Thursday, May 29, 2008
I’m supposing that everyone will get bitten by a spider at some point in their lives. I thinking that it must be one of those inevitabilities. Keep in mind that I haven’t actually read any stats on the subject or anything, I am just trying to jinx the world since it happened to me.
So, I get bit by a spider and no superpowers, as if yet. What a rip off. I mean, Peter Parkers happened right away. But not me, oh no; I get bitten by a spider and all I get is fucked by the world. I’m sueing the fuck out of Marvel comics. Now I suppose my Iron Man suit that I’m building in my studio ain’t gonna fly at all.
Let’s see, I go to work Monday night and have an encounter with a bunch of fuck-headed gang bangers, two of which went to jail. One was high and had outstanding warrants, which I normally would not have cared about until he tried to get smart with me. Don’t get smart with me you little bastard! He goes to jail, along with his high ass cousin, and all is happy in the life of One Man. (Don’t get smart with me, you little ass hole. I got a call out here, I didn’t come because I wanted to see what kind of house shoes you dumbass was wearing.)
I get off that morning and my week long vacation official begins. So, sometime around Tuesday night I feel this itching sensation on my forearm. I’m thinking I must have gotten bitten by a mosquito or something, except that it is itching more than a mosquito bite normally itches me. I look at it and it seems to be taken on a spherical shape and I’m thinking, is this ring worm. How the hell did I get a ring worm? And it is seriously itching so I scratch the hell out of it and then put some ointment on it. When I wake up on Wednesday it is looking even worse and that’s when it’s comes to me. I’ve been bitten by a spider. I know this because I have been around at least two people that had been bitten by the little brown recluse spider. Ain’t this a bitch? But I seek medical attention, get medication and spend that day attempting to clean up my little homestead.
Today, Thursday, I look at the Break Up, get dressed in some sweats and a sleeveless t and head out to get some last minute items for my little vacation. The plan is to purchase some shorts, comic books, lunch and then credit union to fill up my pocket cash card and get an addition hundred in cash. Simple, right? Err, wrong. Oh it started off alright. I got the shorts and tanks; I got the comics, even went and bought some Oreo cookies. Then I decide to go to Martinez’ Restaurant and grab some nachos to go. Martinez is right across the street for the Credit Union so it’s all in one quick motion. Except that after I get my food from Martinez I decide to swap out the food for my wallet, which I have placed in the trunk of my car, since I have no pockets in my sweats. Shut the trunk and go to get into front seat. No keys. I done locked my damn keys in the trunk (yeah, “I done”). But, no problem. I have the ’07 Nissan Sentry (paid off, might I add) with the smart lock. It will not allow you to lock your keys inside you vehicle. That is what they tell me when I purchase the damn thing.
Well, I’ll be damned if it want. The trunk doesn’t open. Hey, maybe I actually dropped the keys in the restaurant and that is why the trunk isn’t opening. The keys are not in the trunk, they are in the restaurant . Like shit they ain’t. So now am pissed, because not only are the keys in the trunk but the cell phone is sitting in the front seat, smiling at me. I just hear it saying, “I bet your ass want saying nothing else negative about cell phone on your blog, fucker.”
Whatever, at least I have my wallet. I cross over to the Credit Union and there is a courtesy phone on the wall as soon as I walk in. Thank you, God. Seriously, with the invent of cell phones it is hard as hell to phone payphones anymore. I asked the lady at the front desk if I can use it. She says yes and I have to call my mom, whose is the only number (besides my own) that I know by heart.
Me: Hi mom.
Mom: Hi, baby. How you doing?
Me: Not good. Mom, do you have Neil’s number?
Mom: I sure do baby. Hold on while I get it for you.
Me: Thank you mom. (Waiting impatiently like the jerk I am when frustrated)
Mom: (a couple of minutes in) Be patient with me, son. I got a lot of stuff here to go through.
Me: I don’t have any choice be to be patient with you, mom. I’m locked out of my car.
Mom: Okay, baby. (My mom is so damn nice. That’s where I get it from. LOL) Okay, I got it baby, let me call him for you.
Me: No, mom. Just give me the number so I can call him myself, please.
Mom: Oh, okay baby. You ready?
She gives me the number. I write it down; with the pen I borrowed from the Credit Union lady. Thank my mom and call Neil. Neil is the only one of the three people who has a copy of my house key, that I think might answer the phone. First try no answer. Second try I get him, but he has a group coming into the hospital so he can’t get to me. However, he has the bright idea to call the dealership and make their happy asses come let me in my car. Can you do that? I didn’t know, but it was worth a shoot since I didn’t want to spend the money on a fucking locksmith.
