Two Tears in a Bucket

This past Monday and Tuesday I went on a long motorcycle ride. While at the gas pumps this old lady drives up and asks if I could pump her gas for her. She had to be at least 85 years old. I asked why she needed me to do it. She said that she had never pumped gas in her life. She said she grew up just down the road from a full service station which was about 10 miles from where I encountered her. She drove the extra 10 miles to save 11 cents per gallon. I took a couple of ferry rides on my trip and that made me remember why I hate riding a ferry.... damn kids. Kids will run all over the place, up and down the stairs, yell and scream all while holding every door open letting all air conditioning out. It was 95 freakin degrees, I had just rode for about 3 hours in the sun and was looking forward to relaxing in the nice air conditioned ferry cabin. No dice. Both doors basically stayed open the entire 30 minute ride. Then they figured out how to open the windows. "Its just like riding the bus!" they exclaimed. Yeah, just like the bus where a creepy biker has a convenient way to kill you just by throwing you overboard. There were a lot of jellyfish in the water that day and God knows the thought crossed my mind.

Labels: hate, motorcycle, old people, other people's kids

Blogging from my phone got screwed up somehow. Why has it been like 99 degrees lately? Its too hot to do anything. A couple weeks ago I stopped a truck at work. He was driving over the white line in the bike lane. Of course he was drunker than Cooter Brown and decided to give me the most difficult night since I started in police work. He was reluctant from the beginning and once he realized he was under arrest the expletives came out. I was called a 'prick' about 100 times. He kept calling me "bruth-ah" and saying he has "can-sah." He called me fat and a wannabe. This guy was an all-around corksoaker. Too bad he had another DWI a few months earlier. That was enough for me to impound his truck and sell it at auction. The school system thanks him for his donation.

A few months ago I was at a checkpoint. It was about 1 a.m. and this car came through. The guy driving was about 18 and he had a cute chick in the passenger seat. I asked for his license. He took off his seatbelt and began to get his wallet from his back pants pocket. In the process of getting his wallet, he lifted his butt off the seat and arched his back. This made his erect penis find its way back out of his zipper. Apparently he was getting some road-head when he came up on the roadblock. I asked him to put it away. His girlfriend began laughing and now all three of us have a story to tell our grandkids. You can't make this stuff up.

Labels: corksoaker, road-head

Aaa

Why is gas so expensive? It makes me not want to go anywhere. Why hasn't the price of motor oil gone up? I am now on a strict motorcycle transportation schedule. I saw on the news that (because of high fuel prices) GM and Ford are increasing the prices of their new SUVs. Good luck, dumbasses. A retard down the street from me just bought a used H2 Hummer yesterday. Terrible timing, bro.

Labels: gas prices, hate, motorcycle

This is a picture of Jackson. He was having a great time playing with bubbles until he put the bubble wand in his mouth (see pic).

A guy that lives down the street from me has a boat named "Knuckle Buster." I think he is a mechanic. If I were a porn star I would name my boat "Nut Buster."

Labels: boat, bubbles, jackson

Its been almost a year since I posted something new. I've decided to blog a random thought at least once a day. I figured out how to post from my phone, so its easier. Here is my first random thought:

Do terrorists have an email address? If so I want to tell them about this thing called Bonnaroo. Its in Tennessee. I think a well placed terror attack on this "music festival" might help everyone out. All they really need to do is throw a bunch of meat at the audience.

Labels: Bonnaroo, dirty people, hate

At work, I got an email telling me that there is going to be a taser class. I get pretty psyched because after the class, I get to carry a taser at work. It looks badass, and people will listen much better when they see a taser on my belt. They will listen even better when the laser sight from the taser is on their chest. Funny thing is, I've had a gun on my belt every day I've worked and people don't listen. A gun can kill you. Actually, I don't think I've pointed it at anyone so far. Back to the taser.... The class ends with a volunteer demonstration. You can volunteer to get tasered. I went to the class thinking, "I know it hurts, I don't need to find out first hand." After everyone in the class calls you a 'pussy' it can change your mind real quick.

Quick facts on the taser, it shoots two darts out that stick into your skin and deliver 50K volts at 19 pulses per second. It automatically runs for 5 seconds after you pull the trigger. A "full ride" is considered to be the full 5 seconds. I volunteered to go first, but I didn't want the darts to shoot out at me, I requested a spent cartridge be used to tape the darts to my back. I didn't want the slightest chance of the darts missing my back and hitting my ear or ass. The instructor made someone else go first so that he could expend a cartridge and tape the darts to me. My coworker Phil, who was the most nervous out of the four of us in the class, gets the darts. I was holding his arm and when he got hit, he let out a yell that hurt my ears. It seemed like it was over really quickly. The darts didn't exactly come out of his back easily...something I wanted to avoid. Turned out that he only got about 1 to 2 seconds before it cut off.

