Tired

I am Tired of: Domestic Assaults

I just don't get it. Guy smacks the hell out of his wife. She gets scared and mad and calls the Po Po. Guy gets thrown in jail. She refuses to give a statement and then bails him out. Probably even has his favorite meal waiting for him and then a dose of pussy. Doesn't make sense. Over and over this type of scene plays out all across America every day. The laws have been strengthened to protect women because it was clear they needed the help. The only problem is that many never wanted the help.

Now let me draw a clear line between a victim and not a victim;
Victim: Guy beats the shit out of girlfriend. She gets out of the home and guy stalks Her. He terrorizes her and continues to beat her and possibly even kill her.
Not A Victim: Guy beats the shit out of girlfriend. She calls the Po Po. They show up and arrest the guy, fight ensues and girlfriend attacks the cops. Either jumps on a law-dog's back with her fingernails across his face or maybe she grabs a knife out of the kitchen.

I have heard stories of abuse that go far beyond the torture found at the Hanoi Hilton. Then, in the next breath, she tells me she loves him and will forgive him. I am tired of this bullshit. Talked to a gal today that dated an abusive shit bag for 4 years. That is 1461 days (if you include leap year) that she woke up next to his guy and said "sure he smacks the shit out of me but I love him" and the funny thing is that HE kicked her out! WTF, Over?

Crack Whore

So, no shit there I was, driving to a call with my partner. We pass a gal walking and I notice the loose fitting jeans, dirty blonde hair, and general look of shit bag. I say, "Look at that Crack Whore". I don't think much more of it and then my partner says that he has dealt with her in the past and she is a certified Crack Whore. We laughed and continued on to the call. On the way back we find said Crack Whore and stop her. She has an active warrant. Placing her under arrest I search her purse and find needles and other drug paraphanalia. Bonus.

Moral of the story; Profiling works

River Dance Version 2.0

Cho-mo is running into the swamp. My fat little partner with his chubby little fingers is in hot pursuit (ok, he is at least waddling in the same direction). I am doing the River Dance with a not so grateful partner that is trying to use my leg as a chew toy. But it gets better...

I get away from the pit bull and leg it out after cho-mo. I pass my partner and then, like the highly trained operator that I am, use my face to knock the swamp trees out of my way. The fist one catches me across the cheek/forehead and stopps me cold. This sucks. Regaining some speed I close on cho-mo. The kid had a good head start but had the same difficulties in the swamp. I draw my .45. Getting closer we enter a small clearing. I draw down on him and yell something to the effect of 'If you don't stop I am going to blow your fucking head off'. He looks back and, with a moment of perfect clarity, sees the big gun pointing at his head being held by the raving mad deputy. He stops and the hands go up. Time to hand cuff. We have covered about 150-200 yards and my partner is nowhere to be seen. I put my gun to his head and inform my prisoner that if he runs it will be without the aid of his brains.

Then it hits me, a smell that can only be one thing...human shit. Cho-mo filled his pants. He shit himself in a very bad way and now I have to deal with it. Fuck. I cuff him and stand him up. I am not doing a pat down. If he has anything on him I will just aim in the direction of the smell and pull the trigger. Walking out to the road on this hot summer afternoon I am far to angry to appreciate my small victory. I am dripping with sweat, skunned up from the swamp, and now I have to put shit-my-pants-cho-mo in my car and drive for 15 minutes.

Moral of the story; You can out run the law but you can't out run the Infantry.

River Dance

I feel it is my duty to keep some level of physical fitness given my chosen professions. However, working odd hours, eating fast/gas station food, and sitting on your 4th point of contact all night does not help out. That said, alot of cops are fat. Some are way fucking fat. Enter my 'No shit there I was' story.

18 yr old young indian buck decides to rape a 15ish girl. I am at the ER when she comes in, always sucks with crim-sex cases, she is very upset. She does her part though and gives a good statement to my partner. Our part now; find shit-bag and send him away to Pound-Me-In-The-Ass-Prison. For 10 days this cho-mo (jail slag for child molester) ou t runs my fellow Deputies. Now I get my turn. The plan is for me to flank the house he is hiding in so when he runs I can catch him.

We arrive at the house and I run left around the house. Couple people in the back yard, no cho-mo, and a pit bull. Next thing I know this dog is charging with a 'going to eat this brown dood in uniform look' on his nasty fang filled face. The pit starts in on my right leg, getting mostly boot in the face. To many people to pull the gun (used to cary a Ruger .45) so I try mace. I keep thrashing and going in circles, kicking like an Irish school girl at the River Dance festival, macing a pissed off mut. Not exactly in the law enforcement hand book. Next thing I see is fat little partner chasing cho-mo into the swamp 20 yards to my right. Fuck.