pretty damn good.

We are idiots. We create a scenario that we can not possibly benefit from, we just want permission to mess around with a super model. In the meantime, we give our wives permission to bang the first celebrity that they meet. I explained this to the couple and he looked perplexed and called off all bets while she laughed and reluctantly agreed.

At one point I actually tried to alter my list to include local news people. Hey, I figure I can get an interview a few times and maybe win over some interest with a shot later on, but she stomped on it. Celebrity has to be "nationally known", not just state-wide, not Dawn Scott, not Joan Early, blah, blah... guys, abandon the shag list.

Free at last

No, I didn't get parole... I moved out of my parent's house and it felt like a prison break. When I graduated high school we lived overseas. I wrongly assumed that in the upcoming months I would simply pick the college or university I wished to attend and mom and dad would send me off and catch the bills. Florida State was looking pretty good when mom and dad broke the news. They aren't paying for shit. To make matters worse, we are moving to southern California, just outside LA, where I can continue to live with them or fend for myself.

My situation was about to be much worse than I could have imagined. First, if you haven't been to LA, don't go. That part of the Country is the most crime-ridden area I have ever been exposed to and I will never go back. Secondly, I was 18 and a high school graduate that was about to be forced to share a room with my younger brother. What the hell is that all about??? So I am stuck and absolutely miserable. No friends, no money, no way to pay for school and sharing a room with my brother. That's bullshit. I even went to talk to the Air Force recruiter and considered joining until my dad blew a gasket.

So I endured that for several months, worked here and there to save money, started classes at a local community college and the next Christmas flew to College Station, Texas to visit my best friend from high school who had a scholarship to attend A&M. I immediately fell in love with the town and the school. Knowing that more than half the 50,000+ students were girls didn't hurt either. So I vowed to move there. My best friend, Wade, vowed to move out of the dorm and find an apartment off campus for us to live in.

That we did. Dad agreed to drive me and my few possessions to College Station if I saved enough money to help pay for the trip and cover deposits and stuff. I did and Wade sent a broshure from the apartment complex, a map of the city with directions to the residence and a key to the door. The broshure looked wonderful and the pictures were obviously taken immediately after original construction. Wade says our place is in the courtyard facing the pool and that he has accumulated furniture and everything.

So the following Christmas break we take off for Texas. Wade was scheduled to arrive the day after I got there and I was so excited I couldn't sit still. It was the longest trip of my life. We get to College Station and use the map to find the complex. Only, it doesn't look much like the picture on the broshure anymore. It is obviously one of the "more affordable" places in town. But what the hey, better than CA. We find the apartment, which faces the empty swimming pool and try the key to no avail. It fits, it just won't open the damn door. So I kick the door in and we walk into the worse excuse for a bachelor pad I have ever seen. Absoluetly no food but plenty of naked bitches hanging on the walls, recipes for mixed drinks and every brand of alcohol you could imagine.

The place looked ransacked. Drawers left open with clothes on the floor, lamps knocked over, cushions pulled up, it was rediculous. Dad laughed out loud and reminded me that he was leaving in the morning and asked if I wanted to go back home. But I couldn't do that.

The furniture was nasty looking and uncomfortable, the apartment was plain dirty and I knew I would spend many months eating baked beans and Ramon noodles just to survive, but go back home? Not an option. Hey, I was out of the home, free to do whatever I pleased, whenever I pleased and I wasn't going back. We learned to upgrade our furniture every year when the seniors graduated. All the underclassmen would stalk the dumpsters waiting for the seniors to clean their apartments and furniture would be rotated like US currency.

I hope my daughters aren't as anxious as I was when they move out (although it would save a ton on food). For me, it was the most exhilerating experience to be totally responsible for myself. Wade and I would sit on our ragged furniture, hungry as hell, sharing a 6 pack and just smile and toast each other saying "free at last, free at last". You would have thought we were abused or deprived children the way we acted.

World record

If you don't fish, don't read this because you won't get the point. The largemouth bass is the most often fished quarry in every lake across America. The world record, which has stood for decades, is about 22 1/4 pounds. Many thought it would never be broken.

A guy fishing a small lake in San Diego County caught a fish that would have shattered the world record Monday morning. He sees the fish on a bed getting ready to spawn, pitches a jig and hooks her under the mouth near the gill plate. There are witnesses on the boat and on a nearby dock. Once the fish was landed, they go to the dock to weigh the fish.

If this fish is a new world record it is worth at least $1 million in advertising and endorsements. They see that the fish is not hooked in the mouth and assume it nullifies a legal catch. So they video the weighing of the fish on a digital scale, see that she weighs over 25 pounds and release her. Yes, release her.

Because she wasn't hooked in the mouth? Shit, I could pass a polygraph if I needed to. That's a legal catch if I hang her and the last place she is going is back in the lake, right after the Game and Fish Commission come get her, measure her, weigh her on certified scales and notify the World that I am the man.

What did I catch her on? Let you know tomorrow, right after I call the manufacturers of the clothes and shoes I was wearing at the time, the sunglasses, the sunscreen, the ball cap, the pliers I had on my side, the boat I may have been fishing out of, powered by the trolling motor and big motor on the boat, guided by the electronics, using a certain rod, reel, line, hook, weight, lure and attractant (which came out of a sturdy tackle box), and landed her in a certain brand of trusty net while smoking a brand of cigarettes and drinking a beer.

