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Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Made Ya "Blinq"

A laurel and hearty handshake goes out to Mr. Daniel Rubin of The Philadelphia Inquirer, who mentioned yours truly in his post here. It's not much, but any publicity is good publicity. Thank you, Dan!

The Pony Express (Answer Key)

Thanks to everyone who participated in this edition of Reader Mail. It warms the heart to see so many people participate in this dumb post that usually wouldn't take the time to vote. This is pretty long, primarily because of the high volume of questions. So, I apologize if I bore ya. The answers are just a paragraph away.

Dr. Phat Tony asks, "Why did you pic (sic) the same day to answer questions that I did? Would it be fair to steal all your questions then answer them for you?"

Doc, first, I didn't get the memo. From now on, it may be better for you to run your post topics by me before you proceed. Second, if you stole and answered my questions, this post would probably be a lot funnier.

Stella (Pandy) Piccolo asks, "What precisely is the reasoning behind creatively editing so-called "bad words" in blogs? Is it really less offensive to type '$hit' or 'eff-you' instead of the real thing? Everyone knows what is intended, so why not just come out and say it?"

Stella, F**K YOU!!! Ah, I'm just messing with ya. It has been my experience to try and keep SYLG PG-13, primarily because the only one of my family members who reads this thing is my Aunt Helene. And as a former teacher, she would not approve of such foul language.

Sssteve asks, "Why does YOUR word verification always say, "uhavsmlpkg" every time I post a comment? And how do you know? Have you been looking?"

Sssteve, now you're just being silly. You obviously just mashed the keyboard with your fist to get that letter combination, since what always appears is "ohavsmlpkg." I am not looking per se, but can you please put on some pants while you're online? Thanks.

Anti-Hippie asks, "What is, in your opinion, the best round of ammunition for dealing with moonbats? The 12-gauge is great at close range, but I need a bit more reach."

Anti-Hippie, if Hollywood has taught me anything, it is that most Terminators prefer the .45 Long Slide, with laser sighting, the Phased-plasma rifle in the forty watt range, and the Uzi 9mm. That should git 'er done!

The Man asks, "Do real cops laugh at NYPD Blue and other lame cop shows?"

The Man, I'm not sure. I'll ask a real cop.

Fmragtops asks, "Have you ever played any of the pranks portrayed in the movie Super Troopers, like 'Give me your license and registration, right meow!'?"

Fmragtops, I really enjoy messing with drunks' heads (as they did to the stoner teens in the opening scene). Once I was searching a DUI's vehicle, and pulled out a pistol from the driver's seat. I held it up and said, "Hey! What the hell is this?" The drunk freaked out, so I didn't tell him that it was my weapon until he calmed down. By the way, this film is proudly displayed on my DVD shelf.

Bitstreamer asks, "What are the handgun range qualification requirements for the Philly PD, and how often are you required to practice?"

Bitstreamer, our firearms qualification consists of shooting sixty rounds from varying distances of 25, 15, 7, 5, and 3 yards. The curriculum also includes shooting from behind a barrier, and both combat and empty-magazine reloads. We are only required to re-qualify once a year and we are never required to practice. Although, I do like to twirl my gun around my finger like Doc Holliday; does that count?

Bitstreamer then asks, "Why does it sometimes take up to 15-20 minutes to get a speeding ticket? Don't you just punch info into a terminal, or does some troll back at HQ have to look up your background info on index cards? Just what are you guys doing back in your cars while we wait? I mean, 20 minutes! Come on, why do you think we were speeding in the first place? We got places to go! Or, is it some kind of perverse punishment because you KNOW we're in a rush? If so, it's working!"

Bitstreamer, wow. Take a breath, chief! First of all, before Wagonsux chimes in, I work inside two days a week, so thanks for the "troll" comment. As far as tickets go, it sometimes takes forever for local and national BMV checks to come back. Plus, take a look at a moving violation - lotsa writing! Nine times out of ten, that's what we're doing in our cars. The other times? Yeah, we're just screwing with you, trying to make you later than you already are. Heh.

RT asks, "Was Philly safer under the last troll (I mean mayor)?"

RT, again with the trolls? Statistically, no, the city was not safer under now-Governor Fat Eddie Rendell. What worked for Fat Eddie was that he had the local media in his back pocket, and it also helped that there were a lot more cops on the street. The current mayor, Toad Extraordinaire John Street, wasted millions of dollars on a failed "Safe Streets" program, which promised cops on every drug corner. Can you imagine? The OT shot the city into bankruptcy, and now we can't afford to hire more cops . . . or promote others. Bastards!

RT then asks, "Does everybody who knows really go to Melrose?"

RT, ahh the Melrose Diner. I have lived in this town all my life and I have never been there. So I guess the answer is no.

RT pushes her luck with another question: "Was that really that dude's mom's ashes?"

RT is speaking about the dolt who ran onto the field during Sunday's Eagles game carrying an urn, and dumped his mother's ashes onto Lincoln Financial Field. Allegedly, she was a huge Eagles fan, and the jackass wanted to do something for mom. According to the reports, it was in fact her ashes, which is the bad news. The good news is that sonny boy ran for more yards than Brian Westbrook has all season!

Peakah asks, "Why will half the dogs in America receive Christmas presents this year, yet few of us pause to consider the miserable life of the pig - an animal easily as intelligent as a dog -that becomes the Christmas ham? Oink, oink!"

Peak, did you just call me a pig? I think my guest posters can answer this one for you. Jules and Vincent, take it away:

Jules: "Pigs are filthy animals. I don't eat filthy animals. Pigs sleep and root in shit. That's a filthy animal. I ain't eat nothin' that ain't got enough sense to disregard its own feces. A dog's got personality. Personality goes a long way."
Vincent: "Ah, so by that rationale, if a pig had a better personality, he would cease to be a filthy animal. Is that true?"
Jules: "Well we'd have to be talkin' about one charmin' motherf**kin' pig. I mean, he'd have to be ten times more charmin' than that Arnold on Green Acres, you know what I'm sayin'?"

Uber asks, "(After I was pulled over for dead tags) why did five cruisers swoop in and surround me like it was some kind of a major drug bust and then I didn't even get a ticket?"

Uber, do me a favor. Stand up, go to your nearest mirror, and look at yourself. There's your answer. Guys are pigs. Guys who also happen to be cops are uber-pigs (no pun intended). When a fabulous babe gets pulled over in my district, all the guys are informed, then stop by the scene to "assess the situation." As for the ticket, pretty ladies with southern accents don't get tickets for anything. It's the law.

Bob asks, "Why is the Surekill Expressway spelled Schuylkill?"

Bob, the expressway isn't the problem, it's the morons who drive it. I love when I hear KYW tell us that there is a backup from "sun glare:" as if people forgot that the sun was bright in the morning. Idiots. Schuylkill is one of those whacky Native American names that the White Man took for himself; then was unable to spell.

Wagonsux asks, "Why didn't you discuss your heroics at work yesterday? In all my years on the Police Department, I've never seen such an act of bravery. Are you going to be ok? You, Wyatt, are much too humble. Bravo!"

Wagonsux, I hate you. He's kidding, folks. And even if I did do something "heroic," I probably wouldn't blog about it. It's against my self-deprecating style.

GunnNutt asks, "Why are the major highways in PA always under construction? Do they ever finish, or just go back to the beginning and reconstruct the whole thing over again? What's Wagonsux talking about?"

Gunny, thanks to cutbacks, PennDOT consists of just one construction team. Since they are unionized, the team of five includes a supervisor, a foreman, a shop steward, a worker, and an apprentice. The average time needed to pave one mile of road is two months. Thus the delay. And Wagonsux was kidding.

Peakah demands, "Yeah, just answer Wagon!!"

Peak, again, Wagonsux sux! It was a joke!

Insolublog asks, "What real life event, from work, came closest to a scene from Pulp Fiction?From Full Metal Jacket?"

Insol, I once saw a car ram a pedestrian a la Butch and Marsellus in Pulp Fiction. Not pretty. From FMJ, I responded to an assist officer/shots fired call in my current district. The man fired a shotgun round at a sergeant, and when my partner and I arrived on the scene, the man (who was sitting in his vehicle) stuck the shotgun inside of his mouth and pulled the trigger a la Private Pyle. Unfortunately for us, we were the wagon crew and had to take to headless body to the morgue. I had never seen so much blood, and we later found out the man was HIV positive. Swell. Oh, and I was once the recipient of a soap bar beating, but I don't like to talk about that.

Mel asks, "How are your ribs healing?"

Mel, better than my self-imposed Irish-Catholic guilt trip. I still think I let my team down by not playing, but to be honest, they still hurt like the Dickens!

SK asks, "Did you check up on the Earp kid to find out if he's related?"

SK, I did not, but he cannot possibly be related to me with such reckless driving habits! For shame!

