Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!

"We've got a detective down! A detective down!"

Today was the biggest day of my career: the first day at work as a detective. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. I was putting on a pink shirt . . . um, I mean a "manly, light red" shirt. Everything was peachy keen.

Then, I got to work.

In the grand scheme things, something as simple as access to the police computer system doesn't seem so necessary . . . until you don't have it. The department - in its infinite wisdom - revokes your sign-on when you get promoted. You then have to re-apply for it after you get to your new assignment. Unreal. Since God hates me, my sign-on is still revoked. Swell.

Since I couldn't access the computers, my sergeant told me to be the "Desk Man" today. The desk man is a detective division's version of the Grim Reaper - he assigns jobs to the detectives in the squad, whether they want them or not. When a desk man approaches, most want to run away screaming. As Wagonsux pointed out, this person is usually the most miserable in the room because no one likes getting bad news (read: new jobs) and every time you turn around, there is another cop with a report in his hand - waiting for you. I had to enter every job into the computer system (I got access from a co-worker) and doled them out to the detectives.

Right off the bat, we get a bank robbery. Thus, two detectives had to take the scene, and since the FBI was going to get involved, they wouldn't be available for anything else today. The detectives left were in my graduating class. It was the first day for most of us. By the end of the shift, every detective had at least five jobs on their desk; I had a serious stress headache, and serious doubts as to how I am going to make it here.

Tomorrow is another day, but now my co-workers have a day's experience on me. The desk man doesn't get assigned jobs. And I was stressed out without the added pressure of investigations! Looks like tomorrow will be another "first day."

Big City Detective: Day One

"Um . . . I believe you have my stapler."

I think I made a big mistake.

I'll have to full roundup after I eat dinner . . . and weep.

People I Hate

Okay, let's try this again. In yet another attempt to regain the glory of the past, here's another entertaining (?) edition of People I Hate. The premise is self-explanatory. And away we go!

Senator Arlen Specter (R-PA) - Yeah, that "R" you see after his name? That's a typo. Calling Specter a Republican is like calling Paris Hilton "chaste." The two words just don't go together. Some people would have called it a career after trying to sell America a "magic bullet theory," but not my Arlen. This bastion if idiocy has made a career of filibusters, liberalism, and stopping GOP Presidents at every turn.

Lately, Arlen has drawn my bile for his actions (or more accurately his "inactions") concerning the War on Terror. Senator Ego is calling for judicial hearings on everything from the Valerie Plame non-story to the "domestic spying" non-story, all in the continuing effort to keep the cameras on his shrunken head. Then he has the cojones to rip Terrell Owens' selfish demeanor. Ass!

Unfortunately for Pennsylvania voters, Specter has become so powerful, not even Teddy Roosevelt himself could unseat this toad now.

Michael Smerconish - The "conservative" (HA!) Philadelphia radio talk show host was one of my faves . . . until he returned from summer vacation. Smerconish claimed he came to see the world in a whole new light. I think he referred to is as "clarity of vision" or some such nonsense. Since then, he has jumped on the "We want a timetable to leave Iraq bandwagon" with the rest of the moonbats, and has rushed to support such lunatics as John "I can't decide if I'm with the GOP or the DNC" McCain and John Murtha. Even my uber-right wing pal Denny said he can't listen to Smerconish anymore. That's a bold statement.

Maybe Smerconish's "clarity of vision" was the result of a blow to the head.

Lillo Brancato, Jr. - This cop-killing son of a bitch told The New York Post that he is "sorry" and is claiming he didn't know his partner in crime was carrying a gun. Whew! That's a load off of my mind. Lillo is sorry. Well, we might as well call off the trial now. Screw you, Brancato! Your "remorse" isn't going to brink back Daniel Enchautegui - a fine NYPD officer, and (hopefully) it won't save you from life in prison.

Haven't Posted A Babe In A While

That must be why my site hits are down. Dang. Oh well, enjoy Kristanna Loken, star of the upcoming film BloodRayne.

Old . . . With Flair

You're "number one," Ssssteve! Happy Birthday!

For those of you not in the know, today is Ssssteve's birthday. How about stopping by his blog and wishing him all the best? The flair is optional. Heh.

Calgon, Take Me Away!

"You are detectives. Go and detect." - Captain Logan, Running Scared

I am so out of my league it's not funny.

No, I am not referring to the blogging thing (although that can be debated), but more specifically, this detective stuff. Today was the first day in the new division, and although the bosses were good enough to not send any jobs my way, I left with the feeling that a big, dumb guy like myself is ill equipped for the position. The added responsibilities, reams of paperwork, and pressure to perform are a little humbling.

Basically, I'm screwed.

Of course, there is still a venue where I am not out of my league: the venue of Caption Contests. I won GOP and College's Caption Contest, and took two out of the top ten spots (8th and 3rd) in GOP and the City's Weekend Caption Contest. Now, if I can only find a way to get paid by doing that . . .

Into The Great Unknown

The author, in a rare moment of celebration.

It's over! Training is finally over! And for once, the fickle finger of fate has smiled upon our dashing young hero. Instead of being assigned to the furthest reaches of humanity, I was assigned approximately thirty minutes closer to home. The division is very busy - which is what I want - but not an hour's drive away - which I did not want. I think I'll be very happy there. Detective Wyatt reports for duty at 0900 tomorrow morning. Giddyup!

Fire In The Hole

Any second thoughts I may have had about this promotion died recently after hearing about the b.s. going on in my old district. It's bad enough that cops are getting into fistfights after roll call and the toads are still being taken care of, but when Partner #1 told me this story, I ran for the duct tape.

A few weeks ago, she was working a wagon with her new partner (BLASPHEMY!) when a call came in for a house fire. They arrived on location (the fire department had the wrong address and was not yet there) and went inside to find the resident trying to put out an oven fire with towels! The resident spoke little English. Partner #1 got the woman out of the home, and raced back into the smoke-filled residence to extinguish the fire. She ran into the kitchen and put out most of the flames as the firefighters arrived on the scene. Pretty damned brave if you ask me.

Partner #1's sergeant arrived on the scene, and after hearing the incredible story of the wagon crew's actions, TOLD THEM TO GO BACK ON PATROL! "The sector car will handle this. You guys are done here." No recognition of the bravery. No concern for their well-being. Nada.

Let's recap: two officers run into a burning building, evacuate the resident, and put out the fire. The least their supervisor could have done was say, "Good job." And they wonder why morale is so low.

An SYLG Christmas Retrospective

It was a terribly busy Christmas weekend here. So much so that I overslept for training this morning. Luckily for me, there was no rush hour on I-95, since all of you "normies" had the day off. Bastards.