I get up next and needless to say my throat was dry. The other two guys in the class looked at me and said, "I think I change my mind." I call bullshit and tell them that we are all going to get it. The instructor tapes the probes to my back. One on my left upper shoulder and one on my right kidney area. He asked me if I wanted to know when he was going to pull the trigger. I said, "No. I'd rather not want to know its...FUCK!" The most pain imaginable. I can best describe that it feels like being hit with a wrecking ball in the back, only it hits you continuously for 5 seconds. It was the longest five seconds of my life. I will never volunteer to be tased again. I felt pretty good after it was over, especially compared to how I felt a few seconds earlier. When the electricity stops, the pain is over. The other two guys got the darts taped on after me. One guy got the full 5 seconds, and the other lunged forward after the trigger was pulled and only got about 3-4 seconds. I also have two arc burns on my back, which other people have told me never go away. War wounds. I should get a purple heart medal to go along with my purple nurple.

Babies are a lot of freakin' work. The wife has gone back to work, so when she works I watch the boy and vice versa. If I'm not working I'm watching the boy. Sleeping just doesn't happen. He has an internal switch that knows when I lay my head on a pillow and close my eyes. The switch activates his crying mechanism, preventing the parental unit from sleeping. Its part of his built in self-defense. If you've got a baby on the way, cherish your sleep now. And apparently I'm not allowed to get drunk while watching the boy. I love him so-o mu-u-ch!

Just a little while ago I figured I'd take a ride down the road to see if I could get any ideas to blog about. The planets lined up and made this fat lady trip and fall while walking to her mailbox...while I was passing by. It was a good one, like she tripped and then just went with it and rolled a couple of times. What made it even better was that she was wearing a Troy Aikman jersey. That dude hasn't played in years!

This past Saturday night there was a DWI checkpoint that I particpated in. It was kind of unorganized and this guy from another agency was pissing me off all night. He wouldn't just check a license and let the car go, he would keep them there for a couple minutes and hold up the whole damn operation. Several times through the night I just had a car stopped in front of me after I already told them they could go, but officer blue balls still has his car stopped blocking the lane. Then I have to make small talk with the car in front of me. Black women were the best to chat with. They laughed at pretty much everything I said and I got called a "crazy white boy" at least twice. One car was full of young, black female strippers (thank you God). While the strippers were talking with me, another officer was standing in front of their car. This officer was new, only on the job for about a month. He had his giant Mag-Lite in his hands and he begun to drop it. It was all in slow motion, he juggled it a couple times and then finally the flashlight fell to the pavement. The car of strippers erupted with laughter. I told them to show their titties to the officer when they drove by, but I don't think they did it.

At the checkpoint this car came up to me and I noticed that the windshield and the driver's window was covered in some kind of icky goo. Sure enough, the driver had just vomited all over herself and inside her car just before stopping at the checkpoint. My first thought was 'shit, now I am responsible for a drunk driver covered in vomit.' Turns out she wasn't drunk, she was three months pregnant and her Big Mac meal didn't agree with her. Women are gross.

I got in my first car chase a couple weeks ago. He got away because he turned out his headlights and was going like 100mph. I found out where he was staying. We went there and arrested him. While clearing his house, I opened the closet and he was growing 20 marijuana plants. Score. He's my first felony defendant, so I just popped my f-cherry. My RADAR certification came in, so now I can write speeding tickets. An older officer told me never to wuss out on writing a speeding ticket. He said, "Don't be a pussy." Those words rang in my mind when I wrote an old lady for speeding at 5:40 in the morning the other day. She said that her driving record was clean, she had never had a ticket. "Don't be a pussy." "OK, ma'am, I'm issuing you a citation for speeding 52 in a 35 this morning." She was pissed. Not my fault, she was the one speeding. So top that!

