Help me out...

Ok- Doc and I were doing a sniper qualification last night; I brought my little camera out and snapped a few pictures; Doc took the camera and took one of me.

The problem is... every time I look at this photo, I think of little funny things to say; like:

"In order to stay warm on the tundra, just shoot a yetti and crawl into it's skin"

"Ghillie shmillie, I'm wearing this to the Oscars!"

"Sure I have back hair... but it's blonde"

Please help me by adding your own funny caption.  The winning quip will take the place (for a while anyway) as my new intro/bio photo and caption.

Shameless self-promotion?  You bet- but I have to do something to re-live the glory days of being the Pretzel King.

Respect... at last

I have been a cop for 24 years.  During that time I have saved lives, arrested criminals, and placed my life on the line for others.  For the past 15 years I have been on the SWAT Team, rising to the position of lead instructor in the state's sniper school.  During my time as a detective, I have investigated many murders, placing several killers behind bars. 

However, today I received more recognition, accolades, and respect than during all my years on the job.  Today I accomplished something that had everyone congratulating me; that's right, my name was on everyone's lips today.  Detective Sigler told me that I was, "The pride of the detective division." Detective Hammie wrote my name on the case whiteboard next to my accomplishment.  People came all the way from the City Jail to ask me if I had really done the impossible.

What did I do?  Was it rescue a child?  Did I take a bullet for the governor? Cure cancer? No.

I ate 10 pretzels in under a minute.

I blew away the old record of 8, set by some of the jail staff yesterday.  It's pretty hard here on top; everyone is now gunning for me, wanting me to do the feat again or wanting to top my record themselves.  I think I could make some money on writing a "How to" book;  telling everyone (who gives me $19.95) the secrets of chewing, and then swallowing without spit. 

Well, top of the world one minute, forgotten the next.  Such is the life of the professional pretzel eater. 

Foot in Mouth

A while back I stopped at home for lunch. As I walked in the front door, my wife zipped passed me, telling me she had to go to the store and pick something up.  I gave her a quick kiss and off she went, while I went to look for something to eat.  By the time I had made it to the refrigerator, and started to drink straight from the milk carton (my wife was gone, remember?), I heard a loud "screeeetch" followed by a crash.  I wiped off the milk moustache and ran outside; there I saw my wife's car, bashed in the middle, obviously having just pulled out of my driveway, right in from of someone driving down the road. 

I got into my police car and positioned it to block traffic, then called for a traffic car.  While we waited, I did my best to comfort my wife, who was crying and very upset that she had just caused an accident.  Everyone was ok, the damage had not been that great, but my wife felt as if she were the captain of the Titanic and the Exxon Valdez all rolled into one. 

Traffic Officer Rick showed up, looked at the obvious indicators of fault, saw my wife's car and her (from behind) sobbing in the driver's seat.  He walked up to me, pointed to my wife and whispered into my ear,

"Another stupid woman driving with her head up her ass." 

Just then my wife came out of the car and said to me,

"Honey, will he need to see all the paperwork?" 

Officer Rick's face went white, then red, his jaw opened and shut a few times, then started stammering something that went like,

"Wi-wi-wi-wife? I-I-I-I sss sor sor sorry D-D-D-Dave I-I-I didn't kn-kn-know." 

Having been an experienced veteran at the foot in mouth thing, I smiled at Officer Rick, held up my hand and said,

"It's ok."

I was just glad it wasn't me.... that time.

15 Minutes of Fame

I have been very busy lately.  Last week I was working about 12 hours a day as the lead instructor for my state's Basic Sniper class.  Just like the last few years I have helped teach this class, the first day was filled with wide-eyed cops, eager to show what a great shot they were, so they could hang the "Sniper" certificate on the "I Love Me" wall at home. 