For those of you who have not yet signed up for "Wyatt 24/7," here are some of the highlights of my holiday:

• My 22-month old has a new stance for pooping; leaning against the wall with one hand - the classic men's urinal position - and smiling while filling up his diaper.
• Amongst the cool gifts I received were a case of Czech beer from my brother-in-law, an autographed picture of Denver Broncos cornerback Champ Bailey, a wooden SJU clock from the in-laws, and Tony Hawk: American Wasteland for the PS2. Keen!
• One of my brother-in-law's gifts (which I found on eBay) arrived on Christmas Eve (Cool!), but the seller shipped the wrong item (Not so cool). Dang.
• My four-year old did get his Batmobile from Santa, and it hasn't left his sight since.
• I spent much of my Christmas morning struggling to free my kids' gifts from their Kryptonite bonds. Why do they have to be more secure than the Hope Diamond?

Well, that's pretty much it. This would have been more interesting, but I am lamenting the serious dip in traffic here as of late. Come on, people! I need readers!!! Anyway, I will be posting on Blogs 4 Bauer tonight, and I hope everyone had a terrific Christmas.

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!

Despite what the mainstream media will tell you, there would be no Christmas without Christ. Here endeth the lesson.

Evil Is As Evil Does

YES! YES!! YES!!! My teachers were right!!!


How evil are you?
Hat Tip to Tyler D and Pandy!

It's Present Time!

As a thank you to all of my loyal readers, we here at SYLG have pitched in to make sure each and every one of you receives a Christmas gift. Consider this a token of our appreciation, in the hope that you continue reading and participating in this insignificant blog. Thank you.

A Christmas Laugh

Oh, come on! You gotta admit this is pretty funny!

Packing A Launch

The first of what I hope are many posts by yours truly is up at Blogs 4 Bauer. Stop by and check it out today, since none of you guys will be online this weekend. Thanks!

Oh, and a heartfelt apology goes out to CUG, whom I forgot to mention as one of B4B's contributors. Sorry!

Dr. Earpy's Answer Prescription

Since I'm too cheap to get you all a Christmas present - and you bastards got me nothing for my promotion - please enjoy the gift that keeps on giving . . . knowledge!

Ssssteve asks, "If I strangle, oops, I mean hug a hippie right before I am to eat my meal, should wash my hands?"

Ssssteve, to be on the safe side, you should wash your hands before and after strangling a hippie. And remember to wear eye and ear protection; if that petuli stink gets in your mucous membranes, you'll spend your holiday in the ICU.

5 Minutes To Work (aka Wagonsux) asks, "When you drive to Southwest Defectives, will you take the expressway or surface streets?"

5MTWAW, I'm gonna fly there. Everyone says that I'm a blimp, so I intend to use it to my advantage. Oh, the humanity!

RT asks, "What is the relationship between uniformed police and detectives? What types of things do you actually do?"

RT, uniformed officers are pond scum. Detectives are the most important people in all the land. Actually, detectives hold no rank over officers (except the higher tax bracket), and simply take over a report where an officer left off.

The Anti-Hippie asks, "Am I allowed to think goth chicks are hot without having to get 800 piercings and f-ed up hair?"

Anti-Hippie, that's a terrific question. Anyone who reads SYLG knows that I am a much better flirt than I am a detective. Thus, I feel it is totally acceptable to be attracted to goth chicks. A perfect example is Lucy Lawless' minor role in Spider-man, where she is all gothed-up and comments that a guy with eight arms "sounds hot." Yummy!

SK asks, "Now that you're detecting, do you still have a gun?"

SK, it's Philly dear, EVERYONE carries a gun here! The good thing about being a detective is that by the time we reach a scene, that bad guys are long gone. Of course, that doesn't mean that we won't get pelted with friendly fire by co-workers. Yeah, Wagonsux, I'm looking at you!

Air Force Wife asks, "If a tree falls in the woods, and no one is there to hear it, do the hippies still blame George Bush?"

AFW, not at all. Thanks to George Bush's nazi environmental policies, soon there will be no trees, no woods, and no oxygen for the poor little terrorist children. Bush lied, trees died!

Tyler D asks, "Whatever happened to Damian? Why is he commenting on IMAO? WHY!?"

Tyler, who the hell is Damian? There used to be a guy named Damian that commented here, but I thought he fled the country when Bush was re-elected. He is probably commenting on IMAO because people actually read that blog.

The Man asks, "Are you more of a Shaft detective or a Magnum P.I. detective?"

TM, I guess I am more of a Magnum P.I. detective because; 1. Linda loves Magnum, and 2. shaft detectives are assigned to the Special Victims Unit. Oh, you meant from the movie Shaft? My bad.

Some guy named Damian G asks, "How jealous is Tyler D that I'm posting at IMAO?"

Damian, although Tyler denies it, he is very jealous of your posting. What? Oh, wait a minute, since Tyler is gonna be posting at Blogs4Bauer now, he has little use for IMAO. At least that's his story.

Moxargon asks, "When you arrest a suspect, just how much torture is permitted? I understand that with your Earthling Republicans in power you've even allowed to force suspects to listen to Celine Dion and Eminem, something that's banned on most planets under the Treaty of Oglaplax-9." He then (as usual) asks for information on Earth's defenses.

Moxargon, "torture" is one of those annoying buzzwords that offend some spineless humans. (You will want to eat them first, since they go down so smoothly.) Law enforcement officers prefer information extraction . . . plus the little known rider "with extreme prejudice." Oh, by the way, Earth's defenses are ready for your pillaging, since liberals put political correctness before security.

Vox Poplar asks, "Is your job like Law & Order where it always turns out to be the religious or politically conservative guy like in the episode described here (http://www.vox-poplar.blogspot.com/2005/12/flaw-odour.html)? How do you feel about other bloggers using your comments section to flog their own blog?"

Vox, Law & Order is a fictional show. I mean, really, we all know that religious and/or politically conservative guys never break the law. That trend is held for liberal scumbags like Bill and Hillary Clinton. And I have no problem with folks whoring their blogs here, despite the fact that I give all Q&A participants linky love at the beginning of their question.

Blogs 4 Bauer Alert!

Attention Jack Bauer fans! Our Blogs 4 Bauer site is up and running. The official launch is tomorrow, 24 days from the start of the new season of . . . 24. Be sure to stop by and check out what's hot. Yeah, yeah, I know; now you guys have another blog to read. In fairness, B4B is manned by much more talented writers than me including The Man, Tyler D, Sobek, and RFTR.

Here's the link, and thanks again for the continued support!

Membership Has Its Privileges

"So then, the Feds swept down and locked me up . . ."

Boy, it must be good to be related to Philly mayor John "I can't waste my time at a promotion ceremony" Street (D).