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

The Pony Express

Now, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Today you get the chance to see your reader mail answered. (It's kinda like my Ask Dr. Earpy segment, but I couldn't settle on a topic.) Therefore, no topic is off limits, so fire away. Post your questions in the comments section, and I will have your answers on Wednesday morning.

Giddyup!

Stupid Questions

Why do some businesses claim catchy phone numbers that are a few digits too long? "Call 1-800-FREE ENEMA!" Wouldn't the call connect after the last "E?"

Who decided it would be a good idea to have David Lee Roth replace Howard Stern? What, was Toni Basil unavailable?

Does anyone else think that Lowe's is really getting out of hand by selling "Holiday Trees?"

Is this a good enough reason to see "Aeon Flux?"

Monday, November 28, 2005

All He Does Is Win

"Ya know he's like butter, 'cause he's on a roll!" - Stuart Scott, ESPN

I won GOP and the City's Weekend Caption Contest! You can't stop me, you can only hope to contain me. Tee hee hee!

Lost

"I'm prepared to scour the Earth for that motherf**ker. If Butch goes to Indochina, I want a ni**er waiting in a bowl of rice ready to pop a cap in his ass." - Marsellus Wallace, Pulp Fiction

Sometimes, blog posts just write themselves. Especially when you deal with idiots and toads all day. Take last night. for instance. The Queen of the Toads drug her ample backside into roll call, sat down, and immediately fell asleep! I kid you not. I smacked my partner, and titled my head at Sleeping Ugly. My partner took his flashlight and shined it in her face, startling her into semi-consciousness. (This is the same "cop" who fell asleep in her police car at HQ.) M.T. - the "cop's" first and middle initials - scowled and said, "I'm gonna slap you!"

M.T. is a study of incompetence. She leads the league in most offensive categories, including sick time abuse, vacation days used, and roll calls missed. None of these, however, can hold a candle to the squirrel's nest she calls a hairdo. It's bad enough that she resembles Shirley Hemphill from What's Happening?, but does she still need the 70's afro, too? Content to flaunt her non-compliance to departmental directives, M.T. has (on separate occasions) dyed her hair pink, maroon, and purple! That may be a good look for Pandy, but not for a police officer.

So, it was no surprise when after spending 51 minutes writing a parking ticket, she stopped answering police radio, who had called and checked her status. No answer. After three attempts to raise her, the sergeant came over the air: "Have a unit go to her last location and see if the officer is there." She wasn't. Now, cars are moving in to her last known location to assist in the search, and a certain nameless co-worker (*cough* Wagonsux *cough*) sends me a text message which says, "Operation Find M.T. is now in effect." I laughed so hard, I almost drove off the road.

It is now ten minutes into the search, and still no sign of M.T. Almost every car in my district is in the area, searching high and low for her or her vehicle. We get bupkis. Now we're getting pissed, primarily because we know she's asleep somewhere. Thirteen minutes after the search begins, M.T. finally comes over the air, by saying (incredibly), "10, I'm available." That's all. No explanation, and no acknowledgment of the unanswered calls.

The sergeant immediately comes over the air, and says, "What is 10 car's location?" M.T. says, "I'm at (the location of her last assignment)." This is impossible, because I am at the location of her last assignment when she says that. The sergeant then says, "Have 10 car meet me at the diner." M.T. responds, and then turns on to the street where I am sitting. She is moving pretty fast, as if she were in a big rush to get back where she was supposed to be. As she approaches my car, I roll down the window to see if she is okay. Well, I never got the chance, since she blew right past me. Nice gal.

After the meeting, word gets around that M.T. claimed she was assigned the illegal parker job, went there, wrote the ticket, and resumed patrol. Then, radio re-sent her back to the same location (as if they would do that), and she was enroute back when we were looking for her. As Dr. Evil would say, "Riiiiight!" She never explained why she didn't answer the radio the dozen or so times she was called. Not that it mattered, since the sergeant bought her line of b.s., and was defending her later to the troops!

M.T.'s nametag says "M.T. Xxxxxx." It should say, "M.T. Head!"

The Weakest Link

Well, I finally took some good advice - by skipping last night's hockey game. The mind was willing, but the ribs were spongy and weak. At least I wouldn't miss much, since our team has been playing so poorly, right?

Wrong.

The X-Men beat the Ice Bandits, 3-1, without yours truly. (This is why I have such low self-esteem.) Judging by last night's performance, I am the weakest link.

Goodbye.

Sunday, November 27, 2005

An SYLG Companion

When I was writing my previous blog, many of my readers told me that sometimes they didn't understand what the hell I was talking about. What's worse is that when I wrote about politics, they tuned out entirely. This is the reason I rarely pontificate about the toads in Washington anymore. I don't want anyone to tune out nowadays, so here are a few translations for some of my commonly used police terms.

Offender (or Doer) – In Philadelphia, we keep it simple. (We have to, since many of our officers barely escaped high school with a GED.) Obviously, an offender is a suspect in a crime. Do not under any circumstances refer to this person as a "perp." This ain't Hollywood, baby.

Toad – Toad is pretty much a catch-all for the scum of the Earth. It can be used for offenders as well as cops. A toad offender can best be described as "white trash," although they come in every shape, size, and color. A toad cop can best be described as most of my platoon – do-nothings who are just there to cash a check.

Pinch – Simply, a pinch is an arrest. For example, I have three pinches this month.

Whore – This word has a dual meaning. The local prostitutes are commonly referred to as whores, but so are some cops. For example, my current partner responds to almost every auto accident in the district, with the hopes of pinching someone for DUI. Why? Because he is an overtime whore.

To quote Animal Mother from Full Metal Jacket: "You talk the talk, but do you walk the walk?" There's nothing more embarrassing than leaving a comment on a police blog and using some asinine word you heard on one of the three thousand Law and Order programs. Knowledge is power!

Saturday, November 26, 2005

Gunga Din! Bring Water!

I just knew this would happen.

The past few nights in Philly have been bone-rattling cold. As such, water mains around the metropolitan area have snapped quicker than Joe Theisman's leg. So, it was no surprise when the main two houses down from mine broke yesterday - for the second time in as many years! Here's a short synopsis of my day:

8:00am - Water main breaks, flooding the street with mud and grime. My neighbors notify the water department. They say they will fix the problem.

10:00am - I wake up (gimme a break - I finished work at 6am!) and the missus tells me there is no water, and I might as well get dressed without a shower. Being an obsessive compulsive - especially about personal hygiene - I decide to wait it out.

12:00pm - The police show up for the automobile-sized sinkhole that has resulted from the main break. Although the hole is three houses down, the idiot cops put barricades in front of my driveway - as if we didn't have any plans to leave the house. The water department is still not on location.

2:00pm - I am starting to get antsy, because I still haven't the chance to shower - and I think ants are actually crawling on me.

4:00pm - Now I'm freaking out. Still no water, and the water department still has not arrived. It's been six hours.

5:00pm - I surrender to my own filth and drive to my in-laws house to use their shower. Nothing like traveling to get clean. As I walk to my car, a water department toad shows up, and my neighbors John and Denny rip the city - and the water department - loud enough for the toad to hear. "I'll bet if this was the mayor's street, we would have water by now!"

8:00pm - I am clean, the kids are in bed, but Kyle can't sleep. Why? Because the water department has finally shown up with jackhammers and a bulldozer - at 8pm! It has been twelve hours and still no H2O.

9:00pm - Kyle still can't sleep "because of the noise." Friggin' swell.

12:30am - After sixteen and a half hours, the water is finally back. I put away my sniper rifle, and go to bed. Frak this town!

Isn't life in the big city just grand?

Friday, November 25, 2005

Time To Help Out One Of Our Own

Dave at Garfield Ridge sent most of his sidebar an e-mail yesterday concerning Jennifer at Demure Thoughts:

Many of you are familiar with the blog Demure Thoughts, run by our friend Jennifer.

Jen's 5-year-old daughter has been in and out of the hospital the past two weeks with a kidney infection, pancreatitis, and now, surgery to remove her gall bladder and appendix. Jen and her family are spending Thanksgiving in the hospital with her sick daughter.

Jen's daughter is insured, but insurance never covers everything, and the bills from this month (not just the hospital stay, but CAT scans, MRI's, tests, etc.) will not be inconsiderable for a mother of four. So, I'm suggesting that if you have any dimes to spare this holiday, stop by her site and click on her Pay Pal donation button on her sidebar to the left, and send her your loose change. I'm sure Jen and her family will be much appreciative of anything you can give, no matter the amount.

Also, if you're feeling particularly generous, consider posting a plea on your blog. Only takes a second.

(BTW, Jen did not put me up to this, this is entirely my idea, so I apologize for any intrusion. I just know that a sick child is always a challenge, especially around this time of year).

FYI, here's the link to the
Garfield Ridge posting on the subject, with a few further details.