A few months ago, I got a call at work that someone had stolen some beer at the local grocery store. When I got there, the stock boy told me that he came into the stock room at saw this gray haired guy walking out the back door with a 12-pack of beer. He called out to the man and when he got out back, the man had put the beer down next to the dumpster and ran off. The stock boy brought the beer back inside and called the police. When he told me his story, I immediately knew who the thief was... this local guy named Freddie. Freddie is kind of like a bum who lives under the boardwalk. He gets money by stealing people's clothes and shoes while they leave them on the beach to get in the water. A lot of dumbasses still put their watch and wallet in their shoes and then go for a dip, lucky for Freddie. Anyways, the other stockboys started talking and we realized that there was this whole conspiracy to steal this beer. Freddie got his drinking buddy, Herb, to go in the store and distract the staff while he snatched the beer. Herb was in the store asking mundane questions about fishing bait and then didn't buy any bait... he bought a tall can of Hurricane beer and left. I go out driving looking for these two idiots. I come across a beach access and spot a guy hiding behind a bicycle rack (which is see-through). I wait a few seconds and then approach the man. Its Herb. I ask him where Freddie is and he says that they have both been on the beach fishing. I asked him what he was doing crouched behind the bike rack and he said he was tying his shoes (he was wearing flip-flops). The grocery store where all the crime went down was only about 200 yards from this beach access where I was talking with Herb. About this time I was going to ask if he had been to the grocery store I see a man running through the back lot of the store carrying two 12-packs of beer. It was Freddie. He went back to the store and entered through the back door and took the same beer again. This time I saw him do it. He actually runs right up to me, because this was the planned rendezvous point in their brilliant plan. The look on his face when he saw a police car was priceless. Then I realized that the grocery store had a trespass warning issued to Freddie. He was not allowed on the premises. Along with the two counts of larceny (one for each time he stole the beer), he got charged with two counts of trespassing. While I watched him running towards me with the beer, he crossed the parking lot of the pier, which also has a trespass warning against him. Add one more count of trespassing and the conspiracy to commit larceny charge and I thought he'd be in jail a while. Nope, he just turned back up on the beach last weekend.

If you want to see a really disturbing movie, watch "The Hills Have Eyes." It is about these post nuclear test site mutant carnivores that terrorize people and then eat them. The guy that played Buffalo Bill in "Silence of the Lambs" is in it. The mutants totally need lotion on their skin.

We took the boy to the mall to try out his new stroller. It is a pretty bitchin ride. I can see other parents eyeballing our sweet Italian stroller. While at the mall I decide to go into the arcade to have a little "me" time. The name of the arcade was TILT. Tilt is a word associated with pinball. They only have one pinball machine in the whole place. What kind of bullshit is that? I start playing the pinball game and notice that the person who holds the #5 top score entered his name as "FUCK OFF." I made it my mission to beat his score of 25 million. My second try I hit 25 million but still was about a hundred thousand less than FUCK OFF. I began the next game and a beam of light from heaven must have shone down on me at that moment..... make that about 30 minutes worth of light, because that is how long I kicked this pinball game's ass to score the #1 high score of 90 million. My feet hurt. I was physically tired of standing so long to make the highest score ever. Then the game started fuckin' up. What the fuck? All of the sudden the flippers wouldn't work anymore and the ball would just exit the play area and then shoot itself back through the starting ramp over and over again. About that time the wife comes in asking if I'm ready to go. I show her my score of 90 million and explain to her what kind of horse-shit was going on. So I had to leave the game with my high score still showing but without my name as making the score. On the way out, this kid that looked like a post nuclear mutant was dominating the Dance, Dance Revolution game. He probably entered his high score name as "DUMB FUCK."

I bought a pair of shoes on the way out of the mall. The girl that went to the back to get my size also checked me out at the counter. She made it a point for her to check and make sure that the shoebox contained both a right and left shoe, stating that sometimes the factory puts two of the same foot in one box. I thanked her and figured that she was looking out for me, the customer. Much to my dismay, when I get home and open the box I have two fuckin' left shoes. Now I have to make an extra trip back to the mall the next day just to get all this shit straight. Mother fucker.

There won't be too many police blogs because it is the winter time and the bosses told us that the winter time is the quietest time.... so make it quiet. Basically they told us to let a lot of little things slide and concentrate on property crime, so that is what I am doing. In our town they dropped the speed limit from 55 to 45 and a lot of people still speed. I can't write speeding tickets until I have my RADAR certification in hand, so when that sucker gets in it will be open season on speeders. Just to pull someone over creates its own story, because you never know who it is or what they have in the car.