Every fisherman's quest is for the big one. A world record is epidemic and the last thing you do is just let her go on a technicality, what a dumb ass!!

Chiggers

If you live in the South you know what a chigger is. When I moved to Arkansas I had no idea what a chigger was. I had heard the word "chigger" before, a card-carrying redneck friend of mine in Texas had a dog named Chigger and I thought it was a play on a racial slur. I learned different.

We move to Arkansas and I am brand new to patrol and my field training officer and I are asked to assist with an 18-wheeler that got lost and ran off a small county road just out of town. Cool, we get to leave the city, explore new frontiers and mock a dumb ass truck driver that left the highway and is stuck on a road he had no business on. Yeah, it was cool... the truck is off the road, stuck in a shallow ditch and I am taking it all in. I walked all around the truck, just looking at it, all in the ditch and in the nearby woods, just to look at it.

An hour or so later we finish up and it's back to business. No problems at that point; I get off, go home and get ready for bed. I get out of the shower and am itching my ass off!!! My legs are absolutely covered in little red dots, from the top of my boots to the bottom of my underwear line. They itched worse than anything I have ever experienced. "What the hell is that?", I ponder. I am ready to cut my legs off. Sleep is not even an option at that point, I just wonder what it is. What did I catch? And where?

The next morning I show up for work, keeping quiet about my condition, and see that my FTO is scratching like he had Lotto tickets in his pants. "What's the problem?", I asked. "Chiggers". "What are chiggers?". Everyone in the room looked at me like I was smoking crack.

Chiggers are little bitty insects, barely visible with the naked eye, and they love to bite you. I was informed about chiggers and drove straight to Wal Mart to buy every anti-chigger-itch product they had, which did little good.

I now know that chiggers are among the smallest biting insects in this part of the Country, and the most annoying. Other insect bites itch, like mosquito bites and tick bites, but there is no comparison to a chigger. Comparing a chigger bite to a mosquito bite is like comparing shampoo in your eyes to pepper spray. No comparison. Starting when the temperature reaches 75 degrees and throughout the summer and fall months I put on anti-insect spray as regular as I do deodorant.

Lawn mower man

I got ribbed over this incident for months, it even made State news for a few days and I didn't think I would ever live it down.

Early in my illustrious career I got dispatched to an accident. Someone on a riding lawn mower had hit a vehicle on a residential street. What? How does that happen? I arrived and saw that a guy was actually mowing the yard when he drove straight off the curb and into the street, where he T-boned a passing car. It didn't take long for me to figure out what happened, the son of a bitch was drunk and forgot to turn or forgot to hit the brake. So he mowed over the curb and hit the only car that would have been passing by that hour. What are the chances?

Anyway, he is obviously drunk and I asked how much he had been drinking and he denies it but admits to rinsing his mouth with an alcohol-based mouth wash. His alibi was weak and when his wife arrived home she laughed and said he had been drinking all day.

I am not opposed to drinking and mowing, I do it myself almost every time I mow. I get on the mower, it's 102 with 80% humidity outside, it's a big ass yard, I want to drink a beer. I think someone with John Deere needs to get on the ball to be honest with you. If I worked there we would all have a riding mower with a built in cooler, ashtray and cup holder that would accommodate a bottle or can. I could have revolutionized the mowing industry.

Anyway, back to the story... he's drunk and a report has to be made so the victim can get his car fixed. The report specifically asks if alcohol is a factor and if so, how intoxicated was the driver. He wasn't driving a car but the report asks questions I have to be able to answer. I called the shift supervisor, explained the scenario and it was decided to take him for a breath test and if he registered high to charge him DWI. Hey, what other choice did I have?

So I end up charging a guy DWI for mowing while intoxicated. I didn't have him held in jail or post a bond or anything stupid, but it was a matter of public record that this guy hit a car while his drunk ass was trying to mow the yard. Luckily it worked out for him in court and eventually my co-workers forgot about it and left me alone.

Let the big fans blow

Several summers ago I was at the lake and talking with a local Deputy at one of the larger and more popular boat ramps. Boats were steadily coming and going and it doesn't take long to figure out who knows what they are doing and who doesn't. It takes a little practice and time with a particular boat to know how to tow it, how to back it, how to launch the boat and how to load the boat.

Enter "ski daddy" and "hot mamma". A truck arrives pulling a brand new looking ski boat. Very nice, clean, powerful boat. They attempted to back that boat down the ramp and into the water for nearly 20 minutes. That was entertaining enough to keep our attention until they were out of sight, which we knew would be a while.

They finally got the boat backed in, figured out how to get into the boat once it was in the water (also entertaining) and then they were faced with starting and maneuvering the boat off the trailer. Ok, the boat is running, the trailer is parked, ski daddy pulls a groin trying to hold the boat from hitting the ramp and steps while being picked up at shore by hot mamma, and the trip was on.

The trip lasted 50 yards. They idled just past the No Wake buoys and threw the boat in neutral. Dude throws on a vest, attaches a tow rope, tosses a couple of skis off the side of the boat and in he goes. Surely not. They have obviously never been in this boat, if any boat and they plan to ski? Without even learning the boat and controls? It took him 10 more minutes to get the skis on.