Thanks to all of you, and I hope you have a Happy Thanksgiving!

Since our "friends" at Target have banned the Salvation Army, why not help out one of our own. Jennifer and her family could use some holiday cheer. Thanks!

"Will Shoot Jack Bauer For Food"

There's nothing better for the piggy bank than landing a sweet gig on a successful television series. That is, until your character is written/killed off. The cast of 24 knows this more than most. Sometimes the success carries over in the form of endorsements. For example, Dennis Haysbert (President Palmer) is now the spokesperson for Allstate. (He's come a long way from Pedro Cerrano.) Sadly, Haysbert is the exception rather than the rule. For many former cast members, the only lines for which they are auditioning are at the unemployment office.

Well, no longer. SYLG has undertaken the daunting task of finding work for Jack Bauer's jobless pals. I ask for nothing in return . . . except maybe a date with Sarah Clarke.

D. B. Woodside (Wayne Palmer) – President Palmer's brother and Chief of Staff was secretive, devious, and about as effective as marriage counseling for Nick and Jessica. He lasted only one season and is now selling maps to Hollywood homes. Fear not, D.B., I have the perfect position for you – Spokesman for the Democratic National Committee.

Mary Lynn Rajskub (Chloe O'Brien) – The best line ever spoken in this series was doled out last season when CTU bigwig Bill Buchanan said, "Chloe, we don't have time for your personality disorder!" Classic! Although still employed, Mary Lynn could snare a terrific side job as a Human Smoke Detector – since she always has a look on her face like somebody farted.

Sarah Clarke (Nina Myers) – Jack Bauer's former love interest turned out to be a double agent as well as The Mother of All Bitches. Sure she was hot, but who can fantasize when the girl of your dreams is always trying to kill you? Anyone with her perpetual PMS would be a shoe-in as the voice of Midol.

Black Friday

"Why does it have to be black?" – Spike Lee

It looks like that whole global warming thing was a bit premature. Last night, the temperature in Philly was approaching Hillary Clinton levels (as of this posting it is 17 degrees outside). Nevertheless, the morons were out in droves in preparation for Black Friday. By midnight, the intellectually challenged were lined up outside the Wal-Mart, Best Buy, and Circuit City, eager to get a jump on the sales.

Unfortunately, these retailers weren't opening until 5am!

I'm sure the three dollars in savings will more than compensate for the appendages lost to frostbite. Idiots.

Thursday, November 24, 2005

Giving You The Bird

It's Thanksgiving, and since my readers have lives, no one will be reading SYLG today. Thus, I am free to prattle on about anything I desire. So, the following people are gay . . .

What's that? Someone may actually be reading today? Oh. Scratch that whole gay thing. Instead, like every other blogger on Earth, I might as well list some of the things for which I am thankful. Fasten your seat belts.

Stanley Kubrick. Yeah, I know he passed on, but his films still entertain me for hours on end. The Shining is a modern day classic, but as everyone knows, it can't hold a candle to his masterpiece, Full Metal Jacket. Although most folks will tell you that the movie could have ended after the first half of the film (Parris Island), I am one of the silent minority that enjoys the second half (Vietnam) much better. Best movie . . . ever!

Sony. Whether it's my delightful 46" HDTV, or my PlayStation 2 (which I refer to as my "third son"), the good folks at Sony keep inventing more reasons for me to ignore my family. However, if those pillaging bastards try and market a $500 PS3, I am going postal!

Fox News. Forget their reporting or their conservative slant. Who the hell cares? I am thankful for Fox because they really know how to hire the fabulous babes! Mmm . . . Laurie Dhue! Bonus points for the across-the-board lip gloss. I don't know what they give their anchors, but it's working.

My readers. Let's face it, without you guys, I'm nothing. Despite my previous rants about my descending daily hit count, it is secondary to the pride I feel when I know someone is out there. Thank you all for your unending support, and I hope I can continue to live up to your expectations. Happy Thanksgiving!!!

Thank you Laurie . . . for just being you!

Is There A Doctor In The House?

"Fiery Jack, Fiery Jack! It's red-hot on yer back!" - The Toy Dolls

I think I'm dying.

No, really. It's been a week since I suffered a horrible add-a-stick-to-me to my ribs, and the injury is getting worse. At this point, it hurts to do, well . . . anything – and my constant alternating diet of Tylenol and Advil cannot be Atkins friendly.

Of course, being a big, dumb guy, I haven't exactly been nursing myself towards recovery. Work still beckons – sick days are for wussies – and my kids won't pick themselves up now, will they? The result: a heating pad is my constant companion at home, and my uniform has a new accessory – ThermaCare Back Wraps.

I briefly considered going to the hospital last night, but thought better of it. The missus didn't approve, and said that if I was considering playing hockey on Sunday night, she would complicate my existing trauma. Common sense would dictate that I skip the game. Of course, common sense was never my strong point. I'm playing.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

I Got Yer Therapy Right Here!

I am nothing if not sensitive to my blog friends' needs. When someone needs cheering up, you can count on this lawman to come through, pistols blazing! He's gonna kick my ass for this, but fmragtops has been down in the dumps of late. Thankfully, Dr. Earpy has the cure for what ails ya: Keira Knightley.

Isn't It Ironic?

The harder I try to be a bum for Sergeant A-Hole, the easier activity comes my way. Last night, I parked at a gas station near the busiest intersection in my district, waiting for a motorist to do something stupid.

It didn't take long.

Two rice burners decided to drag race past my location, spinning wheels as they went. Naturally, I took off after them, soon realizing that my speedometer was approaching 80 mph before I could close the gap. The slower of the two vehicles pulled over, and I approached the car, deftly concealing my paralyzing rage.

The 17-year old kid behind the wheel - he may have been older, but driving that fast I think we went back in time - handed me his driver's license along with his "Civil Air Patrol" cadet ID; as if that was going to get him out of an enormous ticket.

Sidebar - Loyal readers of SYLG know how much I love and respect our military. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think a seventeen-year old cadet qualifies here. If it does, I'll apologize.

Speed Racer said he and his racing partner (let's call him Racer X) were enroute to the airport for a "search and rescue mission." I told him that he was gonna be late, since writing tickets takes some time. Fortunately for him, my gullible jackass side took over, and I only wrote him a ticket for Careless Driving. By right, he could have received a citation for Reckless Driving, which means an automatic suspension of the Boy Wonder's license.

The Civil Air Patrol ID must have gotten to me. Either that or the fact that the kid's last name - and Wagonsux can corroborate this - was EARP!

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Back In The Saddle

Hey, after two weeks of powerfully unfunny caption entries, I finally made it back to semi-respectability. I took third place in GOP and the City's Weekend Caption Contest! Click the link to see all the funny - including the winning entry from some gun whacko in Ohio.

Wet, Drunk, And Stupid

"Fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life, son." Dean Wormer, Animal House

And the dumb get dumber.

Last night, I was working my usual solo car (Whoo hoo! Take that, Wagonsux!) when I get a call for a Vandalism in Progress. Upon arrival, the resident tells me that his live-in girlfriend smashed the rear window of their home. Vandalizing your own home: brilliant! The girlfriend is drunk, soaking wet from the pouring rain, and boy did she reek of alcohol! (She kinda smelled like Peakah. Just kidding, pal!) The boyfriend (obviously pissed about the window) tells me that he doesn't want her there anymore. Fair enough.

I escort Drippy Drawers to the front of the residence, and am met by an irate cab driver. The plot thickens. Youssef the Cabbie - that's not a slander; it was his actual name - states that Drippy hired him to take her home from Center City, then refused to pay the $35 fare! (Drippy couldn't drive herself, since her license was suspended . . . for driving DUI!) When asked why she thought she could get away with defrauding the cab company, Drippy replied, "I thought my boyfriend would pay for the ride."

Buzz! Wrong answer! But we have some lovely parting gifts for you . . . like a ten foot by ten foot cell!

I told Drippy that unless she ponied up the dough for the cab fare, she was going to get locked up. She still refused, and received a delightful pair of steel bracelets for her trouble. Off to jail we go. Here's the actual conversation from the ride to the cell block (and remember, she's completely wasted):

Drippy - "What am I being charged with?"

Wyatt - "Theft."

Drippy - "Why?"

Wyatt - "Because you didn't pay for the cab ride."

Drippy - "Oh. (A second later) What am I being charged with?"

Wyatt - "Theft."

Drippy - "Why?"

Wyatt - "I just told you!"

Drippy - "But what am I being charged with?"

Wyatt - (Head explodes.)

Okay, the last part was embellished, but the rest of the conversation is word-for-word. I know, because I wrote it down immediately afterwards so you guys could enjoy this pure gold. This makes two arrests in as many days for yours truly, and my third of the month. If I'm not careful, I may accidentally become a good cop!