Just last week I was sitting in the patrol car waiting for my shift to end. I had my RADAR unit on, just to get a good feeling that I was actually doing something. It was a 35 MPH zone and this BMW comes by at 54. As she passes, I notice her license tag expired in 2006. The 2007 renewal sticker is green, whereas the 2006 sticker is a reddish orange. It is easy to spot an '06 from far away. I figure that I can't pull her for speed (because I don't have my permit in hand) but I can get her for the tag. It is about 3pm, she pulls over and I approach the car. She has classical music playing loudly in the car. She is a 22 year old blonde that was about as out there as you can imagine. All my questions were answered in a weird way.

I asked her if this was her car. "I think so... yeah its mine because I traded my other car for it."

Where do you live? "Near Winston."

Who is Winston? "Winston the city."

Oh, you mean Winston-Salem? "Yeah, that is what you call it."

As you can see, I'm not dealing with a rocket scientist. I tell her to sit in her car while I write her a warning ticket. Her tag expired in December, so I was going to give her a break. I run the tag on her white '98 BMW on my computer in the patrol car and the tag comes back to a black '99 Mercedes. Hmmmm. I reapproach the car and tell her that I have to get the VIN and run the car that way. I look in the windshield and the VIN area is totally blank. Hmmmmm. Is this girl driving a stolen car? I tell her that the VIN is missing or there is something blocking it. She pulls a piece of paper that was tucked into the VIN area, but something was still blocking the VIN. It is illegal to block the VIN. At this point I get her out of the car and start asking some questions, still getting typical blonde responses. I run the VIN on the door jamb and the car comes back to her. Turns out she traded her Mercedes in for this BMW and the dealer just switched the tags without acutally transferring them with DMV. As everything came to light, I realized that the dealer had made the screw up and she was blonde to the roots. Unbaweevable.

Stinkbombs. They are a fact of life. You just have do deal with them. If I have my way, many more people will deal with stinkbombs in the near future.

Mi amigo khumpty recently reminded me of an event that happened a couple years back. I visited khumpty in the Capital City and we proceeded to go out downtown and get hammered. When I left my house for khumpty's, I packed a little suprise for him. It was a stinkbomb. I have played tricks involving weird smells on khumpty before, resulting in a great laugh for me and me alone. My intentions were to place the stinkbomb in khumpty's bachelor pad and make it so that he would trigger it when I wasn't around, preferably after I returned home. I kind of forgot about it and Saturday night came around. We go downtown and (after the NAMBLA meeting) start drinking. I had the stinkbomb in my pants pocket at this time, I'm not really sure why. I was hoping the perfect opportunity would present itself sometime during the night. We went to this dualing piano bar where our friend Brian used to play. They play the same songs night after night and we had been there several times. We decide to leave and go to this posh bar down the street. The upscale bar was kind of a martini-type place where everyone was dressed up and there was a line outside stretching all the way to the end of the block. When we get there, a former doorman from the piano bar was working the door for this place. Khumpty knows him enough for him to open the velvet rope and let us in, ahead of everyone waiting outside. I felt like a VIP. We go inside and it is shoulder to shoulder packed with people we had nothing in common with. Everyone was probably having a "Sex and the City" type conversation. There were no TVs in the place. No sports memorabilia hanging on the walls. During the 10 minute wait for our first round of beers, a lightbulb goes off in my head. I pull the stinkbomb from my pocket and showed khumpty what I had. He was amazed at the perfect timing for a prank. I didn't have to do any convincing at all, we had the same idea. When we were almost finished with our beers, khumpty took the glass vial of stink and smashed it under his foot. We didn't smell anything at first so we walked around the bar one time. When we were about halfway around the bar, we smelled it. People started waving their hands in front of their noses and then everyone began to leave. When we walked out, there was a mad rush of people going out the door. We were like terrorists, only we like our virgins here on earth. The icing on the cake was the fact that since so many people were leaving, the doormen were allowing the people that had been waiting outside to come in.....to a stink-filled bar. Pwned.

From now on, I'm posting something everyday. I need a hobby.

If you don't know already, the wife and I had a baby boy a couple weeks ago. I'm a daid. Something he has gotten really good at (besides crying and pooping) is waiting until he has his diaper off and pees straight up in the air. He hasn't gotten it on me yet, but the wife has been a successful pee target. Babies need to go to the doctor everyday, apparently. Last week we took him to the doctor at 7 at night. He was spitting up everything he was eating. We go to the doctor and the waiting room was about 55 degrees inside. It was cold outside and raining. I figured they were trying to get everyone in the waiting room sick for job security. When we get called to the back they put us in an exam room. The nurse assistant comes in to get the baby's vital signs and check his temperature. Thank God she just used the thermometer under his armpit..... at first. The armpit didn't give off a good reading, so she decided to check it rectally. As soon as the tip of the thermometer got near his butt, out comes some projectile type shit all over the girl's hand. He showed her whos boss. It is part of his survival reflexes.