As is usually the case, there was an ex-military sniper in the group.  I hate having these guys in the class; because whenever I slip up and mis-speak during a class, they are always very quick to correct me and make me look bad.  I know, I know- I don't hate them, it is just that our military does a VERY good job of training these guys, and it is hard to get across that I have something new to teach them.  One thing, military snipers are taught very long range shooting; in police work, the ranges are relatively short.  The Army and Marine Snipers routinely shoot out to 1000 meters, where as police snipers practice at 50-300 yards.  It is easy for a very well trained military sniper to come into the training and look upon it with some contempt, because the ranges are so much shorter than they dealt with in the military. 

However, the difference is that a military sniper's job is to disrupt the enemy; a miss for them is often the same as not shooting, and if they hit their target, say, in the leg, they have accomplished their mission.  In the police realm, a sniper only shoots to save someone's life; if the police sniper misses- a hostage, an innocent bystander or a fellow officer will likely die.  There is no room for a miss in police sniping, never.  In fact, they may be called on to stop someone holding a gun to a hostage's head; the only way to prevent the suspect's trigger from being pulled is to completely shut down the suspect's central nervous system, i.e. a head shot. 

Oh boy... I did it again; I'm soap boxing, aren't I?

None of that was very funny, was it?  Sorry.

The funny thing that happened was this- the sniper class takes place on a military training base nearby.  Last Thursday afternoon, a van pulled up to the range and some military personnel stepped out.  I then noticed that one of them had a news-type camera and was taking video shots of everyone.  This would have been ok, except for that it was a break time, and there were about 5 cops urinating in the field.  One by one they noticed the camera and displayed a variety of reactions.  One guy shut down and zipped so fast, I hoped he had not hurt himself, three turned away shyly, and one just finished his business.  I admired the last guy's pluckiness, until he admitted that he just had not seen what was going on. 

Both of the military, uniformed people (I could now see the one with the camera was female) approached me and asked if I was the lead instructor.  I said I was, and they told me that they were from "The Armed Forces Television Network," and were filming an article about civilian usage of military bases.  They wanted a sound byte, so they hooked me up with a mike, pointed the camera at me and said, "Could you take your sunglasses and hat off?"  Of course I could, the better to see my face around the world!  A star in the making!  I quickly complied and did the interview, spouting platitudes about cooperation and thanks to the military, blah blah blah. 

After the interview, I went up to another instructor and told them proudly that I was going to be on television world wide.  He then laughed and said, "Yah, I'm sure the army is in dire need of a training film of the dangers of hat hair!" 

I looked at my hair in a car mirror nearby; I might as well have been a screen test for Bozo the clown.  I would have been less embarrassed to have been caught going potty.

Olympic Hurling

          Just as I was pulling up to a partner's traffic stop late one night, the driver of the stopped car jumped out and took off running.  Officer Rey, who had stopped the car,  being of the rookie sort, jumped out of his car and took off running after the sprinting kid. 

          Now myself, being a bit wiser (and not wanting to spill my coffee) placed my car in gear and drove after the running pair.  The chase wound through a local park; all I had to do was avoid the swing sets, merry-go-rounds and meth addicts sleeping on the grass.  After about 300 yards, both running man and Officer Rey had slowed to a pace that would not harm my bum knee (or ego), so I stopped the car, put my coffee down, and trudged after bad guy.  It was pretty easy; I fast-walked up behind him and gave him a slight nudge to the ground.  Officer Rey was right there, but as soon as the handcuffs were on, he walked away suddenly. 

          As I walked back to my car, the suspect started to throw up all over.  That's something they don't tell you about in the police employment brochures, having to hold some criminal's hair while he pukes.  Well, it turns out that this guy ran because he had just done a drive-by shooting; we found a gun in the passenger seat. 

          At the subsequent trial, the guy's defense was that he was far too drunk to have manipulated a handgun (don't laugh... I've heard sillier ones); and proof of that intoxication was my testimony that he threw up all over... ergo he was very drunk.  Officer Rey then leaned over with a sly smile and whispered something into the ear of the district attorney.  On cross examination, the DA asked me,

"Officer, was anyone else sick that evening?" 