Milton Street, Jr. - the nephew of the mayor and son of uber-corrupt "businessman" Milton Street - was feared missing on Tuesday night, but instead of forwarding the report to the pertinent detective division, "someone" ordered the city's HOMICIDE SPECIAL INVESTIGATIONS UNIT to take the case!

For the benefit of my out-of-town readers, Philadelphia's homicide rate (currently at 371 this year, as opposed to 330 last year) is skyrocketing. Thus, homicide detectives are a little too busy to be searching for the mayor's ADULT nephew. Chief of Detectives Joseph Fox allegedly asked the homicide division to handle the job. I don't buy that.

Chief Fox wouldn't divert resources from the most important unit in the department to look for Milton Street's idiot son. This decision came from on high, and only one jackass was responsible: John F. "the citizens" Street. I can; wait until he tells me to track down his runaway dog.

By the way, young Milty was located, safe and sound. I know we were all concerned.

A Real-Life Movie Moment

"Mmm . . . peanut butter and crack sandwich!"

Once in a great while, cops get a chance to do something really cool. I got my chance today.

In the middle of promotional training - yes, I'm still there, and don't get my new assignment until the end of the month - the building had a fire drill. We all filed out and waited on the opposite corner until the alarm stopped. The building is downtown, where the streets are crawling with wretched refuse. I'm standing in plainclothes (white shirt, grey pants and tie, and a black leather 3/4 length jacket) with my friend Scott when a homeless crack addict approached.

Oh, here we go.

Tyrone Biggums asked, "Hey, you guys got any spare change?" Scott said no, so Smelly LaRue turned to me. I looked him up and down, then without a word, I opened my jacket so he could see my shield. The color in the man's face drained, and he said "Sorry, officer" before fleeing down the block. Scott turned to me and said, "That was cool."

I just laughed and laughed.

Ask Doctor Earpy

During my three tedious weeks of promotional training, SYLG has suffered from a lack of funny. (As opposed to the unbridled bouts of hilarity that are usually found here.) Thankfully, Dr. Earpy has your prescription right here. Send me your questions, problems, issues, or whatever the hell the voices in your head are saying.

Post your questions in the comments section, and I'll have your answers on Friday afternoon.

Stupid Christmas Questions

What exactly is egg nog? I know what eggs are, but what the hell is "nog?"

If you don't have a chimney, how is Santa Claus supposed to get into your home?

Can Santa bring me her for Christmas? I've been really, really good!

Howard The Schmuck

This may come as a shock, but most newspaper writers despise President Bush - especially those "journalists" who write for The Philadelphia Daily News. Gossip toad Howard Gensler makes his hatred into an art form. While commenting on Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad's ban of western music, Gensler offers this little wisdom nugget:

"But Ahmadinejad won office in August on a platform of reverting to ultraconservative principles promoted by the revolution.

Since then, he has gone to war, spoken out against gay marriage and stem cell research, and wiretapped his own people.

Oops, that was our ultraconservative."

So, according to Gensler (who is of Jewish descent), it is acceptable to draw comparisons between Bush and a man who denies the Holocaust, while swearing to wipe Israel off the face of the earth.

Wow.

"Out" On A Ledger

Ledger is in discussions to play "Big Gay Al."

Do you think Heath Ledger, co-star of Dr. Phat Tony's favorite gay cowboy flick, "Brokeback Mountain," is trying to distance himself from his cow-poke role? Ledger will star as the lead in the upcoming film "Casanova."

I guess Heath didn't want to be typecast into gay roles, as had happened to Harvey Fierstein.

First . . . With Little Flair

Today is a very good day. Not only do I get through promotions, but I also won GOP and the City's Weekend Caption Contest! Whoo hoo!

Somewhere, Damian is calling me an a-hole. Heh.

The Graduate

As I mentioned during my earlier Post of Glee, today was the promotion ceremony. My family was in the crowd and afterwards, my father told me, "I have never seen you smile so much and for so long." He was right; I was downright scary happy, which was why I only posted today's news without the usual editorializing. The last thing you folks want to read is a happy, sappy Wyatt. I'm still smiling, but it's less like a "killer clown" grin now.

Anyway, the promotees were to report by 0915 for the 1100 ceremony - which was moved up from 1000 to accommodate Philadelphia Mayor John "I ain't been indicted yet" Street. We were notified of the time change on Friday. After a run-through of the festivities, the show began more or less on time. As the dignitaries approached the stage, the mayor was absent. It was announced that "hizzoner" was running late, and my friend Tony said, "He ain't coming."

After the National Anthem and an invocation - just don't tell the ACLU - several speakers addressed the class. First, D.A. Lynne "I don't prosecute famous people who beat up cops" Abraham congratulated us, and told the crowd how the city desperately needed these promotions. It was actually a decent speech, and she was very friendly when we shook hands on stage. Next, City Controller Jonathan Saidel spoke about how cops and firefighters were so special, and that he signed our paperwork for our raises that morning. (That got a terrific applause.) Saidel, who is present at every police/fire function, is set to run for mayor in '07, and will get my vote.

It's been almost a half hour, and the mayor still hasn't shown up.

Police Commissioner Sylvester Johnson spoke next, and told us all to "not forget where we came from," and treat everyone with respect. When he noticed that Street still hadn't shown, he ordered the staff to begin the procession. One by one, we approached the dais, received our promotional certificates, saluted the commish, and shook hands with the dignitaries. Abraham, Saidel, and Deputy Commissioner John Gaittens stood out; they seemed genuinely happy for us. The procession took about a half hour.

After the end of the procession, it was announced that the mayor would not be attending. Go figure. The crowd gave out a combination of giggles and sarcastic "awwww's," and we were dismissed to the second floor for our new badges (and "shields" for detectives). The detective's shield is much smaller than I envisioned - maybe two and a half inches in height - but it has hardly left my hand since noon. It's very cool.

Editor's note: I realize that this post is much of the same verbal diarrhea, but I need another paragraph to explain Street to those who never dealt with him.

John Street is everything that is wrong with politics. His utter disdain for the police officers and firefighters in this city is almost laughable. He did not attend the last Police Academy graduation, nor did he attend the funeral of Gennaro Pellegrini, an officer who was killed in Iraq. What's worse is that today's ceremony was held at Temple University's McGonagle Hall, which is not only in his former council district, but a few blocks away from his home. It is also about twenty city blocks from City Hall. He could have walked there. God, what a scumbag.

FINALLY!

"Coolest shield . . . . EVER!"

It's official: I am now a Philadelphia Police Detective!

I'll post later about the ceremony (and the no-show), but right now I'm still too giddy to write.