Perish the thought.

Luck Be A Red Wing Tonight

Jesus, I gotta find a different sport to play!

DETROIT (AP) -- Red Wings defenseman Jiri Fischer collapsed on the Detroit bench late in the first period of Monday night's game against the Nashville Predators and was hospitalized in stable condition.

The team announced that Fischer had a seizure and was doing fine. Red Wings coach Mike Babcock later said Fischer's heart had stopped and was restarted at the arena.

"They hooked up the auto defibrillator and shocked him," Babcock said.

Fischer was also given CPR at the bench by team physician Dr. Tony Colucci before the 25-year-old native of the Czech Republic was removed on a stretcher.

Thankfully, it looks as if Fischer will be fine. I had the misfortune of watching the game at the time he went down, and it looked pretty scary. Hopefully, he'll be able to lace 'em up again soon.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Wagon Night: Continued

Part Two: Nice To Have You "Back"

I know no one is going to waste their time reading this after the novel I posted earlier, but here's how the second half of our night played out:

After we impounded little Billy's car, we got a call for a retail theft at the PathMark. The local PathMark is open 24 hours a day . . . right across the street from the housing projects. Smart move, Einstein! Thefts there occur as frequently as Paris Hilton says, "That's hot." Anyway, we arrive at the store, and the offender is being held by security (Whoo hoo! Easy pinch!).

His crime - Stealing $202.88 worth of groceries.

His alibi - "I just forgot to pay for that stuff."

Um, you just forgot to pay for two hundred dollars worth of groceries? Congratulations sir, you are officially the dumbest person on Earth. We drag his sorry behind to the detective division, and chalk up an arrest for the good guys.

When we come back into service, a two-man car asks us to transport their prisoner to the detective division. Notifying us when we were a block away with the other jackass prisoner would have been polite, but I digress. They were locking up a toad who was driving a car used in a robbery. Allegedly, the prisoner was the doer in the crime, but no one was absolutely sure yet. Either way, he was going in. My partner puts him in the back of the wagon, and tries to put on the "seat belt." Seat belts in our wagons are useless. They consist of one long band, which goes the length of the truck across the prisoners' chests. Anyone (cuffed or not) who wants to slip under the belt can do so with ease.

So, when we were driving to the detective division and heard a loud "thump," we were a bit curious as to the welfare of our passenger. I looked in the back through the window and saw Robbery Boy on his back, still cuffed, crying whiplash. "You broke my neck! You broke my neck by driving too fast!"

Now, my partner drives like a maniac when he is alone in a solo car. (Sorry, chief, but it's true.) But last night, he was driving like Miss Daisy - primarily because we weren't in any rush to get to the division with someone else's prisoner. If we get there at the same time, we don't get bagged with their paperwork.

We stop the wagon, open the door, and look at each other. Great, now another criminal is gonna try and sue the city for his "injuries." This big, tough robbery suspect who only minutes ago was trying to fight the arresting officers was now crying like a baby, saying, "Get me an am-blance!" (His word, not mine.) Just what we need. We call for a supervisor to come to the scene with no luck. (He called our cell and said he was "eating lunch.") So we made an executive decision and took the criminal to the hospital.

For the record, most criminals know how the game is played. They cry "injury," and they know we have to take them for treatment. A night in the hospital is better than a night in a cell. We take him to the closest hospital and spend the next three hours listening to him sleep. (Yeah, he was so hurt that he fell asleep during his x-rays!) It wasn't all that bad, though - Nurse Erin was quite attractive.

Three hours (and a hundred x-rays) later, our suspicions were confirmed - the man had no injuries to his back or neck, and was discharged post haste. When we dropped him off in the cell room, he demanded to see our badge numbers - which we gladly complied - but then asked us to write them down for him. Our response - get bent. (We didn't actually say that, but it's funnier.) As we were leaving, we heard shouts of "Lawsuit," "Johnny Cochrane," and "Those cops took my stuff!" - as if I needed a pair of pants with a size 56 waist. Well, not yet, anyway.

So, who wants to take the next Philly police test?

The 2005 NASCAR Champion

Damnit!

Some guy won the championship yesterday, but I don't recall his name. If you're interested, check out GunnNutt's post (complete with pics) of the man I love to hate.

Double damnit!

Wagon Night: A Tale In Two Parts

I don't know what kind of glitch occurred in my sergeant's puny little brain, but last night was the first time I had the wagon in almost two weeks. As such, this post will be written in two parts, since one post about last evening's comedy, stress and b.s. would be so long that everyone would lose interest. (See what I mean? You're already logging off.)

Part One: A Tale Of Two Idiots

Our first assignment out of the gate is for a theft in progress in "N" sector. My partner and I are close by, so we ride in on the job and see what's what. Dispatch tells us that we're looking for two males, both wearing dark hooded jackets (or "hoodies" as the criminals say), attempting to steal a vehicle in front of the location. We were the first officers on the scene, and the witness states that the males tried to steal an ATV from the back of his pickup truck. The description is the same that was given over radio, and the witness said that the males fled in a light colored Cadillac with a Pennsylvania tag, FVR-****. (The tag was changed to protect the moronic.)

We take the report and give the tag info over the air - just in case another officer sees the vehicle - then check the area for the almost-thieves. Not five minutes later, my partner sees a Caddy fitting the description. As we get behind it, we see that the tag is the same car from the theft. We stop the vehicle.

We approach the car with our pistols drawn - if for no other reason that it "looks cool" - and tell the males to put their hands on the dashboard. Both men look about 18 years old. My partner asks the driver for ID, and he says that he has a license, but, "I don't have it on me." Right. The driver gives us his info and we run him through the computer. BMV comes back with his license info - strangely enough, he has a valid license - and we discover that the moron lives around the block from the ATV he was trying to swipe! Now that's a good neighbor.

When we return to the males, my partner asks him what he was doing on the street with the ATV. He (of course) denied ever being there. Being a wiseass, I tell him that he must have gone to public school, because we have witnesses that saw them both, gave us a dead-on clothing description, and the tag number of the car he was driving. The two males still denied it. Okay, fine. Thankfully, the good folks at the PA Motor Vehicles Code have a remedy for just such obstinance: moving violations. See, little Johnny was driving without his license in his possession, and made a turn without signaling, and driving a vehicle with illegal window tint, and without wearing his seat belt. Johnny better ask for a raise on his allowance this morning; otherwise, he's gonna have to work an extra shift or three at Burger World.

As we are writing Johnny the tickets (and working on our hand cramps), Johnny's mommy walks over to the car - we stopped him right by his home - and begins a conversation with him in the middle of our car stop. Faux pas! My partner politely asked her to step away from the car - I think he said something like, "YO!" - and she walks towards the wagon. When asked what her darling little cherub did to deserve this "harassment," we told her that her son was a thief . . . and not a very good one at that. Like any good mother, she shrugged her shoulders at the news, and walked home. Nice.

Intermission. (I told you this would be a long one. Is anyone still out there?)

We give Johnny his brutal fines and send him on his way. Now we're left with little Billy, who owns the car. Billy is just as ignorant as Johnny, and twice as stupid. He politely gives us his license - which is suspended - and we verify his info. We return his license to him, and tell him to be on his way.

Sidebar - In Philadelphia, if you are caught driving a vehicle with a suspended license, it is "Live Stopped," which means that the police can impound your car. Everyone knows the policy, since it has been in effect for a few years, and there are always news stories about the program.

Little Billy obviously didn't get the memo. Instead of locking his car and walking home the half-block, he decides to test our IQ and drives away. (At this point, I know my partner is licking his chops, and I can't stop laughing - which is killing my already bruised ribs.) My partner has a look on his face like, "It can't be this easy," and we stop the car for the second time in a row! Billy looks at us as if we had five heads and asks what's the problem. I am so far behind the car now, because I can't stop laughing, and laughing at this nitwit would be unprofessional.

My partner politely tells him that we are now going to impound his car. (I am now gasping for air, since I am laughing so hard.) He is about to tell radio that we have another car stop in the same area with the same tag as the previous vehicle. Here's the exchange:

My partner - "Are you gonna stop laughing so I can go over the air?"

Me - (Laughing) "Yeah."

My partner - (Clicks radio.)

Me - (Laughing hysterically.)

My partner - "Get out of the wagon until I can tell radio what we have!"

I get out (still laughing) and go to the back of the wagon to try and compose myself. It didn't work.

(For the record, I cannot adequately describe how funny it is that we stopped the same car twice in a row after these morons lied to us. Trust me, though, it was hilarious.)

The tow squad arrives a short time later, and Billy walks home in disgust. Maybe next time he'll stay in school. Idiot.

Editor's note: I'll post Part Two a little later so as not to overwhelm everyone.