Call the dealership first time, explain my situation. Get told I am going to be transferred. Wait impatiently while the music plays and literally every fucking minute various recorded voices come on to let me know that my call is very important to them, thanking me for my patience and letting me know one of their friendly customer service representatives would be with me as soon as they damn well please. I must have stood there listening to that bullshit for about five minute before the shit hung up in my face. Oh, hell naw! So luck I am in a public place, because I wanted to go ballistic. I am now madder than a pit-bull with a heroin addiction. I call back, maintain my composure and speak to another representative. He finds the number to Nissan’s Roadside assistance. It took him forever, but he was polite. He lets me know that I will need my VIN number, so I had to go back across the street and write it down. I dial that number and go through that animated process. As I am waiting for them to confirm my information and send me out some help, guess who walks in.
Sgt. Lupe. I had never been so happy to see somebody in my whole life. She stayed with me and we sat in the air conditioning of her Hummer until Roadside assistance showed. I love me some Sgt. Lupe. She’s my angel. She was the only bright spot in a totally suck ass day.
Anyway, so there you have it. One long ass post detailing my rotten day. I am truly hopping that his is not precursor to how my vacation is going to go. I’ll take lots of pictures and put them up for you good people to see. Maybe.
Love Ya. Mean it.
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
I still can’t believe that I actually have a doctor. When we were growing up we had to the county hospital and waited in line for a life time to be seen. So, unless someone had been shot or stabbed, we rarely went to see a doctor. Oddly enough, when I was younger, people were getting shot and stabbed a lot in my family. Go figure.
Anyway, the little bite is really beginning to look horrible. It probably doesn’t help that I scratch the hell out of it. I almost took my knife to it, but I resisted the urge. I really don’t want this to ruin my trip to Sea World. I’m almost certain that I don’t need to get into swimming pools and stuff with it. Plus, the possible side effect are gonna suck like help, if they decide to rear their ugly head. I’m hoping that any side effects will happen before the end of today or early tomorrow so I can make time to see the damn doctor. I know. I know. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, but I’m a guy. We hate doctors. I know that’s just an old stereotype, but I’m gonna live up to it.
Wow, this is a big change for the post I was going to do about the little gang banging punk that tried to give me attitude and I had to put his ass in jail. I was already to regale you good people with a story about what you don’t see prior to everything going bad. The untold story about the ass hole that sets the police off. There are so many misconceptions out there. If this was that kind of blog I’d be attempting to address them all. But fuck that! I got bit by a spider and the shit is irritating the hell out of me!
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.
Monday, May 26, 2008
I am so naïve. We are talking so naïve that when my cousin told me that the word naïve was not in the dictionary I looked it in order to see for myself. As it turns out, it is in the dictionary; they just spelled it incorrectly.
Anyway, the reason for this story is because of the controversial video titled Two Girls, One Cup. I learned about this video a few weeks back, from one of my ex-troops. I don’t remember what made him bring up the topic, especially since I’m a bit of a prude, but when he initially told me about it I could have sworn he had called the video two girls in one cup. For some reason my mind went directly to two girls in a tea cup ride. He went on to give the vaguest description anyone could give of a video. I guess he didn’t want to ruin the story for me.
He wanted me to know that the video was gross. He described it as porn, but not really, and sad that it depicted two girls doing unspoken deeds to one another. I am still thinking, okay, how explicit could it be if they were showing it on YouTube. Anyway, ever once and a while the thought of two girls in a cup would run through my head, but I was always have lap top issues so I was never given the opportunity to run through all of the Google entries, in order to located the video. I found plenty of YouTube footage that showed peoples reaction to watching the video, but never the video itself. This only served to piqué my curiosity.
Well, earlier last week I was able to find the video (Not on YouTube). Let me just say it is the most disturbing video you ever want to see. I couldn’t even stand to watch the whole thing. I wasn’t even aware that people did things like this. And the fact that someone would put it on tape for someone’s sexual enjoyment is beyond me. Hell, the fact that two young girls would agree to do it is beyond me. I hope they got paid well for it.
Anyway, we were talking about it at work, when I confronted my ex-troop about this traumatizing video and another officer described it as something that you have to see before you die. I think I could have done without seeing it before I die, but it is definitely something that I will take with me to my grave. So, I am not recommending that you attempt to locate and view this video. As a matter of fact, if you have not already seen it don’t let this posting entice you into hunting for it. It will scar you for life. For life I tell you! However, on the positive side, if not for looking for said sexually depraved video I would not have stumbled across the above YouTube posting. I think this is the funniest video ever to be posted on YouTube. It actually helps to alleviate some of the pain of watching Two Girls, One Cup.