Major Minor Characters

Did you ever watch a movie and notice a terrific minor character? Someone who steals the film and transcends the leads? It's more common than you think. Sometimes, a minor role can make a career. It can also elevate an actor into cult status. Here are three of my faves:

"Drew" (Greg Pitts), Office Space - Find a funnier minor character than Drew, and I'll pay you $100. (Not a promise of payment.) Drew has only two scenes, but they're laugh-out-loud funny; probably because everyone works with a guy just like him. Great line: "I'm thinking about taking that new chick from Logistics. If things go right I might be showing her my O-face. Oh! Oh! Oh! You know what I'm talking about. Oh!"

"Sasha" (Vladimir Mashkov), Behind Enemy Lines - Who would have figured a little-known Russian actor would steal a film from under Gene Hackman and Owen Wilson? Okay, Wilson's not a great example. Sasha the sniper tracks Wilson's character through Serbia intent on stopping the U.S. pilot before he exposes war crimes. Sasha is the quintessential ass-kicker. And if any gun nuts out there can tell me what kind of rifle Sasha is using, I would appreciate it. I want one.

"Doorgunner" (Tim Colceri), Full Metal Jacket - The greatest minor character of all time. The doorgunner's one scene is filmmaking genius. Even though Colceri's career never took off, everyone remembers him as the off-kilter Huey doorgunner. In a film chock full of terrific performances, Colceri's stands alone. Great line: "Anyone who runs is a V.C.! Anyone who stands still... is a well-disciplined V.C.!"

Let's Get Physical

Another hurdle cleared.

I had been stressing for weeks about today's promotional physical. The city doctors at the municipal health center aren't exactly the best and the brightest - not to mention they define "rude" - but as long as they cleared me, I'd sleep easy.

My appointment was for 11am, and I was thirty minutes early. When I walked into the offices, I almost passed out. It was jammed packed with prospective promotees, most of whom had been there for three hours! Swell. The physical was to include a drug screening/urinalysis (Cool, I get to pee in a cup!), eye exam, hearing test, EKG, and the dreaded hernia check. (Turn my head and do what?)

After sitting for two hours, I was called for my EKG. The tech was pleasant enough, and the test went off without a hitch. About thirty minutes after that, I was called for my physical exam and urinalysis. I was shuttled into a waiting room, put on a very chic paper gown, and went in to see the doc. He checked my eyes, blood pressure (which was a tad high), and the ol' twig and berries. There were no signs of a hernia, and the doctor didn't even buy me lunch afterwards!

I breezed through the hearing test and was sent on my way . . . after four hours. I am now officially cleared for promotion, and the event is scheduled for Monday morning. Tonight, however, I'm going out drinking with the guys. Hopefully, I'll be sober in time for the ceremony.

It's Assault A Cop Day!

I should have seen this coming.

"Dec. 16 News: In a court hearing on Thursday, Michaels was placed in a program for first-time offenders instead of prosecution for his alleged assault of a police officer on July 3, the Phillies' official site reports.

Spin: Michaels was charged with assault of a police officer and a couple of other charges after the July 3 altercation. He will undergo some anger management training and community service, and if he completes that successfully the charges can be dropped. It doesn't look like this black eye on Michaels' reputation will hurt him in 2006. The Yankees were rumored to have interest in him a couple of weeks ago. (H/T - ESPN.com)"

I wrote about this story on July 4th, and after seeing firsthand how the Philadelphia judicial system treats police officers who have been assaulted, I was shocked Michaels got any "punishment" at all. The sad excuse for a D.A. in the case - her name rhymes with "Beth Grossman" - claimed that the officer Michaels beat up was "okay" with the wrist slap, but that issue seems to be disputed. Either way, the D.A. and the judge in the case opened the door for anyone who wants to fight the cops.

They might as well, since they can get away with it.

Beefcake Break!

For those of you who are counting, this is post #4 today. Damned flood of ideas! Gunny was right, I do post way too much!

Anyway, this is my public apology to Linda, whom I recently called "bothersome." For someone who doesn't have home internet access, she sure can pack some bags for a guilt trip. So, Linda, SK, Mom, etc., please enjoy this shirtless pic of Tom Selleck.

So, You're Bored At Work, Huh?

Check out this kickass Christmas game! Just don't hit Santa.

Snowball Fight

Three-Card Dud

You just gotta love Philadelphia 76ers superstar/thug Allen Iverson. After his team beat the Charlotte Bobcats the other night, "A.I." stopped by the Trump Taj Mahal for a little gambling. Iverson was playing high stakes 3-card poker, and after winning a hand, he was mistakenly given an extra $10,000 by the pit boss.

When the casino personnel realized the mistake, they notified Iverson, who refused to give the money back, and loudly argued with the staff!

This is understandable, since Iverson has been down on his luck as of late, and that extra $10,000 would really help his starving family.

H/T - Dan Gross, The Philadelphia Daily News

Sleepskating

This working-during-the-day crap is really getting to me. So much so that I had to skip our hockey game last night. A 1045pm start is way past my bedtime, and since I need my beauty sleep - actually, I need about 20 hours of sleep to beautify this mug - yours truly was in bed when they dropped the puck.

Fortunately for me - and unfortunately for my team - we got spanked by a score of 5-1. Ouch.

Memed Again?

Damnit!!! This one is a short one, but I may refrain from tagging anyone at the present time, since I don't want my blogger friends to kick my arse. Today's topic:

What Are Your Five Favorite Christmas Songs?

And, of course, my choices have to be a little off the beaten path.

5. "Carol of the Bells" ("Ding, fries are done!")

4. "Father Christmas" - The Kinks

3. "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" - The Pretenders

2. "The Twelve Days of Christmas" - Bob and Doug MacKenzie

1. "Merry Christmas (I Don't Wanna Fight Tonight)" - The Ramones.

Luck Be A Lady Tonight

I want Shayna Richardson to be my new partner. The 21-year old Missouri native is luckier than Ashton Kutcher and Michael Douglas combined. While skydiving over America's Jewel - Siloam Springs, Arkansas - Richardson's main parachute failed, and her reserve only partially opened.

She hit the ground face-first at 50mph. (As opposed to myself, whose face only looks like it hit the ground at 50.) Sometime during one of her FOUR operations, doctors noticed that Shayna was pregnant! Currently, both Richardson and her unborn child are doing well.

In an unrelated story, I am giving Hillary Clinton and Barbara Streisand skydiving lessons for Christmas.

New Kid On The Block

"You know what, I do want to express myself, okay. And I don't need 37 pieces of flair to do it!" - Joanna, Office Space

It was only a matter of time. "Firssst with flair" Sssteve, one of my regular commenters, finally started his own blog. He must have figured since he has written over 50,000 words in various blogs, he could eliminate the middleman and write in his own space. Check him out and make him feel like one of the family.

