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.
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.
posted by Johnny Rooke at 7/10/2005 11:26:00 AM
3 Comments:
I thought you liked poop? It’s probably that whole karma thing coming back to haunt you after all those years of toilet gators and failing emissions standards. I would think having Allen chase you with a bag of his own shit would have pulled you out of the red, but I guess not.
Hells yeah he shit his pants. I would probably shit myself too if I had a big ass gun pointed at my head.
dance....RIVERDANCE MOTHERFUCKER!
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