Anyway, they have been at the lake for nearly an hour and are still at the ramp. He is in the lake, skis on, grasping the tow rope and talking to his wife just off the rear deck. He is about 5 feet away from the back of the boat with all the tow rope bundled up between he and the boat when his wife jumps with joy and runs to the console. What happened next was questionably the funniest and scariest thing I have ever seen.

The wife, "you ready ski daddy". The reply, "let the big fans blow hot mamma". And she did. She floors it, full throttle. About the time the boat planed out ski daddy realizes that there was 50 feet of tow rope being jerked out of the lake in front of him at an alarming rate. They should have had the rope taught before going all out. But they didn't and by the time he realized it, it was too late.

She jerked his ass out of the lake like a missile being fired from a rocket-launcher. I don't know how far he flew before crashing into the lake only to be drug for several yards before letting go, but he had no skis, could barely breathe and needed to be rescued. He suffered from at least one dislocated arm and drank quite a bit of lake. Otherwise, I guess he was ok. I don't imagine he has been called ski daddy since.

Love thy new neighbor too

Tasha and the girls live in a pretty rural area and have a really nice house on a decent spread of land. Her house, the house across the street, the houses behind her and to her left are also quite nice and all have good acreage. Then there's Butch and the boys.

Butch and his sons (and usually 4 or 5 friends) live to her right. What a shit hole of a place. Imagine the ultimate Arkansas mobile home joke and that is exactly what lives next door. The house is a single-wide with some half-assed addition in the front. Trash is more predominant than grass (which never gets mowed) and there are always broke down cars and car parts scattered around the house.

The pride and joy of the whole place is a picnic table that sits under a tin-roofed, free-standing cover equipped with a burn barrel and can barrel. Oh boy, that helps the property value. During warm weather Butch wakes up, heads for the picnic table and stays there all day long drinking beer and visiting with friends. His boys seem to sleep all day, as they usually show themselves late in the afternoon and spend most of the night sitting outside or trying to work on a car.

It's an eye-sore and they are totally unproductive, but they are ignorant and tend to piss me off. First, the boys like loud music very late at night. I don't, especially when I am trying to sleep, so we have had a spat about it. At 11:00 p.m. you should not be shaking the windows in the neighbor's homes with the bass in your 88 Caprice. I took it upon myself to walk over there and inform them of that. I think they got the point.

They also have dogs. Not the same dogs, they just always seem to have a pack of dogs. It's weird... they will have 3 or 4 and after a few months, no dogs for a week or so, then a new pack of dogs. Tasha thinks they are eating them. I think the dogs can only go so long without being fed and living in those conditions and they think, "fuck it, I'm outta here". But who knows?

The dogs have a tendency to prefer Tasha's yard to shit in and her trash to eat out of. We have pelted their dogs with rocks, chased them off verbally, even shot several in the ass with a BB gun, but they don't get the message. One in particular was annoying, I caught him on the front porch with no way out except past me. I kicked that dog in the nuts so hard he ran half way down the drive on only his front feet.

Now I hear Butch is slinging weed. They don't know me or what I do for a living... yet. I plan to sick my boys on them and, if we're lucky, can lock their dumb asses up, or at least get them evicted. May the Dope God be with us.

Love thy neighbor

Tasha and I have lived together (and apart) in two States and in a plethora of properties. Over the years we have been pretty fortunate with regards to neighbors. A good neighbor is a large contributing factor to determine happiness at home.

When we first married we moved into a cul-de-sac of duplexes in a suburban area of town. Pretty nice place; roomy, usually quiet, the other half of our duplex remained unoccupied, and it had a fenced back yard. Then we got new neighbors in the next duplex... college kids.

When they moved in I had a Rottweiler named Caesar. He was probably one of the largest and strongest dogs of his kind on the planet. These guys move in next door and see that our back yards are separated by a 4 foot tall chain-linked fence. I'm not sure what set them off, but these guys would constantly provoke the dog and throw shit at him. They even threw a dog over the fence to fight Caesar. That was a bad idea, Caesar nearly killed it before I figured out what was going on and called him off. These guys were major pains in the ass and ultimately made Caesar mean and very aggressive towards strangers.

It wasn't just the dog or just them. They would throw huge college parties (which I was not opposed to) but they too would mess with the dog, throw shit in the yard, be loud until ridiculous hours of the night and the only pleasure I got was catching a drunk peeing at the fence. See Caesar would attack on command. Ever see a drunk peeing at a chain-linked fence when, all of a sudden out of the darkness, a 200 pound Rott is a foot from his peepee trying to attack? That is some funny shit. I saw so many guys piss on themselves while falling backwards I couldn't even count them up.

One morning we got off work at 7am and my best friend and I decide to sit outside at the front door, drinking scotch and 7 with Michelob, and toast everyone leaving the cul-de-sac for work. Then the neighbors decide to leave for class (I guess). One decides he is going to spin out across the front yards, including my front yard, and hit the road from my driveway spinning tires. He managed to rut the hell out of my front yard and dodge a Michelob bottle I hurled at him.

They eventually got evicted and had to move out. I noticed they were trying to move, one truck-load at a time, and happened to be gone when the landlord showed up. He asked me if I had seen them and I explained that they appeared to be moving out. He changed the locks, stated that they were behind on rent and he planned to keep whatever was left in the house. I asked what he planned to do with the property and he said he would trash it, give it away, didn't care... he didn't want it, just wanted to deprive them of it. I asked about the items left outside and he said take what you want.