And by that I mean beat him up and insult him on a regular basis.

Stupid Questions

Did anyone, besides liberal journalists, shed a tear for the late "Tookie" Williams? And what kind of nickname is "Tookie," anyway?

Why am I compelled to watch "Road House" every time it is on television? I get dumber with every viewing.

Why has the same female been at least fifteen minutes late to every day of promotional training?

Who would win a catfight-to-the-death between Michelle Malkin and Ann Coulter?


My money's going on Ms. Malkin. Hubba, hubba!

Promotion Bored

It's day one of our two-day block of crime scene training. Unfortunately for me, I am already certified (and certifiable), so these fourteen hours are mostly redundant. Shoot me now!

There are only six days until our promotion ceremony, and I'm getting antsy. At least my weekend is now shot to hell. I was informed that my physical is scheduled for Saturday at 11am. Looks like Fatty McButterpants will be spending the day with the city docs. Keen.

Judge Dread

Artist's rendering of Wyatt's promotional board.

My brain hurts. No, it has nothing to do with the mundane training. It has everything to do with today's Promotion Board Interview. I had been dreading this date since it was announced on Thursday, because the Board consists of an Inspector and two Captains; all of who hold my future in their hands.

After psyching myself out over the weekend, I meekly entered the interview room to find the three interviewers: the Inspector, who was my captain in my old district, and two captains, one from Center City, and one from Internal Affairs. "Great," I thought, "I'm dead."

On the contrary, everything went swimmingly! The Inspector was overly nice, as were the two captains. They reviewed my sick usage for the year (7 days), and the Center City Captain said, "Oh, that's not bad at all." Next, they reviewed my career IAD complaint history (2 incidents, both of which exonerated me). The Captain from IAD said that my last complaint (in February) "shouldn't have been investigated at all. It was nothing." It made me smile, since I was worried that that complaint would jeopardize my promotion.

All in all, I got a fair shake from three very personable commanders. I worried away my weekend for nothing. Now, if only I can get assigned somewhere close to home . . .

POPPYCOCK!

"Fmragtops is quitting his blog? Damn you all!"

Did you ever watch someone fall face-first into sure depression and not be able to do anything about it? Of course you did, since many of you were talking me off the ledge during my sergeant problems last month.

Well, now it's happening to Fmragtops.

I know it's none of my business, but the cop in me hates seeing bad things happen to good people. Fmragtops has quit blogging as of today. He does have an explanation, and we all must honor his wishes, but I think that it's a mistake. Fmragtops is a very entertaining writer - although he would never admit it - and is one of my daily reads. He has been going through some very troubling issues in his life, and gave us all a scare more than once. However, I never thought it would come to this.

I will miss reading his blog, and I hope that he someday reconsiders. Until then, goodbye and good luck my friend!

Live By The Shootout . . .

Die by the shootout.

Crap. We faced off against the last-place Chilly McPhilly's tonight, whose only win this season was against us. Every time we play these goons, it turns out to be a cheap-shot, penalty-filled debacle. Tonight was no exception. One of their forwards buried our defenseman into the boards, knocking him out of the game, then punched me in the chest behind the play, and ended his fabulous first period by slashing my linemate in the back of the shins.

I got his license plate number, and I'll have someone from work stop him and pull a Rodney King. (By the way, I am obviously kidding. I am still waiting to be officially promoted.) Of course, our team didn't help matters. We stunk on ice, and trailed most of the game. In the third period, one of our guys gave us the following (unedited) pep talk:

"Hey, dicks! How about playing like people who don't sit when they pee!"

If that doesn't get you motivated, I'm not sure what will. Strangely enough, the humiliation approach worked, and we tied the game, forcing a shootout - our second in as many games. That's where the story takes a most disturbing turn. Our goaltender, Rock, who was so brilliant last game, couldn't save coupons this one. McPhilly's scored right off the bat, while we missed on our first three attempts. Our fourth attempt scored, and we would be in good shape - as long as the final McPhilly's skater missed.

He didn't, and we lost to these toads for the second time this year. Now, I am exhausted, beaten up, and demoralized. I am in the perfect frame of mind for my Promotional Interview tomorrow. Crap.

A Different Bronx Tale

NYPD Officer Daniel Enchautegui - Hero.

I feel sick.

"In a fierce volley of gunfire Saturday in the Bronx, a police officer responding to sounds of a break-in next door to his home was fatally shot, and two men he wounded -- one an actor in the movie "A Bronx Tale" and the HBO show "The Sopranos" -- were captured as they fled the scene, police said.

Officer Daniel Enchautegui, 28, who had been on the force since 2002 and was assigned to the 40th Precinct, was pronounced dead at Jacobi Medical Center at 6:09 a.m. -- less than an hour after he was shot once in the chest outside his home on Arnow Place in the Pelham section."

The actor-turned-cop killer is identified as Lillo Brancato, Jr., and played the role of Robert DeNiro's son in "A Bronx Tale." Read the rest of the story here. And feel free to sign this scumbag's guestbook, found on his fan club. May Lillo Brancato rot in hell.

Kicked In The (Soccer) Balls

Here's a story that I'm sure no one cares about, but since it interests me, I'm posting it:

FIFA Fraks USA!

The seedings for next year's World Cup were announced this week, and not only did the U.S. squad miss out on a seeded position, they were also dumped into one of the toughest groups of the tourney. The Yanks will face Italy, the Czech Republic, and Ghana this summer in Germany, despite manhandling higher seeds (Mexico comes to mind) in the Qualifiers. Who knew FIFA had a liberal bias?

Actually, FIFA's seeding "system" more closely resembles a blindfolded man throwing darts at a map than a coherent process. The seeds are based upon past performances, as well as current team strength. Since the Americans finished dead last in '98, they get the screw-gee in '06.

I would like nothing better than U.S. Soccer to make the Huns eat their words, but with Italy and the Czechs . . .

Bound And Tagged

I'm gonna kill Dr. Phat Tony and make it look like an accident. That's the first thing they teach you in detective training, by the way. The good doctor tagged me with a meme here, and now I gotta pony up some answers. Like I need homework after a brutal week of classroom training.

Five Weird Habits I Have

1. The Straightening. Meet Wyatt Earp, the poster boy for OCD. Although my obsessive-compulsive tendencies have become less severe, I will still line up any footwear I find on the floor. If the kids kick them off, I will walk over, place them next to each other, with the heel end against the wall, facing out.

2. The Hockey Dressing. Hockey players are by nature superstitious. In a habit that can be traced back to the first time I laced up skates, I put on my gear left to right, bottom to top. For example, I put on my left skate, then my right. Next, I strap on my left shin guard, then my right. This goes onward and upward until I strap on my helmet.

