Cops are Assholes

Read this article.

I want to hear your stories of the biggest asshole of a cop you ever ran into. I generally have good experiences with them. I've been pulled over on every drug I've ever done. The worst was acid. But the cop let me go. I was doing 52 in a 35, tripping on acid, for my FIRST TIME. I still don't know how I got away with that one.

I was in college and my friend Skeletor came down with some premium tabs. We dropped a few around 10:00pm and started our night. Somewhere along the line, we decided it would be a good idea to jack some kayaks and slide them down this big grassy slope by the track, since it was wet with sprinkler juice. So here we are, running across a well lit field, carrying a kayak, giggling like clay aiken. As soon as we approach the top of the hill, we hear a siren play across campus (or so we thought) and saw a cop roll out from the security office. They were real cops, not toy agents of University.

So we drop the kayak and haul ass to my truck. I'm freaked the fuck out by now. It's like 3am and we're zooming away from the college when the lights show up in the rear-view. I stop and light my cigarette. But I lit the filter. I try again, this time with success.

The cop asks me why I was driving so fast.

"I don't know,' I replied, eyes big as this guy's balls.
"Well, where you headed?""
"To the mountains to camp," I say.
"OK, drive safe, and slow down,'" he replies.

That was it. So we take off to the mountains and spend the rest of the night sitting on the hood of my truck, listening to Prety Hate Machine and marveling at what just happened. But when we returned the following morning, we caught some Z's in the lobby by my room, as to not wake up my pretentious roommate. Around 7am, some cops and the Dorm manager come up to us and ask to see my vehicle.

The stupid bitch manager thinks that we stole a yellow backpack the previous night, since we were reported as being out and about. (small college) So I take her to my truck, so them the inside and she has the balls to ask to look inside my backpack (green). I say no. She looks expectantly at the cops. They ask. I say, "No, I've cooperated enough this morning, and have done nothing wrong."

So they leave. Good thing, since I had over 30 hits of acid in that backpack and each hit can be charged as one count of manslaughter.

Pick a Winner

Today at work an electrician had a cliff-hanger in his nostril the size of a large raisin. Doesn't that affect the way you breathe? You can't sense it? Bottom line, just pick that shit, or buy a pocket mirror, you fucking ninny.

My Fucking New Years

(diagram A)

Well, my new year was insane, as is most things that I end up doing. The idea was to drive down after work on the 30th and stay with the grammy for the weekend while enjoying various activities.

We arrive around 11:30pm and DrunkBastard and I proceed immediately to the hot tub. After grammy said we could have full access to her bar, which she rarely uses, we begin. Begin by finding a 20 year old bottle of Bushmill's Irish Whiskey. Bushmill's is good, but a FREE twenty year old unopened bottle is perfection.

Unfortunately, Open Bar + Hot Tub + Pool + DrunkBastard + Me = Being up 'till 4 am. And keeping everyone else in the house awake with our deep insightful notions on political domination of third world countries and the like. (We were informed of this at a later date. Around 4:05, I believe)

So after three hours of sleep, we awake to prepare for our visit to the Santa Anita Park, made famous for horse races, and the bullshit movie, "Seabiscuit." So we spent the day at the races, betting on various horses. I had the max winning bet, which was shit, considering I had no idea what I was doing. I won $49 off a $6 bet. Whoopity shit. It was pretty fun, besides paying $5 bucks for a fucking Miller.

Then we go back to the grammy's, get drunk again in the pool/spa. I found another treasure. A 15 year old bottle of Johnny Walker Black. T'was the night for whiskey, I s'pose.

So after midnight, and some kisses all around, we pack up our shit and drive down to Pasadena, to camp out on the street for the Rose Parade, which was scheduled to begin at 8:30am that morning. So we get there, get set up, and get to drinking. We had previously bet DrunkBastard that he could not would not hook up with a black girl on the streets of the parade. Well, as pimp and circumstance would have it, a couple of pretty attractive black girls had come and set up right next to us. DB wasted no time spitting drunk game. They were friendly, but not open for an Oreo with DB. I laughed while drinking continuious 32oz Big Gulps of rum 'n' coke.

Finally, after staying up all night, daybreak came. I new it was crunch time. I'll let you know how the above diagram works. I'm very good with drawing, so very little information should have to be provided for you. We were sitting where the red X is located. Lake street does not get closed for the Parade. It is kept open for emergency vehicles to rush old ladies getting trampled by excited japanese tourists taking photos.

So come daybreak, we're informed that no one is to cross the painted blue line on the street (see blue line on diagram A) This was a rule that was ignored for the better part of two hours, while the parade was being assembled. So, that left my family and the rest of the grumpy, sleepless motherfuckers on the street to yell at clueless morons that thought this,

"Hey, there's nobody sitting where this green circle is (see diagram A) why don't we stand here? It's not like all these thousands of people lined up on the street in their tents and sleeping bags have stayed here longer, it's a good view!!"

My mom became so angered and locally famous, that an L.A. Times reporter came and interviewed us about the situation. She was hot and I was still drunk, so of course I had the best excerpts.

Her: "What's going on here?"
Mom: "Well, we got here-
Me: "These stupid idiots think they can barge in here like we didn't think of it, and stand right in front of our view. Cops ain't helping, and I'm drunk."
Her: "Ok"

So I shut up after I realized with my wife and son still asleep behing me, and thousands of people on the street, I probably wasn't going to get laid.

So here's how it went. Parade, yeah, whatever, you might have saw it on T.V., it was cute and all that. But I had to spend the whole time yelling at japs, and clueless masturbators that they couldn't stand where they thought they had found Mecca. The cops finally got involved, which made me like a Junior Deputy. Which was fun, because I was drunk, but I could pass that off on sleep deprivation.

I'd tell fools in a secret service whisper, "Hey, dumbass, you can stand there, and I'll yell at you. But eventually, that officer over there is going to stop taking pictures of the flowered parade, and look over his shoulder. Then you're outta here."

There were so many key characters involved in this situation, it's hard to get them all in here without making a novel that nobody would buy. Though I'll post the article, if it's ever written by the hottie from the Times.

There was one dude, who's face I never saw, but voice I know by heart, who was a straight up champ. See, there's these crap festering vendors trying to sell cotton candy on a stick, and newspapers, and all that shit while the parade is going on. But they stand right in your way, while surveying the crows looking for a potential customer. So this red-headed dude is selling cotton candy, yelling his pitch, right in our fucking line of sight. The champ yells out, in perfect silence (between floats)

:"HEY WALDO!! GET THE FUCK OUTTA THE WAY!!"

Dude straight bolted outa that shit. Everybody cheered. That happened everytime somebody was ejected from our view. Loud eruptions of laughter and clapping. I had a few moments, but nothing trumped the damn Waldo comment.

2005 is going to be no different than last year, so keep sucking dick, people. L8