The landlord left and I checked out what was left on the patio in the back yard. Score!! A nice aquarium and stand with the filters and all the fixins. I called a friend that was wanting one, told him to come immediately, which he did and we loaded him up.

Later that afternoon the assholes returned to find they were locked out and the aquarium was gone. They didn't seem too upset about the furniture in the house, but pretty pissed about the aquarium missing. Ha Ha, that's what you get. Assholes.

Parenting 101

Parenting is the hardest job on the planet, bar none. I would do a season harvesting crab (the deadliest job on the planet) if it would guarantee a year of easy parenting. But you can't do that, you have to suck it up and deal with the hardships and lectures, and discipline, and school, and their friends, and friends parents, and, etc. etc. But some decisions should be easy, gimmies.

Check this out. I have talked about my secretary before (and I think Mike got a relief of overtime at the house... or maybe she just isn't telling me) but she has a sister we will call Nessa. Nessa looks absolutely nothing like her sister and has a daughter that is very young and attractive and looks absolutely nothing like Nessa or her dad. I'm not trying to insinuate, well, maybe I am... but the point is that she has a daughter.

I met Nessa and her daughter when she was about 17. She was in school, doing VERY well and heart-broken over a break-up with her boyfriend. The next I heard of Nessa'a daughter, she had dropped out of high school and was dating a gang banging crack dealer. What the hell? Nessa knew it! Nessa didn't stop it, didn't intervene, maybe she knew her daughter was smarter than her and was intimidated. I don't know.

So eventually the crack dealer beat her ass, she moved back home, finished school, got a job and planned on college. I talked to this girl several times, mostly to scare her straight, but did a lot for her. And was happy that she was on the right path. Or so I thought.

A few months pass and she has a new boyfriend. Her new choice of man sells marijuana, methamphetamine and carries weapons everywhere he goes. That's a good choice! Moving on up in the dope world. Nessa knows it and didn't do shit to deter or stop it. In fact, let her move in with him and his mom. His mom is even worse! She cooks and sells dope herself, is on parole and has charges pending.

I am baffled. How does a parent, who is supposed to be doing the right thing, allow a daughter to do this without being held hostage in a house for as long as it takes to make her get the concept of living right? I learned that is a stupid question. And should have seen it coming, being a seasoned officer and all.

Quote Chris Rock..."mama's fucking fault!" Nessa smoked weed with her daughter for her 16th birthday. Parenting 101... you DO NOT smoke weed with your juvenile child. You don't drink with your juvenile child, you DO NOT endorse anything illegal or addictive with your child. I don't care what your thoughts are about weed, you should not, ever, ever, condone your child using drugs, any drugs.

So I have washed my hands of Nessa and her daughter. I will be nice, I will say hello and hug if I have to, and I will prosecute both of them if given the opportunity.

The worst beating I ever took

It wasn't from mom or dad, it was from a gigantic kid in junior high school. For some reason I fought a lot in junior high and middle school. I'm not sure why, I wasn't a big kid at all or much of a bully or anything, just fought a lot.

My primary target was a kid in my class named Silver. He always picked the fight and I always beat the piss out of him. I can't figure out why he kept coming back for more, but he did for years and in the 8th grade he quit and we left each other alone.

Sean was a friend of Silver's and I didn't really like him either, but I never beat him up (well once, we'll get to that in a minute). So Sean started dating a girl friend of mine and I wrote her a letter during class one day (naturally) to tell her I didn't like Sean and she needed to break up with him. Sean got mad and he and Silver wanted to beat me up, but couldn't, so they devised a plan.

They took the letter, erased three or so sentences from the middle of it and re-wrote it. They wrote that I wasn't afraid of John Paul, called him a creative list of racial slurs and finally said that I wanted to kick John Paul's ass.

John Paul was about 4 years older than all the rest of us in 8th grade. He had been expelled 4 years in a row for fighting. He loved to fight, and rightfully so... he was freaking huge!! A gigantic, muscled up black dude that couldn't read or write.

Since he couldn't read or write he didn't notice that the original sentences had been erased, the handwriting was totally different and the text had nothing to do with what was been said before and after Sean and Silver's alterations. So John Paul is pissed and his mission is to beat me to a pulp before the end of the day.

Word spreads fast in 8th grade and I knew of the pending beating. So I slip out of library 5 minutes early to make a run for it. My goal is to get off campus and to a friend's house nearby. Didn't work, got caught by a teacher, had to wait for the final bell and the race was on. Not only was he much stronger but also faster. He caught me just off campus.

I tried to explain that I had not written the things he was read but he wasn't interested in talking. He hit me so fast and so hard it knocked me down. It didn't stop with one punch, hell it didn't stop with twenty punches. I managed to block a few kicks and keep him from hitting me in the face, but I never got off a punch and spent most of the "fight" picking myself off the ground. He kicked my ass. Finally, my Japanese buddy got home and summoned his older brother. John Paul and the hundred or so watching the tragic event thought he was Bruce Lee and ran off.

I got in trouble for getting home later after school. That's just wrong. I told my mom I was busy getting my ass kicked and she didn't care, she was just mad I was late. I would have loved to have been home on time but I don't think telling John Paul that I "didn't have time for his silliness because I would be late and mom would be mad", would have changed anything.