Sunday, November 20, 2005

A Blank Slate

I've got nuthin'. I've been sitting staring at the computer screen since the start of the Eagles game, and the post ideas just aren't appearing. (Luckily for me, the Eagles suck, and I'm not missing much.) The blame for this lack of creativity rests firmly on Pandy's shoulders. She is also in a writing slump, and I am positive reading her post jinxed me. Thanks a lot, Yoshiko!

Actually, now that I think of it, today is my friend Bill's birthday. Happy birthday, Bill! Bill gets props for turning me on to Fox's Prison Break, which is quickly becoming the best show on television. It was somewhat a coup for him, since ninety-five percent of the programs he watches are crapola. I mean, the guy watches Commander-in-Chief for God's sake! Thankfully, I am helping him keep the balance by feeding him healthy portions of 24, Smallville, and Battlestar Galactica. What are friends for?

Saturday, November 19, 2005

One At A Time! No Shoving!

Blog-induced entertainment may be a little scarce this week, since most of my sidebar will have hung themselves by the time you read this. Yours truly is searching for the noose after my Wolverines blew a 9-point lead to Ohio State, losing 25-21.

'Bama fans Doc and Tyler are still in disbelief that Auburn won this year's edition of the Iron Bowl, 28-18. By the way, did anyone see the blonde twins CBS kept showing in the stands? Schwing!

Peak is surely drowning his sorrows after those scumbags at Notre Dame spanked Syracuse, 34-10. (Not so funny when the Irish beat your team, is it Josh?)

And last, but certainly not least, The Man's Volunteers lost to Vanderbilt, 28-24. VANDERBILT??? Damn.

"This One Time, At Tennis Camp . . "

Must . . . resist . . . wiseass . . . caption . . . !

HYDERABAD, India - Indian tennis star Sania Mirza insists she opposes premarital sex, a statement that came as crowds burned effigies of the 19-year-old Muslim over her earlier remarks advocating safe sex.

Mirza already has been criticized for her tennis clothing, usually a short skirt and midriff-revealing T-shirt. Sections of orthodox Muslim clergy say she is leading astray young Muslims, especially girls.

"I would like to clearly say on record that I could not possibly justify premarital sex, as it is a very big sin in Islam and one which I believe will not be forgiven by Allah," Mirza said Friday.


This story would have been a lot funnier if Mirza was brutally unattractive. I mean, it's easy for a pig to say she's against premarital sex; since when is she gonna get some? Damned karma!

Friday, November 18, 2005

WKQQ Kitten Billboard Update

I gotta agree with Uber - I think this pic is doctored!

Um . . . there ain't one. After promising to unveil the new billboard - which allegedly shows the radio broad without her shirt - WKQQ is either stalling for time or completely dropped the ball. Hey guys, drop her clothes, not the ball! At the time of this post, the WKQQ website still has not posted the new billboard pic, which makes me wonder if there are shenanigans afoot.

When there is an update, I'll post the new pic.

Update: Finally, the pic is posted (see above). I agree with Peak; this contest was lame.

Tasty Tender Ribs

I'm hurt pretty bad. I think I've got some internal bleeding.

Last night, we had a hockey game against Battalion, who has been sitting atop our league standings for most of the year. Our hopes were brightened when we took the ice and saw that the other team only had two subs on the bench, as opposed to our seven. Cool! As long as we keep 'em tired, we're gold, Jerry, gold!

That's why they play the games.

What came next was the most complete ass kicking in modern hockey history. When the smoke cleared, we lost 9-3, and yours truly took a butt-end of a stick into the ribs. Our team is now alone in the cellar, with little hope of seeing daylight anytime soon. When I got home, I eased myself into bed . . . and stared at the ceiling for five hours. I haven't had one minute sleep today, and I am juggling the constant pain and the nausea. Swell.

The only bright spot of the evening is that I finally got on the score sheet. And I made a damned good play to boot. (Considering my self-deprecating tendencies, believe me when I say this.) My line (me, my brother-in-law Mike, and my best friend Brian) led a three-on-two rush up the ice. Brian carried the puck into the offensive zone and dropped a pass to me, who was trailing him. As I received the pass, I saw Mike out of the corner of my eye, and hit him with a perfect backhand pass, right on the tape. Mike took the puck and beat the goalie through the five-hole. Sweetness!

Sure, we got our butts kicked, but it was nice to have something positive to blog about today. Thankfully, our next game isn't until November 26, so I can try to heal by then.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

The 2005 Weblog Awards

Leave it to Peak to find something like this. The 2005 Weblog Awards aren't too far away, and any piece of detritus can be nominated. (Hint, hint!) Peakah nominated his blog for Best Blog Design and Best of the 251-500 Blogs. You can nominate yourself, but since I am much too modest, I was hoping someone could click the link and throw some pity my way. No one in their right mind would nominate SYLG for Best Blog, but maybe I could get a shout out for Best New Blog - it had to have been created after November, 2004, so I qualify.

Of course, I know I have zero shot of winning anything . . . unless every other nominated blog suffers a fatal crash. Hey, a guy's gotta hope, right?

Oh, and to my fellow bloggers out there, jump in the fray. It would be great if one of us won something!

Wyatt The Terrible

Support Your Local Gunfighter is just Phase One of my master plan to rule the world. My unsuspecting minions have fallen under the spell of this blog's subliminal advertising (Submit!), and my job as a police officer is the perfect breeding ground for a future dictator. Once I topple the existing government in a bloody coup, there will be a few changes around here. For instance:
Political correctness will be outlawed, and offenders who violate this new policy will be brutally beaten by "offensive" Native American college mascots.

Ebonics will be summarily dismissed from the culture, and will be replaced with "McBonics" – an Irish slang where the last word of every sentence will have a "Mc" in front of it. For example, this blog will be known as Support Your Local McGunfighter.

Every citizen convicted of a crime will be immediately drafted into a special branch of the armed forces. Once enough people are conscripted, they will be instructed to invade both Russia and China – just so I can prove Richard Nixon wrong.

The persecution of religion will stop immediately, and copies of the Ten Commandments will be posted everywhere – literally. When you go to the bathroom, the Commandments will be on the inside of the stall. Anyone caught defacing these sensible rules of life will be crucified. It's what Jesus would do.

Finally, the following people will be deported to forced labor camps: Chris Berman, Stuart Scott, Ben Affleck, Jennifer Lopez, Philly mayor John Street, PA governor Ed Rendell, Matthew Lesko, rappers, and every girl who rejected my advances in high school (it's a big list).

Mr. Lesko, please report to the forced labor camp a.s.a.p.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Stupid Questions

French News Bunny Melissa Theuriau: Vive le France!

I hate being a lazy blogger, but I spent my morning in court, only to find out that the D.A. wasn't going to show. Easy money, but it screwed up my sleeping schedule. And it wasn't too conducive for writing interesting posts. Sorry! Here's another edition of Stupid Questions.

In the history of the world, has anyone ever taken an advertisement's advice and told a business, "(Insert Celebrity Name) sent me?"

Does Fox really have enough hit programs that they can afford to put Prison Break on the shelf "until further notice" after November 28th? Going on hiatus for American Idol? Ouch!

Why are high-profile killers always identified by their first, middle, and last names?

Will The CUG finally leave me alone now that I've posted pics of his favorite hot French newscaster, Melissa Theuriau?

New Jersey Slogans

God, I am so behind the times on this one, but I had to add my $0.02. The state of New Jersey is looking for a new slogan, and they are asking the public's input. (God, what morons!) The Man at GOP and the City has offered more than a few, as I am sure have many talented bloggers. Now, it's my turn. Violating an unwritten rule of only one Top Ten List per week, I give you this:

Top Ten Rejected New Jersey Slogans

10. New Jersey - It's like Iowa on prozac.

9. New Jersey - Now with 40% more gay rest stops.

8. New Jersey - Teddy Roosevelt drove through here once.

7. New Jersey - al Qaeda plotters welcome!

6. New Jersey - Trenton is still salvageable.

5. New Jersey - As seen in Escape from New York!

4. New Jersey - It's your turn to beat Doug Forrester in an election.

3. New Jersey - Come for the gambling, stay for the hookers.

2. New Jersey - Ooo, that smell! Can't you smell that smell?

And the number one rejected New Jersey slogan . . .

1. New Jersey - Come explore our sacred Mafia burial grounds!

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Weddin' Memories

Occasionally, readers ask me to post a picture of myself (or with my lovely bride). Usually, I decline - and for good reason; I'm butt-ugly - but today I figured what the hell. So, here we are at our wedding reception. I made the tux myself!

The Earps on our magical, mystical wedding journey.

Nike Forgives Kobe

. . . and thus taught us all love's true meaning.

Nike announced yesterday that they will release a new sneaker which will be endorsed by the "I Didn't Do It Boy," Kobe Bryant. (Bonus points for those who recognized the obscure Simpsons quote.) Of course, this momentous occasion calls for a little celebrating. Put on your party hats!