Enjoy and Have a Happy Memorial Day.
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
So this is the reason why. I was in denial before but now the shit is all up in my face. So this is the reason why every time I turn around someone is hating on the police. Let me explain. I wake up this morning and decided to check out my City Email, since I have been off for the past two days, before I head out to get my ‘do done (get a haircut). Well, I open up the mail and what to my wonder eyes do I see. Another DPD officer arrested, oh me.
It would seem that Senior Corporal, let’s call him, Dumbass. Senior Corporal Dumbass has been arrest and charged with Bribery, a Second Degree Felony according to the Texas Penal Code. According to the press release Corporal Dumbass was demanding and receiving money from a Vietnamese family in exchange for not reporting potential violations of gambling laws. Of course someone snitched his ass out. Our Public Integrity detectives were on that shit like fly on….well, shit. They set up a sting and took his ass down. So, you bastards can say what you want but the system works when used correctly. The problem is that people want to handle the shit themselves instead of going through the proper channels. I can’t speak for any other Department, but where I work we investigate that shit to the highest degree. The problem is, we have so many citizens that put in bogus complaints, just to be vindictive, that it takes away from the time that could be spent going after the legitimate stuff. I have a cure for that as well. If they’d start prosecuting the lying bastards for “Perjury” they’d cut out some of those bogus complaints, but that’s a post for another day.
You know what really gets me about Corporal Dumbass? I know his Dumbass! And that says a lot, because I am not a social being and I don’t know too many police officers. And I especially don’t like associating with the majority of them for reasons I prefer not to get into. But Corporal Dumbass actually road out with me a couple of times while he was completing his training. I never thought he was going to be a stand out, as far as policing goes, but it never dawned on me that his ass would become a crook. Pick a side, damn it! Either up hold the law or break it, you fucking idiot.
Senior Corporal Dumbass is the second officer that I have known personally….strike that, third, that has done something to get their dumbasses fired. First there was Officer Dickhead, who got fired for propositioning a woman on a traffic stop. He wouldn’t give her a ticket if she’d give him head. What the fuck? Do you realize how much pussy is thrown at officers, and I don’t care what the officer looks like, just because of that damn uniform? And you go and lose your job (Official Oppression), because you had a hard on. And keep in mind that Officer Dickhead was married and already had no telling how many harlots on the side. Damn, how much nutt does this man have in this system to release?
Then there was Officer Coconut. His dumbass was fired for taking money from Hispanics, on traffic stops. Really? Is it that serious? Work an extra job, you lazy bastard! Seriously, extra jobs are out there in abundance. I don’t personally work them, but I could if I wanted. They are easy to find and easy to do. Pretty much you are paid a minimum of $35 an hour to put on your uniform and sit on your ass. They are so easy that officers bring books to read, or DVD’s to watch, on thier extra job. Actually, that is one of the reasons why I don’t work them. I don’t like to get paid for doing nothing. I remember I worked this one extra job, a fellow officer was in a bind, at a grocery store. I was bored out of my skull. So bored in fact that I started sacking groceries. The store manager didn’t think it promoted a good image for me to be standing there, in full uniform, sacking groceries so she asked me to stop. I personally didn’t agree. I was in plain sight, I could see everything that was going on around me, I was close to the door, and I thought it made me look like an actually servant to the community. But what do I know. I stopped and went back to roaming aimlessly around the store until my five hours was up. Fat lot of help I was going to be if someone ran out the front with a frozen turkey, while I was lumbering down aisle seven, checking out the feminine hygiene products.
The point is, there is honest money to be had and butt loads of pussy to be diddled, so why do dirt? I’ll tell you why, because power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. It is so damn annoying. I make this big stink about people not hating on the police and then these ignorant, dirty ass, motherfucker go out there and make me look like an idiot. But you know something? I can call them out on their bullshit, because I walk in their shoes every day. They are my family, in blue. I have ties to them, so I can call their ass out. But you, you can’t call out my family! I don’t care if it is hypocritical. That’s just life.