Three days later we are all back in school, the swelling about my head had gone down some and somebody tells John Paul that I had not written what he was told. Silver was the culprit. Oh, sweet justice, now John Paul has a new mission... beat Silver to a pulp by the end of the day. I watched the entire event unfold before my eyes.

School is about to end and every student in 8th grade is anxious to watch Mini Mike Tyson hammer on Silver. Silver is in the gym on the opposite side of campus. I suppose he got released from class just before the final bell to go to the office and seek refuge. He is dashing at full speed when, all of a sudden, here comes John Paul out an open window in a classroom. I couldn't believe it. He saw his pray attempting to escape and jumped out a window to pursue him. It was great! I joined the chase, not to catch anyone, just to have front row seats. John Paul caught him just inside the office doors. John Paul hit him more times in ten seconds than he hit me throughout our incident, which felt like it lasted ten minutes. He also hit the assistant principle and got expelled again. But Silver was bloody, crying like a two-year-old and justice had been served. At least for Silver.

Sean returned to school the next day to learn that John Paul was expelled and not able to kick his ass, so I took on the chore. I accidentally ran in to him (literally) a few blocks from school in the middle of a street. He didn't get hit as hard or as often as I had, but I definitely laid it to him. I don't remember seeing or talking to either of them for the rest of the school year and my girl friend? She dropped his sorry ass after the whole affair was over so I was happy in the end.

Katrina relief, in my perspective

Hurricane Katrina devastated most of the southern coast around Texas and Louisiana, and a lot has been televised about New Orleans and all the people that have been displaced. Let me tell you something...

The hurricane was coming and it was bad, so get out if you can. All the people with insurance, all the people with a ride and/or money to buy motel rooms, left and left the coast quick. Then the storm hit. The thugs, the crackheads, the thieves, the prostitutes, all the bullshit was left behind.

After the storm, the Government felt obligated to house these people. The Super Dome is the only option and sounds good until little girls start getting raped. People are killing each other, it's anarchy, and so we (the Government) decide to transport all these these people elsewhere.

Busses are full of shit that you don't want in you city; thugs, crackheads, bad asses, and they are coming to your town to receive free room and board, free food and a gift card. Yes, a gift card for $500 to do whatever they wish. Buy clothes and food? No. How about diapers or a new TV? Nope. They are buying bling. How about a $480 necklace or a new pistol? Has the government lost their minds?

This is bullshit. I have a snitch that was displaced and she/he is mad because all the gov money is gone and she/he doesn't have anything left to trade for dope. And she/he doesn't want to be a snitch, she/he doesn't have much choice.

How much money went to the tax-payer that got displaced and had insurance? I think none. The gov leaves that up to insurance, which means we pay more. FEMA is paying hundreds of thousands of dollars for people to guard empty buildings, bordering states have to handle the displaced "victims" and all the "good" people are faced with higher deductibles.

Um, yeah I got a roach

Another patrol story that I wasn't even involved with but is absolutely horrific. I came in one morning for day shift. Day shift shows up about 4:30 a.m. (which is bullshit) and we are getting briefed on what happened the night before. So Sarge says they got a 9-1-1 call to one of the project complexes and a woman had a roach in her ear. I heard, a roach on her ear. Like a marijuana roach, a little weed, cool but who calls 9-1-1 for that and what's the story?

Sarge is looking at me and laughing his ass off as I sit there a bit perplexed, a lot tired and pretty confused. I misunderstood. A woman had a roach, a cockroach IN her ear. I didn't believe it, you can't believe it. How do you lure a roach into your ear?

So he plays the 9-1-1 recording. It's like 3:30 in the morning and at first it's a guy who is drunk off his ass. He calls, dispatch picks up, he is absolutely hysterical and you can barely make out what he is desperately trying to say. He is yelling, slurring, trying unsuccessfully to annunciate ambulance and the only thing that is for sure is that a roach is involved. Dispatch is confused and can't make out what the problem is so he passes the phone.

A very calm woman gets on the phone. She is not at all excited, not hysterical, not drunk, and very deliberate. "Um, yeah I have had this roach up in my ear for about 3 days now". Holy shit!! This woman has had a live cockroach in her ear canal for 3 days!!! No way. Ok, first... how do you tolerate a cockroach in your ear for more than 3 seconds? 3 days? I would have cut my own head off after 30 seconds.

Then I wonder... how do come to have a roach in your ear? They typically run from people, not hide in them. Was it on the pillow and someone turned the lights on? The ear must have been the first, closest, dark place to hide. Maybe it was on the pillow and she rolled over in her sleep really quickly. Hell, I don't know, maybe the roach had an ear wax fetish. Regardless, this woman managed to handle her daily routine for 3 days with a live roach in her ear. UUUUGGGHHHH!

So, if this ever happens to you, you are nasty and you need to clean up. But you can free the roach by spraying water or another liquid solution into your ear to flush out the bug.

My favorite undercover story

Brandon and I load up with a bunch of paraphernalia, money and beer and set out to buy some crack. In the particular part of town we are going to, it isn't hard to do. There is a half block area known only as "Crack Alley". At the time, you literally could not get within a block and stop your car without being flogged by crackheads wanting to pick some up for you.

