Sergeant Krupke, natcherly we're Uni-punks!

So theres we weres, the Muc and the DUC, armouring up for the rumble in J-Town in a big, empty parking lot behinds the Old Capital and Veteran buildn’s, mind’n our own buisness, when a Po’-lice Man charges up out’a no-wheres bark’n “Leave now! Go! Leave!” Natcherly, be’en the sensitive Juvenile Delinquent that I yam, I display a profound level of eliquence in pointing out that my comrades an myself are in fact on public property, and, collectively, constitute the public, so go take a leap, Your Honor -to which he responds with the full force of the native whit embodied in the Southern Civil Servant, “Leave! You leave! Now! All you leave! Leave, now! Now!”

Needless to say, I was overwellmed by the impregnable wall formed by his line of arguement, but, be’en an enterprising young lad, I’z seased up on the smallest of chinks in this here’s mental dike. “I think you’s via-late’n my rights,” says I, and fired a another volly over the sink’n ship of this Copper’s intelect, “What you’s are about, Sir, is unAmerican, and this here is America!” The change in his contenance telegraphed just how deaply these words touched him, pausing briefly before taking cover behind a resumed avalanche of “Go, Go, Go! Leave, now! Leave! Leave! Leave!” Sencing this moment of weekness, I pressed on:

“Man, where are you from?”

“Right here.”, says he. I stumble a bit, taken back by an unexpected choice between assailing the 30% increase in the Copper’s displayed vo’-cabulary, or chalang’n the notion that the dumb bloke was both conceptualised and birthed in a public parking lot. I decide to plumb the depths:

“You ever hear of Joseph Stalin?”

“Ya.”, says he.

Now, in my defence, I’d built up a powerfull anger, and lapesed momentarly back into proper english, “Well, you and he would get along just swimmingly!” Forgetting the double negative rule, I foolishly struck the dum dumb, which, of course, cancelled each other out, and the Po’-lice Man instantly reverted back to his previous modus operandi, “Leave! Leave now! Leave, leave, leave!”

I began to weeken, worn down by the magnatude of the officer’s anoying repetition.

We loaded the cars back up and started to put rubber between us and the Little Tick, when it occured to me that I never got to see it’s badge. I put the Iron Monkey in reverese so that I didn’t have to shout across the parking lot at The Worm -I wanted to be right in his face when I did my shout’n. In brief, it went like this:

Citizen: what’s your name?
Jack Booted Bubba: I don’t gotta tell ya.
C: Do too.
JBB: Do not.
C: Too.
JBB: Not.
CFWRI (Citizen Filled With Rightous Indignation): Fine -I know when and where you work. Better stark look’n in the paper for ‘help wanted’, today.

We parked at the Public Library, and proceaded to take advantage of the vast array of concreate provided by the Capital City of the Hospitality State.

Emeritus Member of the Muni Militia

no matter if you really had this experience or not (I am afraid it did in fact happen), you sure made a good read out of this clash with brainless authority. I wish I could turn my annoying encounters with various folks into art (“writer’s relief”?).

Have fun,

I wish I had been there to see the part where someone tells someone else that they have a pretty mouth.

Christopher, I hope when you were distracting “the man”, someone tagged his cruiser with a MM sticker.


You’d better watch out Christopher, he knows when you work:) .

Andrew Carter