What? Who? Me?!

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Sitting outside McDonalds, at a bus stop, waiting for a cab. No clue where we were, dropped off at some turn off the freeway. Sitting. Waiting. Patiently. Next minute, a police car whips into the curb in front of me. Followed by about four more. Oh Jesus. What’s going on here? Cops jump out of the police car. Yelling. Another car whips around a corner. All sirens blazing. Yelling. Realise. There’s a light shining on me. Look up. Police helicopter over head. What what?! Irate, highly strung cops still yelling at me. What the whating what?! ‘Get your hands up! Put your hands in the air!!!’ What? Who? Me?!

Why Yes. I Do...

6 cop cars? Police helicopter? Apes shouting to put your hands up? Obviously your hands go up. Mind racing as to what you might’ve done. Oh Jesus. What did I do?! Who did I do?! How could I have done it?! Why did I do it?! Hands in the air. Two dudes barking out stuff at me. Cops in the other cars stand around, looking useless. Ask people nearby questions. Helicopter still hovering over head. One cop asks me my name, what was I doing here, what did I do tonight? Well, you’ll never believe me buddy, I was on a savage yacht all day, some hoot on the… ‘Shut up and put your hands back on your head!!!’ Starts shouting at me if I had I.D. So I went to take it out of my back pocket. Bad call. Cop ape goes straight for his gun. Starts screaming some more about not going for my pocket, while holding his gun. Oh Jesus. 

Next minute, he has me against the hood of the police car. Hostile and potentially dangerous suspect? Well done lads. Enter his freaky side. ‘Spread your legs (b**ch).’ Eh, pardon me. ‘Spread them!!!’ Ok. Why did you just call me a biatch though? ‘Bend over on the bonnet, hands out.’ I am bending over on the bonnet. Should I be doing this another way? ‘Bend over, (b**ch)!’ Continuously barking orders, then screaming bwitched at me under his breath. Like a freak. At this point he starts padding me down. Searching for something. Assumed it would be just like an airport security type frisk. No. Whack. Punch in the ass. “Padding” down my back pocket. Whack. Punch in the other cheek. Other pocket. Sweet Jesus.

Don't Look At Me!

Cold enough night, so I had my hood up. Turned my head to see what he was doing… Why the funk are you digging me?! ‘Don’t look at me (b***h!)’. Ok. Nutter. Turning around to see why he was trying to give me a dead ass, along with the hood, brushed my flock of hair into my eyes. Couldn’t see a thing. So now, I’m trying to get the hair out my eyes, with my hands handcuffed behind me. Blowing my hair. Trying to knock my hood off with a flick of my head. All, obviously, to no avail. Making the cop-ape even more irate ‘I said don’t look at me (bitch!)’ I think he kept whispering that part, so the other cops wouldn’t hear him. Either way, between him calling me that non-stop, handcuffing me for no reason, and then punching my buttocks, it was time to subtly tell him he was a prick. I’m not looking at you, (prick), my hair is in my eyes. ‘What did you just say?!’ I said, Rick, my hair, is in, my eyes. Rick is your name, right? Look of confusion. Followed by ‘Don’t talk to me. Look straight ahead (b***h!)’. I’m guessing he had issues.

Ah Shur. Away You Go.

Finally he backs off. Takes my I.D. Goes off whispering into his radio. Stands. Waits. Listens. I’m busy flopping my head around trying to see what’s going on. Calls over the other cop he arrived with. Mutters. Comes back to me. Takes off the handcuffs. Unbends me off the car bonnet. Other cop, let’s just call him “The Good Cop”, tells me that I’m fine. Not the guy they were after. Mistaken identity. Good to go. Good to go?! That’s it. After all that? No apology, nothing?! No. Only doing their job. Received reports that a guy they were after was in the area. Wearing a yellow hoodie. Which is were innocent old me came in. Good old yellow hoodie. Only wore it because of the hole in my leather jacket! All aboot the innocuous randumb details!

Do I Look Like Google?

And that was it. Cars drove off. Helicopter turned off his light. Our cab pulled up. And we all went home. Well, not exactly. Gibberish has flowed for too long though. Time to cut it loose. Cull on. That incident with the Welsh dude in a gay bar will have to wait. Odd enough. Although still not sure what actually happened. Rugby/soccer friction perhaps. No time for that now. Or to fully tell you about the punch. In the face. That someone got. From a girl. On the street. Within two minutes of meeting her. Bang. Proper punch. Idiot. Do I look like Google? Apparently she found that offensive. Ape. Eventful day. A Monday. Capped off with an apple juice. Endless gibber. Best bet is just to wait for the second book. Stories might actually make more sense then. Yacht. Police. Punch in the face. Should’ve just wrote those three brief sentences. The End.

Blackout – The Knocks

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