3. The Shaking. When I am pissed off and/or stressed out, I get what Kramer referred to as the "jimmy legs." I will lie in bed and my legs will quickly shake back and forth whilst I try and deal with the stress. It drives the missus nuts.

4. The Eating. To say that I am a picky eater is an insult to all picky eaters. I like chicken, fish, and ground beef. That's pretty much it. Why? Because before my parents got divorced, they made us clean our plates. Being a middle-class working family, mom couldn't afford the best steaks and pork chops, and I wouldn't touch gristle or fat. Now, I won't eat steak or pork, or most any other animal carcass unless it is Kate Moss lean.

4a. The Chewing. In a related subject from #4 (Doc was right, you can't get any more weird than me), I evenly distribute my food while I chew. For instance, when I take a bite of a Snickers bar (Mmm . . . Snickers!) I will start chewing, and then use my tongue to separate an even amount to each side of my mouth. This way, both sides of teeth get a workout.

5. The Drinking. On those rare occasions that I partake in some liquor (Mmm . . . Jameson's!), I have an infamous move I like to call "the double shot." When drinking shots, I'll arch my head back and slam the whiskey into my mouth, then bring my head forward. I'll hold the whiskey in my mouth for a second, then slam it back a second time to swallow.

Well, there you go. I hope you enjoyed the glimpse into the train wreck that is my life. Now the fun begins . . . Tyler, Peakah, Air Force Wife, Fmragtops, and GunnNutt, you've been tagged!

Alas, Poor Yorick . . .

The Man has a really bizarre post about an idiot Connecticut cop. Domelighters, you gotta read this one to believe it!

Although it's a week old now, the Air Force Wife wrote a tremendous post questioning the whacky things men do.

Dr. Phat Tony has Contest #2 up here, since Contest #1 was much too complicated for people like myself. Check it out! Oh, by the way, he is also claiming to "tag" me in a meme, but until I get written confirmation, he gets bupkis!

Okay, I know this is a lame post, but . . .

• I am still recovering from the flu
• I have barely begun my Christmas shopping
• And we're decorating the tree tonight

I promise I'll have something mildly entertaining a little later. And, with the weekend off, I will have some time to post in a regular fashion. Damned important training; I can't get any writing done!

Bombs Away!

Editor's note: I'm sick as a dog today. It was inevitable sitting in a classroom with 74 other promotees for seven hours. Depending on how I feel, this may be my only post today. Sorry!

On Tuesday, the Inspector of Detectives - the big boss - addressed our class about the various paperwork necessary for our position. Afterwards, he dropped the first of three bombshells:

1. Three of the six detective divisions are filled to capacity. Thus, we will only be assigned to either South, Southwest, or Northwest Detective Divisions. None of these are close to home, and all are pretty much war zones. Don't get me wrong; busy divisions mean oodles of overtime, but minimum travel time would be swell, too. Oh well, if that's the worst thing that happens with this promotion, I can't complain.

Of course, that is not the worst thing that can happen.

2. The second bombshell involved our mandatory physicals, which are tenatively scheduled for the next two Saturdays! There's nothing like spending your day off getting poked and prodded by a city doctor not fit to check my rabbit. Oh, and here's the best part: NO overtime has been approved for these days! If I am down there for ten hours, I don't get one red cent.

3. The final bombshell must have been an error. We were told that our promotion ceremony will occur on December 19th at Temple University - good thing we'll have our guns! The ceremony begins at 10am, and (unless I misheard) after the festivities, we are scheduled to report back to training for the rest of the day. So much for spending time with our families. I asked some of my classmates about this today, and they think I misheard. I hope they're right.

Maybe The Frogs Aren't So Bad

On Saturday, ten or so of the best drivers in the world competed in the 2005 Race of Champions in Paris. The event was held in the Stade de France, where construction crews created the two-lane asphalt circuit atop the soccer field. Among the drivers were British Rally champ Colin McRae and NASCAR god Jeff Gordon.

The competition was of the one-on-one round-robin variety, with every driver completing four laps around the track in three different vehicles; rally cars, a modified F1, and some other combination I have never seen. The ROC is a true test of a driver's mettle. The person who wins it is generally considered the best driver on Earth.

Unless, of course, you get the screw-gee.

Jeff Gordon advanced to the semi-finals, where he faced Scandinavian Tom Kristensen. The two approached the start line, and when the green flag fell, Gordon's transmission failed. Kristensen took off while Jeff frantically tried to fix his gear box. By the time he got his vehicle moving, the race was over. The ROC broadcast team mentioned that the rules allow for a re-run if there is a mechanical problem before a car passes the start line, but the jackass officials disagreed, and the race was declared legal. Gordon, class guy that he is, blamed no one and took the loss in stride.

The Parisians in the stands did not.

After it was announced that the race result would stand, ear-shattering boos and whistles rained down from on high. Gordon, an American, got screwed, and the French race fans knew it. Maybe they're not so bad after all.

A Date Which Will Live In Infamy

The "Real" Hawks Prevail

The Saint Joseph's Hawks - my beloved alma mater - beat the Kansas Jayhawks on the national stage tonight in the Jimmy V Classic at Madison Square Garden. The game, televised by ESPN, featured the staples of the SJU game plan: strong defense, quick transition play, and a hell of a lot of three-pointers. Dwayne Lee (pictured) and Chet Stachitas took Kansas to task, helping the Hawks to a 70-67 win.

Now that's a nice anniversary present!

The Hawk Will Never Die!

A Sort Of Anniversary

Ya know those really annoying young couples that celebrate their "anniversary" every week? Don't ya just wanna punch them in the mouth for being so cutesy? Me too.

On an unrelated subject, today is Support Your Local Gunfighter's six-month anniversary!

Six months and 16,000 visits! Thank you for your continued support, and despite my recent schedule change, I'll try and keep blogging as often as usual. And to my fellow bloggers, I apologize for not stopping by in the past few days. I'm still adjusting to everything, and the visits (and comments) will begin as early as tonight. Thanks again!

Stupid Questions

Why did ESPN force Rush Limbaugh to resign after saying Donovan McNabb is overrated, but Michael Irvin only received a one-week suspension after police found "his friend's" drug paraphenalia in Irvin's vehicle?

Does anyone else think that the wrong person is becoming the stay-at-home parent in the Ben Affleck/Jennifer Garner relationship? Ben, your girlfriend has (some) talent. You do not. Stay home and spare us another "Armageddon!"

Would "X-Men 2's" Lady Deathstrike pass a TSA airport screening?

