Archive for the ‘...uh...what?’ Category
Saturday, December 26th, 2009
Part of an actual conversation about using Thomson prison in Illinois for terrorist suspects….
“Well, it’ll get ugly when the families start moving here,” he said.
“What families?” I asked.
“Of them…of the guys.”
“Of the detainees?”
“It’s happened before,” he said.
“The families of the Gitmo detainees will move…from Pakistan…to Thomson?” I asked, incredulous.
“You’ll see.”
This was his entire argument. Nary a thought that most Pakistani families, terrorist related or not, can’t afford indoor plumbing, much less the cost of a 7,000 mile move, or that families of anyone considered a terrorist and held at Gitmo are probably on a list somewhere and thus banned from entering the U.S. This is why terrorist suspects can’t be moved to Illinois…because the families will start moving in. Damn them! As a clever cover, they’ll buy houses and go to school and trim the lawns in the summer. And three times a week, they’ll go to the little ol’ prison at the end of the street to visit their family member…and plot to blow our shit up!
Look, there might well be legitimate arguments for not bringing Gitmo detainees to the U.S., but this heaping, steaming pile of crap ain’t it.
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Thursday, December 24th, 2009
“Mark is cool…Standard is ghetto.”
Said by a local ER nurse.
Okay, it’s probably not funny to the 99% of you who have no idea that Mark and Standard are tiny, tiny, tiny, did I mention tiny hamlets near here. They are in a county that another ER nurse, who lives in Mark, calls ‘Hazzard County,’ which makes me laugh my ass off. Mark and Standard are both the kinds of places that have a population of about 24…counting all major cats and dogs, and the kind of place where, when you roll in, you hear the Deliverance banjos. So to differientiate by saying one is ghetto is hilarious…at least to me.
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Friday, December 4th, 2009
“Santa is fake…wrestling is real.”
Said by a fellow officer during a really, really reeeaaallllly long slow night.
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Sunday, November 1st, 2009
Text from my wife: ‘I’m at a church hall, listening to a polka band.’
Text to my wife: ‘You’re a wild woman. Don’t get arrested.’
Text to my wife: ‘They any good?’
Text from my wife: ‘I guess. The old people think so.’
I laughed so hard Coke Zero came outta my nose. Hmmm. Maybe you had to be there. Not there in the hall with the polka band, but…well…never mind.
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Thursday, September 3rd, 2009
He grinned. “Great song, ain’t it?”
I nodded. “Sure. Not much Hendrix that sucks.”
He bounced his head in rhythm. “Damn straight. You know this one? ‘Voodoo Chili.’”
“…uh…what?”
He pronounced it ‘chili,’ like the food.
See, the song is ‘Voodoo Chile,’ as in ‘child,’ not ‘chili’ as in pass the water my mouth is on fire.
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Saturday, August 29th, 2009
Me – “Good evening, I’m Deputy Barker, can I see your license and – ”
Him (drunken passenger in backseat) – “My brother works for the county…call him…he’ll fix this.”
Me – “Fix it? He’ll fix it?”
Him – “Yeah.”
Of course, the problem, aside from all four people in the car (driver included) being hammered, was that the guy’s brother didn’t work for the county…and he is only a part-time officer at the agency where he does work…and even if he had worked for the county AND been a full-time officer, he had nothing whatsoever to do with my traffic stops. Other than that, the drunk in the backseat was exactly right.
Ultimately, it didn’t matter. The drunken idiot himself was…what’s word…oh, yeah, wanted. In two different counties on two separate warrants.
Me (wanting, but not actually, saying) – “Here, put these bracelets on, ya’ tool.”
* * * * *
The man worked security. LuAnn and I knew he worked security because his blindingly florescent yellow shirt said so. Said ‘Security’ right on it, in giant black letters that stood out brilliantly against his BRIGHT AS THE FUCKING SUN FLORESCENT YELLOW SHIRT.
But we also knew because he had on camouflage military pants…so he could be stealthy…which he had tucked smartly into his boots. His pants were so stealthy, in fact, that LuAnn and I couldn’t even see him from ankles to waist…he just disappeared…because of his camouflage pants, you see.
Hmmmmm…florescent yellow shirt…camouflage pants. Seems like two different theories of dress, does it not?
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Wednesday, August 12th, 2009
A couple of writerly comments today.
“I jerk off enough with my cock, I don’t need to do it with my writing too.”
In an email from a writer friend as we discussed the thorny issue of art vs. commerce vs. publishing. In another email, from a different writer-type the next morning, I got a rundown of excuses for someone not getting something done that they’d promised to get done a while back. Sort of the same subject. At the end of the missive was this:
“Ah, the reasons I love publishing. You’re lucky, you get to go shoot things occasionally.”
Jerking off and shooting. Which one would get me into more trouble?
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Sunday, August 2nd, 2009
“So did you witness the accident?”
“Yeah.”
“How fast do you think he was going?”
“Oh I think he was doing the speed limit…when he was sideways.”
Said not to me, but to another deputy during their investigation of a traffic crash. I’ve never heard it put quite like that before.
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Sunday, July 19th, 2009
“Don’t get all horny on me….”
Overheard at an afternoon cookout today. The Mrs. said it to the Mr. after he began to imbibe. She said it in a near-whisper and with what might have ben traces of disgust in her voice…which is what makes it so funny.
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Wednesday, June 24th, 2009
“When I put miles on the car, I put pen to the paper.”
An officer responding to a caller’s demand for documentation of items found on the caller’s property. The caller didn’t want the illegal items coming back on them.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get to hear this bit of B-movie dialogue. It was just a funny thing that came my way. But since it so brilliantly fits the spirit of “…uh…what?” I thought I’d put it up.
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