The Top Ten Rejected Names For The New Kobe Bryant Sneaker

10. "The Wilt Chamberlain, Jr."

9. "The Vanessa" (It's cheaper than buying another diamond.)

8. "Air Grope"

7. "The No Means No"

6. "The (Un)Cross(ed) Legs Trainer"

5. "The Backcourt Violation."

4. "The Ko-Bra Bryant"

3. "Air Force(d) Sex"

2. "Zoom-A-Zoom-Zoom In Your Boom-Boom"

And the number one rejected name for the new Kobe Bryant sneaker is . . .

1. "Kobe's Magic Johnson"

Severed-Finger Lickin' Good

A car bomb exploded outside a KFC restaurant in Pakistan this morning. Pundits thought it strange for "The Colonel" to try his hand at the desert nomad demographic, until it was determined that (in this case) "KFC" stands for Karachi Fried Camels.

Monday, November 14, 2005

Doug Forrester: Idiot

"Hot Dog! We have a wiener, folks!"

Former New Jersey Republican candidate for Governor Doug Forrester is like school in the summertime: no class. Forrester, who couldn't win a one-horse race, blamed last week's loss on President Bush, because G.W.'s popularity had been slipping.

It's all George W. Bush's fault.

Doug Forrester, in his first post election interview, laid the blame for his loss in the governor's race last week directly at the feet of President Bush. He said the public's growing disaffection with Bush, especially after Hurricane Katrina, made it impossible for his campaign to overcome the built-in advantage Democrats have in a blue state like New Jersey.

"If Bush's numbers were where they were a year ago, or even six months ago, I think we would have won on Tuesday," Forrester said. "Katrina was the tipping point."

Um, Doug, you lost to John Freakin' Corzine! A cardboard cutout of Theodore Roosevelt could have beaten this man. You dropped the ball. Now go tell your parents you're a loser.

Eddie Guerrero 1967-2005

A World Wrestling Entertainment star was found dead in his hotel room Sunday in Minneapolis, where he was scheduled to appear that evening in a WWE show.

Eduardo Gory Guerrero, 38, didn't respond to a wake-up call Sunday morning, authorities said. His nephew, fellow WWE wrestler Chavo Guerrero, and hotel security at the Minneapolis Marriott City Center forced their way into the room and found him.

There were no apparent signs of foul play, police said. An autopsy was planned to determine how Guerrero died.

Like most of my friends, I grew up on wrestling. Sure, we knew it was "fake," but it was always damned entertaining. If there was anything in the wrestling world that was certain, it was the fact that these men and women were terrific athletes. Everyone who has seen MTV's "Tough Enough" series witnessed some of the torture they have to deal with every day. Sometimes it takes its toll.

Eddie Geurrero was an enormously talented entertainer. He was also human. Eddie was never shy about his battles with drug and alcohol addiction, especially after he got sober four years ago. I hope that his untimely death had nothing to do with drugs or alcohol, but so far the signs are pointing that way.

A "Chilly" Reception

Since no one reads this blog anymore, I might as well post about our brutal hockey game last night. The X-Men (that's my team, by the way) faced off against Chilly McPhilly's (whom we beat last time, 7-4), and from the outset, we knew it was gonna be a hard-hitting match. My first clue: as I was going in on a 2-on-1, a player from Chilly's stuck his stick in my skate, yanked on it, and I slid feet-first into the boards right next to the ref - who ignored the infraction.

It didn't get much better from there. After being cross-checked in front of the net (and losing his helmet), one of our players received a ten-minute misconduct penalty for arguing with the ref. Classic line: "Hey ref, do you think the helmet unsnapped itself and jumped off my head?" Soon after, the referees lost control of the game, and began missing penalties on both sides. Not that it mattered, because we didn't play well enough to win.

As for yours truly, my teammates said I played pretty well, but in my opinion, I sucked. Halfway through the game, I went in on another 2-on-1, received a perfect pass close to the goal, panicked, and passed it back instead of taking the shot. I probably could have scored (which would have tied the game), but choked. I kept hearing Robert DeNiro from Cop Land, "YOU BLEW IT!"

So, we are now two games under .500, with fourteen to play, and are renting real estate in the divisional basement. Swell. Our next game is Thursday night at 10:45pm, so I'll be informing Sergeant A-hole that I'm taking that night off.


Sunday, November 13, 2005

Think He Was Drinking "Busch" Beer?

How difficult do you think it will be to install a breathalyzer-activated ignition on a stock car?

PHOENIX - Kurt Busch was detained on suspicion of drunken driving and cited for reckless driving after a confrontation with police near the track where the NASCAR champion is to race Sunday. Busch was stopped Friday night after trying to avoid another car and running a stop sign about 2 miles from Phoenix International Raceway, said Lt. Paul Chagolla

"As a result of the roadside investigation the deputy did take Mr. Busch into custody for suspicion of driving under the influence of alcohol," said Chagolla, a Maricopa County sheriff's spokesman. Chagolla said the deputy smelled alcohol on Busch, but the driver refused to perform standard field sobriety tests. Busch did submit to a field breath alcohol test, disclosing the presence of alcohol.

Here, Kitten, Kitten!

Remember Kitten, the radio bimbo who promised to take off an item of clothing for every University of Kentucky football win?

Yeah, me neither.

After immediately losing her sweatshirt, the Wildcats have lost more times than the Washington Generals. (Wow, a Harlem Globetrotters reference!) It got so bad that I soon lost interest, until Peak reminded me that UK won this week. Upon checking the site, I also found out that the 'Cats won another game somewhere in there, because Kitten also lost her shoes. (Big whoop! In my opinion, footwear shouldn't count!) Any hoo, here's the current billboard.

I will post the new and improved billboard - the site claims Kitten will lose her top on Friday after Kentucky's spanking of Vanderbilt - as soon as the pic is up.

Hat Tip to Peakah for reminding me about this radio stunt.

Zero To Sixty In . . . Sixty Years!

Today is my mother's sixtieth birthday. Born on Armistice Day in 1945, Kathleen Elizabeth "Earp" has been an accomplished flautist (but passed up a college scholarship), above average league bowler, and revered softball coach while raising a brilliant blogger . . . as well as two "other" kids. I could go on and on about my mother, but since she doesn't read this drivel, what would be the point?

My family (along with the two "other" kids' families) will be taking Mom out to Applebee's for lunch – where I can finally prove to everyone that everything on their menu is made of apples. Or so I have been told.

Happy birthday, Mom!

Saturday, November 12, 2005

What Am I Doing Wrong?

As I mentioned the other day, I'm losing daily visitors faster than Tara Reid loses her clothes. Maybe the 200+ average gave me a false sense of security (and self-worth), but lately, I have been lucky to get 100 hits a day. So, I want to put the question to you, my loyal readers (if any of you are still out there): what am I doing wrong, and how can I rake in the readers? Any help would be appreciated, because, frankly, I'm at a loss.

Boycott Philadelphia!

The Philadelphia City Council has jumped on the "Boycott Aruba" bandwagon. City councilmen Juan Ramos and Jack Kelly will introduce the idea to the council for a vote shortly. One would think that in the wake of crippling wage taxes, municipal layoffs, and a corruption scandal involving one of their own, my hometown politicians would have more important things to discuss than the disappearance – oh, let's just say it: the death – of a missing Alabama teen.

As a result of this puzzling turn of events, Support Your Local Gunfighter is calling for a boycott of Philadelphia. Please stay away from uh, let's see, Philadelphia brand cream cheese, um, Will Smith, and oh, U.S. currency bearing the likeness of Benjamin Franklin. (Feel free to send your boycotted currency to the SYLG home office.) Thank you.

Friday, November 11, 2005

"Axe" And You Shall Receive

Looks like many of you need a-learnin', and I'm ready to dispense with some steaming hot bowls of knowledge. It has been a fine turnout this time around, including some fresh new faces to go with the regulars. And away we go . . .

CUG asks, "Does PA and Philly recognize other states' concealed carry permits? If not, why the hell not?"

Jimmy, I believe that Pennsylvania recognizes them, but Philly – being such a cluster-boink of Democratic "leadership" – allows folks to carry any weapon that cannot be concealed. For example, AK-47's are fine and dandy, but don't let us catch you with a .22 snub nose. That would be cause for a brutal beating.

CUG then asks, "Are we allowed to shoot hippies in Philly to protect freedom and the country?"

Jimmy, according to the Philadelphia City Charter, it is legal to shoot any man whose hair goes below the shoulder. The "Mullet Rule" was established in 1865, when some Confederate soldiers attempted to sneak into town. They were shot on sight.

Dr. Phat Tony asks, "Does a burglar have to have a weapon in Philly for you to beat him to death with a garden tool if you find him in your home?"