Training Day

"She's filing her nails as they're dragging the lake . . . " - Elvis Costello, "Watching the Detectives"

Jeepers, I'm wiped out. Two hours of sleep will do that to a person. The excitement must have been too great, because I didn't fall asleep until 4am - only to wake up at 6. Day one of Detective Training included lectures by the Major Crimes Unit. Imagine the amount of info one would have to process by sitting through a dozen speakers in seven hours. The lunch hour was greatly appreciated. Don't get me wrong; the training was interesting, but it was a little much for the first day.

There was time for a few laughs, however. A member of the Auto Squad, who showed a video of what happens when a crack addict steals a "bait car," gave the last presentation. A bait car is one that can be tracked and remotely controlled by the detectives to catch idiots.

The camera inside the vehicle showed Cracky Joe steal the car, and while fleeing the scene, he falls asleep! The vehicle swerves, and Joe awakes to find himself propelled into the back seat, then partially ejected through the rear vent window. In the process, Joe is decapitated. Nice! In a prime example of cop humor, everyone giggles. When the instructor asks, "Wanna see it again?" the class replies in unison, "YEAH!"

Tomorrow should be more of the same, unless the city is snowed in. The forecast is calling for 5-8 inches overnight.

Hockey Night In Philly

I am really sorry for the lack of early posting. This daywork thing really has my schedule shot to hell. Do people really work when the sun is up? Wow. Anyway, get ready for two posts of solid gold. And by "gold," I mean "crap."

Last night, I laced 'em up for the first time in two weeks. The ribs felt manageable, so playing didn't seem to be a problem. Of course, I picked the absolute worst time to make a comeback - we were playing the Bad Land Boys, who are cruising atop the standings at a lofty 7-1. Getting dressed was fairly painless, and when I took the ice, I could skate like I usually do (read: slowly).

It didn't take long to realize that it would be a long game.

The Bad Land Boys came out on fire, scoring three fast goals to our none. Already we were in a hole, and some of my teammates were blasting the refs - who really were terribly one-sided, and I never criticize refs. Soon the zebras had enough, and we started the second period with our captain in the penalty box for unsportsmanlike conduct. Brian, gentleman that he is, screamed at the ref again, and caught another two-minute minor, which had to be served by yours truly. Now I'm pissed, because I never get penalties. I let Bri have it.

The Boys scored another, and we got one back, ending the second period down 4-1. The penalties must have given us a boost, because we dominated the third, scoring three unanswered goals to tie the game! Shameless self-promotion alert: with 20 seconds left in the game, the Boys were rushing into our zone, until some soon-to-be detective poked the puck away, saving the tie. The team jumped the boards to celebrate tying the best team in the league, until the refs came and informed us that we will have to break the tie with a shootout.

Swell.

As I was sitting on the bench saying, "I'll take the tie!," Brian picked the five players to go one-on-one with the other goalie. I was passed over - and rightly so. The Boys started first, and were stopped by our goalie, Rock. Our guy then went and was stoned. Their second guy came in, and was stoned by Rock again. Our next guy went in and was stoned. So far, it's 0-0. Their third guy came in and was stoned again! Our third guy went in and scored! Their fourth guy went in and Rock stood him up again. We're up, 1-0, and if we score here, it's over. My best friend Chris took the puck, skated in, did a terrific head fake, and beat the goalie through the 5-hole. X-Men win! X-Men win!!

All in all, it was a damned fine night of hockey.

Detective To District: "Drop Dead!"

"Somebody messes with me, I'm gonna mess with him." - Al Capone, The Untouchables

My district had its annual Christmas party after work this morning. Nothing like drinking at 9am. Since I am getting promoted - and I can't stand most of those people - I made an excuse not to go. Thankfully, I still have a few friends left there who would make great intelligence officers. I received an e-mail report of the festivities an hour ago. Here are the lowlights:

Hold on, I have to duct tape my head before we proceed.

• The "woman" everyone refers to as "Barney Fife" - she's a dead ringer for Don Knotts - was telling everyone that I wouldn't like being a detective. I guess she figured I wouldn't be able to handle the workload. This from the biggest bum in the department. Fife was in my academy class, and she has no sick time left. None after eleven years! This broad takes off sick for a pimple. Hey Barney, do you think you're giving us sour grapes, since you took the detective's test and failed miserably? Ass.
• My sergeant - not the infamous Sergeant A-Hole, but an a-hole nonetheless - was telling my friend that I had been miserable the last six months and am "burning my bridges." First of all, anyone would be miserable if they had to wait sixteen months for a promotion, while stuck in a district with a sergeant who made life difficult for him. Secondly, if I ever get demoted and put back in that district I will choose suicide instead. Burning my bridges? Flame on!
• The same Gil Gerard-looking sergeant - whom I mercifully kept of this blog - was talking to the sergeant I get along with and saying that he didn't know if the squad would be getting me a promotion gift because I had such a bad attitude. Oh darn, whatever will I do? Look, Buck Rogers, I specifically told everyone there that I did not want a party. That being said, everyone who ever gets promoted usually gets a badge and wallet with their new number. Besides, I'd rather get it from someone I respect, instead of a supervisor who hangs outside the bar trying to pick up drunk co-eds.

I realize it's hypocritical to slam people behind their backs for slamming me behind my back, but that e-mail really set me off. Sorry. I'll post something later that isn't filled with bile.

Rudder A-midshipmen!

Thousands of students from the nation's military academies descended on my hometown for the 106th Annual Army-Navy Game. And, as is custom, my neighbor (a former army tanker) descended on Casa de Wyatt to watch the festivities in Hi-Def. Since Denny is gung-ho for the Black Knights, it is only fitting that - as his friend - I obnoxiously cheer for the Midshipmen.

And, as has been custom, Navy spanked Army, 42-23.

As Denny was making The Walk of Shame back to his home, a few things struck me - thankfully not his fist - about this year's event:

• Navy's cheerleaders were much more attractive than Army's, but the Army babes had the better outfits by far!
• When CBS showed some famous grads from the two academies, Army propped up Patton, Ike, and Omar Bradley. Navy posted Jimmy Carter! Ouch.
• Philadelphia sucks when it comes to "going all out" for the traditional game. The half-assed field painting - we could still plainly see the Eagles logo coming through the temporary Army and Navy end zones - made me cringe. Maybe the game should be played in Giants Stadium.
• Does football get any better than Army-Navy? Despite the lopsided final, the overall play was terrific from both sides, and nary a penalty was called. Try seeing that in the NFL.

You're A Slacker, McFly!

It may seem as I have been resting on my laurels for the past day and a half, but with the promotion news, I have been uber-busy. (Not busy with Uber!) I am slowly coming to the realization that I am woefully unprepared for this move, and my first day at the new detective division will be eerily similar to my first day on the job. We're not in Kansas anymore.