After the doctor came and went, they told us to stay in the exam room for a few minutes and someone would be back to talk to us about how to give the medicine. While left alone in the room, I began going through the drawers and cabinets. I don't know why, but I just started rummaging. I found this squirt bottle with a little hose on the end. I immediately squirted my wife on the legs. She then grabbed the bottle and tried squirting me, but I dodged her attempts several times. What was left was water drops all over the tile floor. It was obvious that we made the mess, but I thought we could cover it up by rubbing my sneakers in the water to make it look like it had been there a while. No dice. I had mud on my shoes and it mixed with the water and made a mess that was even more obvious. Goddammit. It was the kind of mess that they would have asked us to clean it up, because it was just plain rude. My next idea was to open the door and stand in the doorway, that way when he comes back I can just make him talk to us from the hallway or I can ask him to speak privately in his office or something. Turns out he just sends his nurse in to talk to us. She hadn't been in there previously, so we just acted like it was there when we arrived. Crisis over.

It has been a while. So many things happen everyday that I just don't have the time to write about anything. I've got a few stories. Let me go back to Halloween for a weird encounter. It was the weekend before Halloween and there were some parties going on. I got a call at 8:30pm about a party making too much noise. Who the hell is being disturbed at 8:30? Anyway, I go out there and roll my windows down and listen. I don't hear anything except the '80s weekend station I have my radio tuned to, so I turn my radio off. I still don't hear anything. I see a party going on and I figure that is the place the noise may have been coming from. I pull up in front of the house and wait for Mr. Big's "To Be With You" to finish before exiting my patrol car. There are a lot of people in the back yard and they were talking pretty loud. I walk up and the first guy I talk to is dressed like a gorilla from the waist up and like a ballarina from the waist down. I explain the noise complaint and basically tell them that they really don't have to be quiet until 11. At about this time I realize this guy is so drunk he doesn't know what I'm talking about. I ask him who actually lives at the house. He goes and gets the resident. A 22 year old blonde dressed in lingere and cat ears. Score. She was a hottie. I can't exactly remember what I told her but it was probably something to the effect of my phone number was 911 and she could call anytime. Another guy I noticed as I was leaving was so drunk he was walking like Frankenstein... but he just had normal clothes on. He drank until he made a costume. Genius.


Another great story that even has the PD all buzzing happened just last weekend. I roll up on the town's community center. Some assholes have been vandalizing stuff, so I go by 4-5 times each night checking on it. Behind the builing I see a SUV with the windows fogged up. Here we go. Another humpfest in the car. This makes the fourth one I have found. I have found more humpfests than traffic stops that I've made. Back to the humpfest. The suspension on this SUV was bottoming out from all of the movement. I walk up and look through the rear window (which was down). To my amazement were three totally naked people just going at it. Two girls and one semi-lucky guy (I'll explain). The first thing I said was that I want some IDs and some clothes to be put on. I could smell the sex. Turns out I had to open the rear liftgate to let them out (the girls were a couple of fatties). I'm not sure if I just ruined the best night of this guy's life or saved him from the worst. I made one of the girls cry. Thats what I do. Later that night another officer and I busted this guy with 32 grams of cocaine. I haven't paid for a meal since. Everyone sees my name and knows I was involved in the big bust. Sweet. I really didn't do that much, I just looked in the right place and found it. I'm like a minor celebrity. Like Suri Cruise.

Another day in the life of a regular person. I woke up with a throbbing hangover, so today I decided to run mindless errands. I went to the car insurance office today and was assisted by a lady with an unusual name. Her last name was Stevanus. Kind of a blend between Steve and anus. Probably Greek. She had the most obvious drawn-on eyebrows that I couldn't stop staring at. There was an office cat, also. The office cat thought it was necessary to projectile piss all over this other lady's desk....while she was sitting there....and, yes, she got peed on....her face. Let it be written that I have the mind control to force a cat to piss on someone's face. I didn't know cats could piss upward like a skunk (except in my dreams). The reaction to all this commotion was "Am I gonna have to put you upstairs? You just want attention, don't you?" Then she began petting the cat and clean up the stink.

Later I went to DMV to get my address changed on my driver's license. A teenage girl was there taking the exam to get a license. She failed. By the look on her face, it was apparent that it wasn't the first time, either. They put me down as being 5'7" but I didn't complain because I wanted to get out of there ASAP. Bastards.