So we go and talk to, like the leader of the pack or the crackhead's tribal chief for the area. He recruits an addict on a bicycle to service us. Quick point, if you see a crackhead on a bike, that bike is stolen and that's all there is to it. Anyway, the addict loads up, we give him some money, drive him across town, he gets the dope and brings it back for us, the deal is done and he is penitentiary bound, so we take him back to the alley and his bike. We told him that if the product was good we would be back later for a larger amount and a female (prostitute) if one was available. He agrees so we leave.

We don't really want to be with a crack whore, we are looking for another case. So we stay gone a while and return. Same addict, same alley, same bike, same deal. He gets the money from us and goes to get the dope but doesn't return. That son of a bitch ripped us off. We tried to find him afoot to confront him, play the role, threaten to beat him down and all that but never found him. So we go back to the alley to talk with the chief.

He greets us only to find that we are pissed off. His man ripped us and we were regular customers at that point. Being a good business manager, he quickly attempts to recover to maintain business. He first tries to cover for his boy. "Maybe he thought you all were the Police". We didn't miss a beat. Out of the SUV and straight to the bike that jackass was riding. "What are you doing", asked the chief. We are stealing his bike to take it down the road and sell it to get our money back.

At this point there is no question... no way we are cops and we are still pissed. So fortunately for the manager, a dope ho is walking down the alley. He actually had a look on his face like he caught a break and is aimed to please us. How funny is that? "Still looking for a female?" Yes we are. "Ok, hold on a sec". He hit her up and she was game without an ounce of hesitation. So we load her up and off we go.

The deal... She will buy and deliver to us any kind and any amount of dope we want. She gets $20 worth of the dope and we both get sex from her after the fact. Hell of a deal I thought. Our first stop drew a blank, the dealer was gone to reconcile his stash. So we go to stop #2, a gimme. No doubt she was going to score. So while she is going to get the dope I child-locked her door and talked with the surveillance team.

The plan... Get the dope from her, keep her preoccupied and drive her straight to jail, where the surveillance team will jump out of the bushes and from behind parked cars and nab her. After all, I am not going to sleep with this bitch and I don't know who she is. Good plan.

She returned with the dope, gave us ours and we are on our way. Brandon asked if she had her share of the dope and she did. He asked what we were going to get for that $20 worth. Suck, fuck, whatever you want. Brandon asked, both of us? Yeah. At the same time? That bitch said, "Hell I aint no whore". I almost fell out of the vehicle. Are you kidding me? Two guys you don't know, all the way with both, for $20 worth of dope. No, you are worse than your typical whore. Most self-respecting whores would get $40 a person.

So we drove her to the station, where officers decended down upon her like she was the only female in a bar full of drunken sailors. We took her $20 worth of dope, charged her with delivery and solicitation of prostitution, and I assume, left her dumb ass horny (Cause we are some good looking guys, lol).

Tornado day

March the 1st marked the 9th anniversary of the strongest line of tornadoes to ever hit Arkansas. Unfortunately, Arkadelphia was the first (and one of the hardest hit) areas to receive tragedy that day. I was on duty and in a patrol car that day.

It was at the end of the shift and I was gassing up with our Lt. and another officer. All of a sudden the emergency management officer (who is NEVER on our radio frequency) is not only on our frequency but screaming franticly. I couldn't even make out what he was saying. But dispatch did. The tornado sirens, which we were standing at the base of, turned on and sounded off. Holy shit those things are loud!!

I asked what was going on. "A tornado is coming", "blah, blah blah blah, blah blah". Tornado? I never lived in a tornado zone before so I am wondering, "what do we do?". Then I hear what we're supposed to do. "Spread out, go find it".

Go find it? Go find it and do what? Last I knew they don't stop for blue lights and a siren. What do we do when we find it? I'm thinking go hide and see if it finds me. That sounded much more reasonable but I wasn't in charge. So now I'm recalling the tornadoes I had seen on Discovery Channel... tall, thin, spinning, tearing shit up and throwing it around, pretty obvious, and always clearly seen. So I decide to go south. There is a long straight stretch of highway there surrounded by open fields. I would see it coming for miles. So I go south, down this highway with a deep ditch on either side, and decide to set up on a high culvert over one of the ditches (which are both over flowing with water from the down pour of rain).

I couldn't see shit. The wind was unreal and the rain so hard that super-fast on the wipers wasn't close to fast enough. I see down the road and across the open field a very low, very dark wall of clouds approaching. The closer it got, the stronger the wind. VERY strong. At one point the car is being pushed across the culvert towards the ditch full of water. If I am pushed in I will likely be pinned, upside down, in my car. Like a good cop, I pull my gun ready to shoot my way out of the vehicle if necessary.

The wall of clouds ended up being the tornado. Never saw that on Discovery. It ripped through a portion of town destroying almost everything in it's 1/2 mile wide path. And when it was gone, everything was gone... no wind, no rain, and the sun came out. Eerie in and of itself, but I had to return to town.

I had driven through this part of town almost every day for a year. Hell, I drove through that part of town 20 minutes earlier (which felt like 10 seconds) going to look for the tornado. People that frequently drive certain routes unconsciously learn what to expect. Example; I know what to expect after every curve in the road driving north. After the next curve there's a house on the left, then an open pasture. On the right a bunch of junk piled around a mobile home, then a church, then a few houses, then a plot of pine trees. In this case, driving through downtown, in one half block of the route, I know there are no sidewalks, I can't stop or park, there are two-story buildings on either side, so it is always dark, and I expect to see that before I even make the turn. Everyone does this without even knowing it and you may catch yourself looking twice whenever someone starts a new build or remodel.