Doc, according to the Pennsylvania Crimes Code, a resident may use lethal force to protect life and property if equal force is met. For example, if Jimmy the Scumbag forces his way into your home at knifepoint, you can pretty much shoot him in the face. If you decide to beat a burglar to death with a garden tool, however, may I suggest the Garden Weasel? I hear it is highly recommended by James Whitmore.

Yoshiko Karasuma (aka Pandy) asks, "I'll ask Dear Earpy if it is okay for me to go topless in Philly? Out and about, so to speak?"

Yoshiko, are we talking pre-bump boobies, or post-bump (read: enlarged) boobies? Ah, who am I kidding, release the hounds!

The Man asks, "Can you please beat Terrell Owens over the head with one of Tony's garden tools-of-death?"

The Man, T.O. is a TOOL-of-death, so that would be redundant. Nevertheless, I am currently in the market for an obscenely large iron rake. Maybe eBay can help me out.

Joe Cool 1013 doesn't really ask a question, but states, "Wyatt, I want to purchase a handgun to add to my fine collection. I want to use it for personal protection and shooting northwest, tree-hugging, granola-eating, Birkenstock-wearing, owl-saving hippies!!!"

Joe, since you didn't really ask a question – a violation which is inexcusable – my enforcers are enroute to Oregon for your "re-education." You had better arm yourself to the teeth. As far as your choice of weapon, bigger is better, and here's a hint: when looking to eradicate hippies, bullets covered in Ivory Soap are the most effective.

Moxargon asks, "What laws does your planet have that cover alien invasion and the enslaving of your population and the processing of some into food?"

Moxargon, I have searched the databases of my federal government, Scotland Yard, and Interpol, and I was puzzled to find that no such laws exist. This may shock you, but our planet is not really worth your trouble. I mean, you're going to plan an invasion around seventy-five percent water and three hundred GAP stores? Mox, baby, you could do better. As far as our edibility, I should warn you that humans are mostly bones, and are not Atkins friendly.

Moxargon also asks, "By the way, is a restraining order an Earthling female's way of playing hard to get, or is she really not interested in joining your harem?" Moxargon also notes that "That question isn't for me, it's for my friend Xran."

Moxargon, they are just playing hard to get. Restraining orders are female-speak for "Conquer me, Overlord." Or, so I've heard. Ignore this veiled threat, and continue your pursuit – as I have done with Yoshiko.

Xran the Fleshrender adds, "You are such a jerk, Remulak!" He then asks, "Hey Earp. Is it a crime for an idiot alien to try to pass off his own embarrassing legal troubles onto someone else? Someone who is completely innocent?"

Xran, are we talking about Moxargon or Michael Jackson? Here on Earth, it is policy to blame all of our troubles on others. Because of this, I presume your impending invasion will go smoothly, since we will spend so much time blaming Karl Rove that we will forget to mount a defense. You may start your landing.

GunnNutt asks, "Does PA consider space aliens to be 'illegals' or 'undocumented workers'?"

Gunny, considering the current state administration, they would be considered registered Democrats.

D. Maria asks, "The mayor (of Philadelphia) is obviously corrupt. Why doesn't anyone lock him up?"

D. Maria, I'm sorry, I was in my happy place dancing with glee at the prospect. Since "the brothers and sisters are running the city," arresting the Teflon John would be more difficult than finding naked pictures of the Olsen Twins. Besides, Street's arrest would only further his career. Look at what it did to Marion Barry.

Linda asks, "If you were caught speeding or running a red light in your car, could you talk your way out of a ticket with a male officer (without tears)?"

Linda, I would, because I have a great ass. Oh, you meant if you were pulled over? In that case, it depends upon what you were wearing at the time. I wouldn't take any chances if I were you; every time you drive through Philly, make sure to wear stiletto heels, fishnet stockings, a leather mini-skirt, and a tank top. Oh, and don't forget to lay on the thick Southern accent. Works every time.

Peakah asks (after the deadline), "Does the back of the paddywagon have cupholders?"

Peak, unfortunately, no, but sometimes the backs of wagons have turned into cop-holders. Lousy drunken co-workers! Philly's wagons have ten molded seats (five on each side) and a seat belt that runs the length of the vehicle. Why am I explaining this to you? You went to college, so I'm sure you've seen the inside of one of these!

Tyler D. asks (after the deadline), "Why are you and "others" not putting your locations on my Frappr map?"

Ty, two reasons: First, I publish my blog from a secret location deep inside the National Security Agency headquarters. Second, I am not about to blab my actual location while Moxargon and Xran are reading the answers. Have fun being enslaved, morons!

Veterans' Day

Support Your Local Gunfighter would like to acknowledge the sacrifices made by every member of the armed forces. Thank you, veterans!

Thursday, November 10, 2005

"Axe" Your Local Gunfighter

"I'll refer to the case of Finders vs. Keepers."

Police officers are always being pestered for free legal advice - as if we know the intricacies of local animal sodomy laws. As a result, I plan to push my luck after my "Ask Dr. Earpy" post, so I am calling all cars for your questions. Audience participation is encouraged.

Do you have a question about the law, my chosen profession, or just wanna see your name posted here? Let me know in the comments section. The deadline for questions is tonight at 9pm, and I'll post your answers on Friday morning. Satisfaction guaranteed.

Editor's note: Not a guarantee.

California Dreamin' . . . Of Kiddie Abortions

Speaking of asinine voting results, the good people of the state of California struck down a referendum put forth by "The Governator" which would require minors to notify their parents before getting an abortion.

The decision actually makes sense, because with the juice boxes, pop-up books, and Fruit Roll-Ups in their backpacks, who has room for a Flintstones phone?

"Don't worry Dora. After we crush your fetus' skull, we'll give you a lollipop!"

I Left My Gun In San Francisco

One of these "weapons" has been outlawed in San Fran

The voting populace in San Francisco has finally gone off Fisherman's Wharf. On Tuesday, the city passed a referendum banning all handguns.

Seriously.

The decision makes it illegal to manufacture and/or possess a handgun in either a residence or a business. Also, all handguns previously purchased legally must be turned over to the authorities. That's a shame. Ya know, someone should consider a Constitutional amendment that gives citizens the right to bear arms. Now that would be a novel idea.

The brain surgeons that drafted this legislation obviously didn't consider the fact that the thugs who are committing crimes in the Rice-A-Roni area neither acquired their handguns legally, nor will they be inclined to surrender their arms.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Eye Candy!

Hits today are brutally low, - what, do you guys have something better to do? - so I wanted to kick it up a notch and post a delicious pic of the world's hottest tsunami victim, Petra Nemcova.

Bon apetit!

Kobe Scores Again!

"Kobe; now you're my bitch!" - Vanessa Bryant

NBA superstar and professional "Grab-Ass" player Kobe Bryant announced that he and his wife Vanessa are expecting their second child.

Do you think she gave him consent?

Urbina Very Bad Boy

Philadelphia Phillies relief pitcher Ugueth Urbina apparently has taken the baseball term "mowing them down" a little too literally. Urbina has been arrested in Venezuela on charges of attempted murder! It seems that Urbina was (allegedly) involved in a machete attack in his hometown. Not content with simply hacking away at people, Urbina also (allegedly) doused his victims with gasoline.

Next season, I'm going to think twice about booing him for his "control" problems.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

The Conversation

So, despite my expectations, I worked my usual solo car last night. (My current partner was on vacation, so I guess Sergeant Scumbag couldn't justify putting one on the wagon without the other.) However, I was told to sit on a security detail for the first two and a half hours of the tour. I didn't much mind, because I was sitting on an off-duty detective's house - the detective has been getting death threats. (I can't wait 'til that happens to me! Actually, I'm surprised it hasn't happened yet on the blog.)

Anyhoo, I am sitting in my car listening to the Colts spank the Pats (Whoo hoo!) and Sergeant Scumbag pulls up. This is the first time I have seen him since the screaming incident. (For those who don't remember, the sergeant flipped his lid primarily because he hates my partner and thought we didn't handle a job as quickly as he liked.) At this point, I am assuming he's going to either continue to harass me, or admit he was wrong for the whole incident.

He did neither.

Here's how the conversation went:

Sergeant - "I just wanted to say 'no hard feelings' about the other night."

Wyatt - "Fine." (Insert pissy attitude while refusing to look at the man.)

Sergeant - "I mean, I'm about to retire and you're going to get promoted, so . . . "

Wyatt - (To myself) "So . . . what?"

Sergeant - "You're a good cop."

Wyatt - (To myself) "No sh*t."

Sergeant - "I'm fair with everyone. You would have done the same thing if you were a supervisor and saw something wrong."

Wyatt - (Again, to myself) - "Bullsh*t. You are picking on me because you hate my partner, and I would never scream profanities at a subordinate for not handling an alarm in under twenty minutes."

Sergeant - "Well, I just wanted to say 'no hard feelings.' Have a good night."