I took the wife's car to get it inspected because it has been expired for 8 months. Nothing was wrong with the car. All the lights worked. No defects. I stopped at the crappiest little mechanic shop figuring that he would probably do the bare minumum inspection and let some things slide. He wasn't busy, so I thought I would be in and out. Wrong. He found things. I failed state inspection for the first time ever. The shame. Re-jected. The license plate light was out. No big deal, just replace it. That is what he said. I thought he would still let me slide because he told me just to go to the auto parts store and buy a bulb. Oh, and my wipers need replacing. What!? The last half-inch of wiper blade on one wiper was a little ragged. I actually think I caused that when I installed the new blades. Dammit. Then he tells me that a CV axle needs replacing soon. Apparently that puts a FAILURE in the 'steering and handling components' box. He found something wrong with a tire, too. Probably had a rock stuck in the tire tread. What a stickler bastard. So he tells me that "they will pull you over for that license plate light being out." I know, cocksucker. I will pull HIM over if I ever see him driving in my town....on his crappy Honda Rebel motorcycle. And I'm gonna be out a few hundred dollars. I figure a CV axle is at least $150 to replace. A new tire is probably $50, but I don't want to replace just one, so I have to buy two. Makes that $100 for tires. Then the tire shop will want special fees for new valve stems, tire disposal, mounting, balancing, then they will tell me the brakes are worn or the shocks need replacing. I'm looking at $500 before its all over with. Motherfucker.

The Fun Begins Today!


First post. Man, the pressure is on. To start it all off, I'll explain why I feel the need to log my experiences: because weird stuff happens to me. Funny stuff. Unbelievable stuff. Things happen everyday that I just want to share with others. Its been happening for years. Most of my stories you will think are not real and that I just fabricated something to be unique. You can think that, but I assure that everything is real. Recently I started a new job that has multiplied the number of stories by at least 10. I am now a police officer. It is my job to seek out the strange and unusual...and I'm doing a good job finding it. Just to protect my own ass, I won't reveal where I work or use any real names of people or specific places. If you already know or figure it out, good for you but I'll never tell. I will make up names like Hiawatha or Onkonkwo just to jazz things up a bit. For example:

I got a call to a local bar where two guys were fighting. When I got there, Onkonkwo had beat the shit out of Hiawatha. It was all because Hiawatha talked to Onkonkwo's girlfriend. Onkonkwo will have to explain himself in front of a judge very soon. That hasn't actually happened....yet. Just a quick practice session on typing the names Onkonkwo and Hiawatha.

Anycrap, here is an actual event that happened earlier today. Quick setup: today I had to go observe court so I don't look like a dumbass when I have to go for real and testify or something. All I did was sit in the jury box area and watch what is going on. Out in the crowd of "defendants" I could pick out the crime just by looking at the person (I have never seen any of these people before). The DWIs were easy - they didn't really dress up. Half of them looked like they were intoxicated in the courtroom. One guy was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, jeans and flip flops (almost forgot to mention his obligatory mullet). Another lady thought maybe her innocence would be more obvious if she wore a purple velvet/velour pantsuit. Then I look out over the crowd and I can pick out the domestic violence victims/defendants - 'cause they always get back together before the trial, even though I could still see the blackeyes, broken arms and other various wounds. "I love ya Tammy! Won't you marry me for the third time?"

Now, the highlight of the day. The first case to go to trial (at 12:30) is a case in which a guy was charged with a DWI. He managed to get himself shocked by a taser on the night of his arrest. His defense- "I wasn't driving." That simple. Good call. You can't get a DWI if you're not driving. Bulletproof defense. I'm suprised his attorney went along with it. I am more suprised at the witness that was called to the stand- the defendant's brother. He was a real piece of work. The brother's story of events goes along the path of "my brother couldn't have been driving because I was down the street talking to what I found out later was an underage girl." His words almost exactly. Even the judge laughed. All law enforcement personnel were in stitches. No shit. It doesn't get much better. After the guy was found guilty and given pretty much the maximum penalty we recessed for lunch.

On the way home I had to ride in the back of a patrol car because there was three of us and I found a fake ID card in the back seat with the name Ozzy Osbourne on it. His picture was on it, too. Some kind of novelty ID card. It was signed by Lucifer himself and it did list him as being the Godfather of Metal, so it must have been Ozzy's. I'll log it in as found property. I don't know why the last two paragraphs are small or how to fix it, but its pissing me off.