Clothing. The only good thing about being uniform is that everything looks the same. Same shirts. Same "make your butt look big" pants. Same everything. Detectives work in plainclothes, but I can't exactly prance around in jeans and a halter-top, either. (I'll take a moment for everyone who just vomited in their mouths.) Thus, I need new clothes. I only own one suit, and two sport jackets. Looks like someone is going to be financing Mr. Boscov's son's education. Great.

Equipment. Along with a clothing bill that equals the GNP of a small Latin American country, the good folks at Visa will be seeing mondo purchases from Galls. Despite taking the chance that I will offend my gun-toting pals out there, I need a decent plainclothes holster. Oh, and a new set of non-rusty cuffs! Ooo, and my own fingerprint kit!! (Some of the community kits you see in the districts suck.) While I'm at it, how 'bout I get a G.I. Joe with the kung-fu grip?

Intellect. Regular readers of SYLG know I'm a big, dumb guy - exactly the type of guy who should never become an investigator. This promotion is really scary, since I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I figured this panic would come, but not so soon.

Maybe if I click my heels three times . . .

WHOO HOO!

It took sixteen months, but I'm finally getting promoted! From now on, it'll be Detective Earp! I would have posted sooner - I found out at 5pm - but I have been bouncing off the walls and calling every person I have ever known to bore them with the details. Training begins on Monday, and will last a little over three weeks. The date for the promotion ceremony hasn't been announced yet, so I'll keep everyone updated.

(I realize that this sucks for a post, but if I didn't write it down now, the joy would lose its punch.)

My Patience Is Ready To "Break"

An open letter to the Fox Broadcasting Company:

Far be it for me, a hack blogger, to tell you how to run your network, but I have a few suggestions anyway. And you're gonna listen to them. Why? Because I represent the awesome power of the police!

Prison Break is one of the best shows on television. Not only do I watch religiously, but I also try and whore the show to all my friends. It's terrific television . . . and you guys are screwing it up! A network that only boasts a handful of entertaining programs - 24, Family Guy, American Dad, then a whole lotta crap - shouldn't be frakking with a successful series' schedule. That's logical, right?

Then please tell me why I was watching the "Fall Finale" of Prison Break this week? Please tell me why I have to wait until MARCH to see new episodes?? Please tell me why this show was put on hiatus to make room for American Idol??? PLEASE TELL ME WHY YOU GUYS ARE CAUSING MY BRAIN ANEURYSM????

I'll let you in on a little secret: American Idol sucks arse! After people are done laughing at the expense of the William Hung's of the world, we are secretly plotting the demise of Simon "Yeah, he's straight" Cowell. If you want that despicable show to grab my interest, let's see Paula Abdul's love trysts with the contestants. And who the hell is Randy Jackson, anyway? Has he done anything to deserve fame and notoriety? But I digress.

I ignored my family for three months watching the exploits of Michael, Linc, Sucre ("I need my conjugals, fish!"), T-Bag, and Abruzzi. It was just like being in prison - without the rape. Every week, the creators gave us a different cliffhanger (a la 24) . . . and it was good. Michael and his co-conspirators inched closer and closer to the escape - and I inched closer and closer to the edge of my seat - all waiting for the inevitable payoff. Except it never came.

The "Fall Finale" had our anti-heroes at the edge of freedom; until some maintenance worker replaced a faulty pipe - crucial to the escape. Linc is now within two days of his execution, and Abruzzi is in critical condition after having his throat slit by T-Bag. I'm dealing with a lot of stuff here! The last thing I needed was you dopes to keep me waiting until March!

Look, I appreciate your dilemma, but what I need is an entertaining Fox series to start in September, and run uninterrupted (except for holidays) through May. You already screwed us with 24, don't do it to us again. Thank you.

T-Bag, I hate your guts! Abruzzi, you better come back!

Are You Ready For Some Football?

My pal Denny sent me this one, knowing what a huge college football fan I am. Enjoy!

Q: What does the average University of Michigan player get on his SAT's?
A: Drool.

Q: What do you get when you put 32 West Virginia cheerleaders in one room?
A: A full set of teeth.

Q: How do you get a Nebraska cheerleader into your dorm room?
A: Grease her hips and push.

Q: How do you get a Florida State graduate off your porch?
A: Pay him for the pizza.

Q: How do you know if an Alabama football player has a girlfriend?
A: There is tobacco spit on both sides of his pickup.

Q: Why is the Kentucky football team like a possum?
A: Because they play dead at home and get killed on the road.

Q: What are the longest three years of a Miami football player's life?
A: His freshman year.

Q: How many Oklahoma freshmen does it take to change a light bulb?
A: None. That's a sophomore course.

Q: Where was O. J. headed in the white Bronco?
A: Durham, North Carolina. He knew that the police would never look at Duke for a Heisman Trophy winner.

Q: Why did Tennessee choose orange as their team color?
A: You can wear it to the game on Saturday, hunting on Sunday, and picking up trash along the highways the rest of the week.

Leggo My Ego!

Excuse me for a minute while I bask in the warming glow of recognition.

After reading yesterday's post, RT commented that she found my blog through The Inquirer's Blinq site. On October 20, Dan Rubin referenced my post about embattled city councilman Rick Mariano's alleged suicide attempt.

Here's the link to the full story, with the mention of yours truly below:

"Soon after the news broke, 'Wyatt Earp' at Support Your Local Gunfighter swaggered through the blogtown's saloon doors. He or she seems to be a Philadelphia Police officer whose beat was Kensington, Mariano's turf. Not a big Mariano fan, but a salty one:

'Mariano, who is not a police officer, would make car stops and call us for backup! The first words out of his mouth were always, "Do you know who I am?," then he would demand that we arrest/ticket the operator of the vehicle for whatever offense he deemed appropriate. Of course, while we were "backing up" this piece of detritus, the real criminals were raping and pillaging the district. What could we do? He was a councilman, and he had the power to get us transferred, post haste.'

I've read articles about his one-man posse, but never from the perspective of police officer."

I look like I'm trying to toot my own horn, but it always amazes me when someone else - especially a reporter - thinks this blog is entertaining. I just don't get it. Thanks again, Dan. And for the record, I am a male Philadelphia police officer . . . at least until the commissioner decides to approve my promotion to detective!

The Head Of The Horse's Ass

Howard Dean was on The Tonight Show last night, and said that one of the reasons the Democratic Party has been losing steam is that people are sick of the personal attacks. Now that's nice to hear. Unfortunately, he made the statement only seconds after ripping President Bush, the War in Iraq, and Republicans in general. Note to Howard: the audience is paying attention to what you are saying . . . even if you are not. Ass.