Wyatt - "Yeah."

(As an aside, I took note of every job last night where the officers did not tell radio that they were "on location" - another of his grievances with us - guess how many there were? Fifteen! And Sergeant Scumbag didn't say a word to any of the officers.)

From my two semesters of college psychology, I can only theorize that the sergeant talked to me to make himself feel better. He offered no apology, and refused to admit he did anything wrong. I wanted to get into it with him, but I would have had better luck talking to my vehicle. If you hadn't guessed from my two answers (and the fact that I never once looked at him) he is still "dead" to me.

Wyatt's Wyld Stallyons

How did I let the entire blogosphere scoop me on this story? Carolina Panthers cheerleaders Renee Thomas, 20, (the blonde), and Angela Keathley, 26, (the brunette), broke a few laws (as well as my heart) after allegedly having sex in the bathroom stall of a Tampa bar.

Giggidy!

The drunken lovemaking session got ugly - if that's possible - when some party poopers (and tinklers, I suppose) started grumbling that they needed the stall for its designed purpose. Oh, boo hoo, can't you ladies hold it for a spell? The women were busy exploring their sexuality!

Giggidy! Giggidy!

When the wet blankets threw a stink, Renee allegedly sucker punched a female patron. The police were called - Jesus, why can't I ever get this call? - and Renee doubled her pleasure by giving the officers a fake ID. Thomas was charged with giving a false name to police, and Keathley was charged with assault and disorderly conduct. I imagine they were searched thoroughly when they were arrested.

Giggidy! Giggidy! Giggidy!

Unfortunately, the two vixens were thrown off the cheerleading squad and are now unemployed. What the hell is that? The "TopCats" were fired for a catfight??? Unreal. Anyway, being the consummate gentleman, I am prepared to offer the ladies a job. Support Your Local Gunfighter is looking for some "valets," and Renee and Angela will surely fit the bill.

Their jobs will include the following:

  • Telling me how attractive I am every hour on the hour.
  • Prancing around in their cheerleader uniforms (or a reasonable facsimile).
  • Speaking in that sexy Southern accent upon request.

There is no deadline for applications, girls!

Hot Links Are Up!

Just wanted to throw a shout-out to the newest member (heh, heh, "member") of the sidebar. Camp Katrina, written by Specialist Phil Van Treuren, accentuates the positive side of our military (is there a negative side?) especially from those working in the Katrina disaster zone. Thank you, Phil, for your service to our country.

Monday, November 07, 2005

For The Man Who Deserves Nothing

There's nothing like a good sleep to clear your head. Yeah, I had quite a bit of the "black stuff" at the bar last night - Mmm . . . Guinness! - and I think it showed in my drunken master blogging. I appreciate all of your concern, but as Partner #1 will tell you, I am a coward at heart. I'm not gonna quit - my career or the blog. As far as SYLG is concerned, I cannot guarantee funny because my mind has been elsewhere lately, but as far as the job goes, I can forgive and forget. And to illustrate this point, here are a few things I plan to give my sergeant for his upcoming retirement:

Top Ten Retirement Gifts For Sergeant Scumbag

10. One week as "personal assistant" to Ryan Seacrest.

9. Honorary police sergeant (New Orleans, LA)

8. One night of unprotected sex with Paris Hilton and Pamela Anderson.

7. A lifetime of free skydiving. (I'll pack the parachute.)

6. "The Black Hawk Down Reality Tour" courtesy of Mogadishu Travel.

5. Official food taster for Saddam Hussein.

4. Chappaquiddick driving companion for Teddy Kennedy.

3. Personal groomer for Kirstie Alley.

2. A $200 gift card to Colonics-R-Us.

And the number one retirement gift for Sergeant Scumbag . . .

1. An all-expenses paid trip to France.

Look Who's Talking!

And look who's frickin' famous! The Man from GOP and the City will be interviewed by a St. Louis radio station tomorrow morning at 8:10am (EST). Check out the full scoop here. Congrats Man, you deserve it!

Bleak-end Update

Well, another busy weekend has come and gone - and I am the worse for wear. On Saturday, my wife's college roommate and her family came to visit from Reading, PA, and we're still trying to clean up from Hurricanes Kyle, Kailey, Nathan, and Erik. Everyone had a good time, but I was wincing when the kids were playing with the Matchbox cars on the pool table. "Watch the felt! Watch the felt!!"

On Sunday, I met my cousins and uncles at Philadelphia Park for a day at the races. (My brother bailed out at the last second to help his brother-in-law move - "I'm not driving him to the airport!" - and was called several disparaging names as a result.) Yours truly did pretty well considering; I won on the first race, and a few of the following races for a grand total of $30. Not bad after factoring in bets and drinks. The weather was gorgeous, and a good time was had by all.

Sunday night, however, was not so good. The X-Men were defeated by the Bad Land Boys, 5-3, which dropped our record to 2-3. Gee, .500 was nice while it lasted! My line didn't play poorly, but I didn't score any points, either. Our next game is Sunday, November 13, when we face off against Chilly McPhilly's.

For all of you who have been concerned by my mental state, I wish I could say it is improving, but in actuality, it is getting much worse. One of the guys in my squad hinted that my a-hole sergeant is not letting up, and I have heard rumblings that he is bad-mouthing me in front of the squad on my days off. Being a normal, well-adjusted individual (right!), this news only added to my growing depression. I hate my sergeant, I hate my job, and I really don't feel like blogging anymore. To be more specific, I don't feel like doing anything anymore, and I had to be talked into attending the hockey game last night. I don't need stress from some a-hole who is only a few months from retirement, but if he is gonna frak with me, I'm gonna frak with him. I am sure there are people who would be interested in some of the off-the-record policies of a major metropolitan police district.

Keep frakking with me, DJ, and I'll rat you out for all of the crap you ever did!

Editor's note: I am writing this after far too many pints of Guinness. The heavy drinking a result of the pressure from my a-hole supervisor. I do not condone "ratting" on anyone, but I've had it with this man. The son-of-a-bitch was a guest at my home for my son's Christening!

Saturday, November 05, 2005

From The Mouths Of Babes

As part of my stress-relief regimen, my four-year old son and I watched parts of Star Wars: Episode IV (you know, the original) last night. Although I was wary about the violence, he loves Darth Vader, and I thought that the final battle above the Death Star would be okay. Besides, he has seen the Battle of Hoth a hundred times, because he loves the "dinosaurs" – aka the Imperial Walkers.

Kyle doesn't know any of the characters yet except Vader and the stormtroopers - like all real men, he prefers the Empire above the wussy Rebel Alliance – which made some of his comments even more entertaining.

Upon seeing the X-Wings attack the Death Star: "Dad, why are those bad men hurting the good stormtroopers?"

After seeing Vader summon the TIE Fighter pilots: "Oh, I love those black stormtroopers!"

The one that made me laugh out loud occurred after Han Solo and the Millennium Falcon blast a Vader's fighter out of the trench: "I'm glad he got Darth Vader, because he (Vader) wasn't letting any of the other stormtroopers shoot. He wasn't sharing."

God, I love that boy. (Tear.)

Hardly A Bleak-end

Why is it that when I have weekends off (which comes around only four times a year) my itinerary is filled weeks beforehand? Today my wife's former college roommate is coming for dinner with her family. If everything goes according to plan, the kids will play together, the wives will gab about whatever you women gab about, and Scott and I will drink Captain Morgan and Coke while playing PlayStation 2. Nice!

On Sunday, my cousins and uncles will be attending Philadelphia Park to bet on the ponies. Hopefully, I will do as well as my first time, when I won ninety bucks! On Sunday night, the X-Men will face the Bad Land Boys on the ice at 7:40pm. A win will put us above .500, and assure us some endorsement deals. "Lectric Shaaaaave!"

Friday, November 04, 2005

He Speaks With A List

Yeah, I'm still pissy. Last night's hour of playing Mortal Kombat: Deadly Alliance hasn't alleviated my stress, so I am looking into other means of relaxation. To wit:

Top Ten Ways I Am Dealing With Work-Related Stress

10. Porno, porno, porno!

9. Shooting hippies (CUG approved).

8. Analyzing why Carson Daly is so popular.

7. Ironing out the bugs of my own personal Death Star.

6. Writing cologne-scented love letters to Uber, SK, Pandy, Linda, GunnNutt, Doris, and anyone else who may give me the time of day.

5. Blaming Karl Rove for my work-induced anxiety.

4. Trying to write the lyrics to REM's "It's the end of the world as we know it" without visual aids.

3. Watching "Taxi Driver" and comparing Travis Bickle's dementia to mine.

2. Playing "Whack-a-Mole" on Cindy Crawford's face.

. . . And the number one way I am dealing with work-related stress:

Straining my eyes searching for cartoon cleavage. Mmm . . . Lois Griffin!