Anyway, I return to downtown after the tornado. Well, I try to get back to downtown. Forget the roads, they are covered up with debris and utilities, we are driving through lots that houses used to be at, driving through lawns of wrecked houses and ultimately running on foot to get there.

Everyone that has any sense of help is in a state of shock and urgency. Everything you have gotten used to seeing on a particular corner is gone. Imagine cutting out a section of town; the houses, businesses, trees and plants, utility services, parking lots and cars, street signs, everything.. and put it into a blender with the lid off and hit puree for 3 minutes. It is absolutely unbelievable and cannot be accurately depicted on paper or by photos.

So I get to the area of town most affected and , well after the fact, realize that there are very different personality types. Some people simply cannot handle it, just cry and scream and have no control. Most are very concerned and do whatever it takes to help (thank you all) and the effort was very impressive and very assuring that people have a natural instinct to help. And then you have the thugs. Fucking crackheads and sorry ass people that don't have shit and they are the ones on the run, pilfering and looting, digging around businesses and homes that they assume were vacant. It was a very sorry sight to see. It was like salt in an open wound.

The purpose of this blog site is not just to be funny, it is to recall life experiences and evoke emotion every now and then. I guess the point is that this experience helped me to define what I do for a living and who I am and what I care about. I know it did the same for many "common" citizens. I hope it does the same for you. And if another tornado comes you will likely find me in a bank safe or walk-in cooler at a convenience store. Hey, I want to be around either a lot of money or a lot of junk food and soda.

You're not Rodney King, shut up

I was reminded of this incident the other day. I stopped a young guy, 18 or 19 one night while working patrol. I walked up to the driver's door and asked the driver to roll down the window. He did and out of the car arose the sweet stench of weed burning. Oh yeah, I'm about to get me some dope. Moreso, he left his double-barreled pipe in plain view on the hump between the driver and front passenger.

So I ask the guy out of the car and he complies. I tell him I smell weed, he agrees. I tell him I'm about to search he and his car and he tells what all he has and where it's at. He was very polite, soft and well spoken, obviously cooperative (for a change), and having seized all of his dope and paraphernalia we were off to jail.

We get to the jail and the booking process goes well. Again, no problems at all out of the kid. So then he asks for a phone call to let his mom know what happened. Ok course. I pass the phone and continue writing out tickets. He gets mom on the phone and in an instant transforms from the polite and well-spoken kid to a lieing ass thug from the projects.

"Hey, momma... you need to get down here to the jail right now. The Police done picked me up on some bullshit charges. Yeah, they done beat my ass!! They was hitting me in the head, slammed the car door on my legs..." He was yelling and waving his arms around. Very believable, but I am standing right there. I couldn't believe it. I get around to him and tell him he can't lie to his mother like that. His response, "man it's ok, you know how it is".

No, I don't know how it is. And then he went into phase 2. "Momma, come get me out, they bout to beat me again." I tell him he had better quit. He doesn't. "They done threw me on the car, beat me in the head, slammed the door on me, towed my shit and now gonna trump up some charges on me".

At that point I felt like beating his ass. Instead I hung up the phone and told him how sorry he was for saying all that, documented that he was compliant and had no injuries and went on about my business.

The mad shitter

To kick off a week of blogs about the job, I start with one of the most unbelievable actions ever taken by a police officer.

Quick overview... this guy gets assigned to the task force and is most likely gay and most definitely a freaking idiot. He was constantly doing things wrong, violating policy and a civil right here and there. Just impossible to supervise and train (this was before my tenure as Director) and the Director just let him run free. Probably why he isn't the Director any more.

So supercop gets a search warrant for a place that is supposed to have a meth lab and a bunch of dope. He goes to the place with a couple of road deputies and no one appears to be home. So he calls for us to come help with the search. We arrive and learn that the dope cook was in the woods hunting off a 4 wheeler and showed up only to be arrested and hauled off. Supercop has already kicked the door in and started searching.

The place is unbelievably nice. I mean very clean, new furniture, game room with a pool table, food in the cabinets, the dishes done, the laundry put away neatly, and (for the only time in my career) a huge meth lab with no Confederate flag hanging in the yard and sex toys laying around the bedroom floor.

We find the lab and the dope and leave to carry out the rest of our business. The lady that lives there wrote a formal complaint about the way the property was left. Now we don't pick up after ourselves. If we move something while searching and we have found dope, you are going to have some cleaning up to do when we are done. Most people don't realize that we have moved anything because the house was trashed when we got there. So I wasn't all that surprised that this lady complained. That is until I read the complaint.

She alleged that we looked at all her pictures of herself naked and left them laying around the bedroom. That's true, freak. She alleged we drank all her beer and left the cans in the floor. Not true, the beer cans came out of her trash can, the same can nearly $350 worth of dope was in. And we looked, she only had two beers left when we got there, wasn't worth the effort. And finally, she alleged that someone shit in her bathroom trash can and wiped with the shower curtain, towels and other linen in the cabinets. Come on now, that's absurd.