My answer was,

"Yes, Officer Rey puked his guts up after the run as well" (which is why he made his quick exit, to find a suitable garbage can). 

Guilty.

Family Tree

          Let me share with you one of the funniest lines I have ever heard.  This line tickles me every time I recall it being spoken.  First, some background: a fellow police officer and I responded to a disturbance in one of the humbler parts of town.  This was the sort of neighborhood where cars on blocks and mangy hound dogs were everywhere; where I always expected to see Burt Reynolds and Ned Beatty floating by on a canoe. 

          We arrived and saw a female, white shirt 2 sizes too small, with pink polyester highwater pants and no shoes, screaming about how her family was trying to kill her.  I did the best I could to calm her down, all she did was cuss me out and tell me that she hated "Pigs."  Judging how much pressure she was putting on those pink stretch pants and tee shirt, it was clear that she was not truthful, but actually loved pork products. 

          An old lady finally told her to get her rear end back in the house; which she and her rear eventually did.  The lady then came up to me and said (in that wonderful drawl that lets everyone know that she watches Nascar 24-7) that thing that makes me snicker even now:

"Officer, the trouble with her is, she's ma granddaughter AND ma niece!"

          I hope it made you laugh half as much as it did me.

......Dave

 

Sort of a Murder

     Two cousins, both in their 40’s, both drug addicts, were living at mom’s house.  After a day of smoking pot and drinking beer, they started arguing over who was the biggest loser; and I don’t mean who lost the most weight. 

     The yelling consisted of such academic repertoire as,

“Loser!”

“You’re the loser!”

“Shut up!” 

“You shut up!”  Obviously, Rhodes’ scholars. 

     One cousin, having had enough of the witty verbal jousting, rose from his pile of dirty laundry, staggered over to the other cousin, and punched him in the nose several times.  The injured cousin, who was also suffering from multiple health problems, including a failing liver and lung disease, bled so much mom decided to call 911- two days later.  An ambulance came and he was taken to the hospital.  Three days later the cousin died. 

      I first met dead cousin at the Coroner’s Office.  We were pretty sure one of the many health issues had finally caught up with the cousin; but because there had been an assault, we decided to autopsy him.  The pathologist was dubious that the death could be attributed to the assault, telling me as much as he made the first incision.  However, as soon as he sliced open the lungs, he called over to me,

“Hey look at this!” 

Doc then stuck a gob of very bloody goo under my nose.  I looked closely at the hunk of goo and gave him my very most intelligent-sounding,

“Hmmmmm...” 

He told me,

“I guess this makes me a Kerry flip-flopper.”  I had no idea what a lump of bloody lung had to do with politics or the then-democratic candidate for president.  Doc then explained that the goo was blood from the injury that had congealed in the lungs, because the lungs were too weak to expel the fluid. 

      The cousin was arrested and booked for Manslaughter, but the prosecuting attorney just about passed a gavel when he read how skinny our information was.  He released the cousin, having determined that there was no way he would be convicted of manslaughter.  I wasn’t upset... it was a long shot, but what can I do?  It then came to me- charge the cousin with Simple Assault!  I wrote up a ticket and booked the cousin on 4th Degree Assault, a misdemeanor crime. 

     I then presented the municipal prosecutor with the case, which was originally prepared as a murder case, having full transcripts, indexed reports, and complete forensic reports.  He looked at me as though I had handed him the Holy Grail, 

“If all my cases were prepared like this, we’d never lose!”  Don’t hold your breath, Mr. DA man, unlikely we will put 200 pages and 100 man-hours of work into some poor slob shoplifting a condom at the 7-11. 

     Well, I thought he deserved more for killing his sick cousin, but he got the maximum sentence for Municipal Court, 365 days.  I think he’s out now, back sitting on the same pile of dirty clothing. 

     For the life of me, I can’t think which cousin was the biggest loser.