Or so I thought. Supercop admits to the allegation a week later. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe that he shit himself in the first place. I mean what happened? The guy with the gun scared you, you kicked the door too hard, you got sick? What makes you shit yourself? Then he goes in the house and tries to tidy himself up. You have to be kidding me. Make an excuse, leave the property, go home to shower and change, then come back to work. Nope, he goes to the bathroom, pulls down his pants, cuts out his underwear, and in an attempt to hide them from us places his shitty underwear under the trash can liner. Left the trash can in the bathroom. Did he think they would never be found there? So he cleans himself up. I'm sure there was paper in there, why use the shower curtain and linens? Then he TELLS it. He told off on himself. What a dumb ass.

I hope it never happens but I promise you this... If I ever shit my pants the only way I get caught is if someone is there to smell or maybe hear it and sees the confused, guilty expression on my face. Because I am getting the hell out of there and taking the evidence with me. And don't expect me to tell it, oh, hell no. That's my little secret for life.

Camping, Day 2

I will never tent camp again, so it's time to camp and I am on the prowl for a camper. I have a friend that just bought a used camper, which is "nice" and "clean" and he says, "come get it any time". I am in a bind. Tasha is hell-bent on camping and I am not sleeping in a tent. So I hit up my buddy. "Hell ya, come get it... we'll set it up and everything for you".

That's a friend. So I agree and show up to pick up the camper. No safety chains, no trailer lights, and I have to drag this thing to the lake. I was a nervous wreck. So we go to the lake, find a spot, get it parked, and there's a trick to rig the lights and everything work. So my buddy tells me his wife will "rig" the camper so everything will work. Apparently McGyver set this thing up.

The kids, wife and I show up the next day and there is a conglomeration of redneck bullshit going on that we just could not tolerate. Football string lights? Anyway, we have a camper so lets camp! 86 the lights and the chicken-pattern tablecloth, good to go.

The lights in the camper will not turn on. I have no idea what's wrong. But who cares? We are there to swim, cook, burn wood, have a good time, drink beer, and just sleep in the camper, so I don't care that the lights don't work.

Imagine this... been swimming all day, eating, drinking, tending to a fire, playing dominoes, and at the end of the day we are VERY tired, I am full of beer, and it's time for bed. So we go to the camper (the camper with no lights). Everyone settles in, the kids are asleep and it's our turn. Tasha lays down, everything is cool, then I lay down. The bed collapses and is laying at a 45 degree angle. I stumbled around for several minutes trying to fix it, but I can't see, and had a few too many beers, so I decide to sleep that way.

3am... I have to piss. HAVE to piss, not in a minute or two, I have to go. I go to the door and there is no door knob on the inside. Can you believe that? I push on the door, no results. I bang on the door, push forcefully at the knob, I am still locked in. I am kicking the door like I am serving a search warrant, bent it all to hell, and the kids are sitting straight up crying wondering who is trying to get into the camper when I am actually trying to escape. The door finally gave and I made two steps into the camp area before I was peeing.

The kids settled down, went to sleep, I finished peeing and on to the next day. New rules are... have everything in the camper and in order before dark and have a light handy, oh and don't close the door all the way. But we did. The next day, just before dark, we are in the camper and someone (probably me) closed the door. I pushed, I pryed, I kicked the shit out of it and eventually realized an escape hatch in one of the front windows. So I kick out one of the kids and she freed us from the camper.

The next time I camp I will have a camper, my own camper, with lights, a level bed and a door I can open.

Camping, Day 1

From the moment we moved to Arkansas Tasha hounded me to go camping. We didn't have a camper or a tent, so the answer is no. She says we can borrow a tent from her parents. This tent has been out of circulation for years and, more importantly, I am not sleeping on the ground in a camping area when I can sleep at home.

We literally live 5 minutes from the lake and camping area. Let's go swim, bask in the sun, build a fire, cook on the grill, do the fun part and go home to sleep. We can get up early and go right back. I can sleep in my bed, shit in my bathroom and take a shower without wearing flip-flops and without being bit by a snake. Isn't that ideal?

No... we have to stay the night to be "camping" so we try mom and dad's tent (it leaks) and buy a tent and blow-up mattresses for comfort. That's funny. Comfort? Have you been to Arkansas in the summer? It is NOT a dry heat. The humidity is so bad you can literally sweat through a pair of clothes checking mail.

Ok, here we go... tent-camping. After the tent is finally up and secure, Tasha unloads the supplies. We brought half the kitchen and apparently all the linen. Maybe we brought all the kitchen and half the linen. Anyway, everything is cool until bed time.

Let me first advise that a tent does nothing for sound-proofing the area you are sleeping in. There's a young crowd down the road at another site that will yell and scream until 2am, and an older crowd all around you that gets up at 5am to rush to the showers in flip-flops, all the while you are up anyway sweating your ass off. If the noise isn't enough, the critters are relentless. They are trained to steal your food in the middle of the night. Squirrels ate through a plastic picnic basket and stole the cookies and then the coons moved in. It's 2:30 am and I just fell asleep, stuck to the mattress from the sweat, and Tasha is running across the camp screaming at a coon that has mastered how to open a cooler and throwing rocks thinking that will deter his efforts.

Are you kidding me? When I woke up (about 6 am) we had all the food in the tent, clothes, the kids, us, and managed about 2 hours of sleep. Didn't I mention we live 5 minutes from the lake? The house is for sale, the cat, the boat, and the tent. I will never do that again unless it's on an island or isolated area somewhere not so humid and with not so wild and trained animal thieves.

Day 2 is tomorrow... even worse (for different reasons).