And you know what else gets me? Why the fuck is it that we minority officers feeling the need to victimize our own people? Yes, Senior Corporal Dumbass was Vietnamese. Yes, Officer Coconut was Hispanic. And yes, Officer Dickhead did proposition a sister. C’mon now, if you are gonna victimize someone, victimize someone that doesn’t look like you. I got to hand it to white officers in that regard. When they decide to misuse their authority they go straight for the minorities, but not us minorities. We decide to hurt ourselves. What the fuck is up with that? You got the power, if you’re going to misuse it. Misuse it on someone with pale skin! LOL. That is so wrong, but I’m just saying.
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.
Fuck it. I still where that shyt well!
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Am I the only person in the world not obsessed with cell phones? Don’t get me wrong, I think the cell phone is an ingenious invention and I also love that it has been made assessable to the common man. Still, the obsession people have with their cell phones is unbelievable to me. As a matter of fact, I got the idea for this post when I read the blog of the brother with the fetish for Blackberry’s. Do you know that yesterday I saw this kid, he could not have been any older than six, talking on a cell phone while he attempted to dribble a basketball. That’s just wrong.
I got my very first cell phone back when I first got off training. This was before the department had phones for us to use. I thought it was important for me to have a phone so I’d be able to contact the citizens on calls. ( Otherwise you would have to get to dispatcher to get the service desk to call the complaint back. It was horrible inefficient and took a hell of a long time to boot.) It was then that I realized that I wasn’t meant to have a cell phone. I was always losing the damn thing in my bag and forgetting to charge it up. Still, I was under contract so I had to keep it. Of course, once the contract was up didn’t renew; I found it to be an unnecessary expense. I didn’t get another cell phone again until many years later, June of last year, when I was promoted to Sergeant. This time I got it so that my troops would be able to contact me if need be.
I knew that I would be using it mainly for work so I need the simplest plan I could get, for as little cost as I could find. I settled on something called MetroPCS. MetroPCS is a local phone service that offers you unlimited minutes, no contract. I love that. Of course that first month those bastards, my troops, were calling me out the ass. It took a bit of getting use to, the damn thing constantly ringing (or whatever you call the sound cell phones make these days) and I contemplating getting rid of the damn thing just because of the annoyance factor; but I stuck it out.
I started off with the basic program. Basic equated to limited local calls and nothing else. Nothing else meant no caller ID, no call waiting and that I could receive text messages, but if you thought you were gonna get a text back…think again. All for a lovely monthly bill of $38.89. I was happy. Then, back in April the cheap ass phone fucked up and I had to do a phone upgrade. I figured, what the hell…I can always write it off as a business expense. I also upgraded to caller ID, unlimited texting, call waiting and all the other shit. Still a steal at a mere $48.98 a month.
I decided to get the caller ID because when I was at work every troop on deep night somehow managed to get my phone number. What the hell is up with that? Is there some kind of cell phone rule that says you can just randomly give out cell phone numbers to other people without the owner’s consent? Seriously. I promise you, I only gave out that my cell phone number to about seven or eight people at work, at the most, and now since I have gotten the caller id function, I have captured seventy additional numbers of people who call me with questions. People I know damn well I didn’t give my number to. (That’s right, I use that caller ID function like a damn spider’s web.) I guess I should feel flattered that various troops feel so comfortable calling me for help, but can I get someone to ask me before they just give out my digits?
So, here is the deal with my cell phone, now that I’m all comfortable with it and shit. I fear that I am becoming one of those people. You know the ones that I am talking about. Those that talk on the phone while they drive. Or blathering away while they shop or whatever. I hate those people. I mean, is it that serious that you can’t wait until you get home or to the office or wherever? That being said, I now find myself driving in my car and get the urge to reach out and touch someone. What makes this so sad is the fact that I’m not much of a telephone conversationist. I can stay and the house all day and never feel the urge to make a phone call but let me get out on the road and that phone is burning up my thighs like a lethal case of jock itch. And don’t even get me started on text messaging. I am addicted to that shyt. The first people that I text didn’t even believe it was me since I was the main one bitching about how useless text messaging was. Now I’m pretty sure I annoy the hell out of people with my texting. And can I just say that it is way more unsafe to text on your cell phone and drive than it is to talk on your cell phone and drive. And that is why I am gonna cut that shit out.
I realized that I was becoming one of those people when I was talking to my old partner while checking out at a department store. I was so busy carrying on the conversation I just barely nodded a thank you as I took my items and left. I think that shyt is extremely rude, but in my defense I did mutter an apology as I was leaving. It is this kind of disconnect from society that is going to be our down fall (that and taking “In God We Trust” of off money. LOL), and look at me playing a part in it.
I will say that I am still not as bad as most. For instance, if I walk out the house without my cell phone I don’t go into a teesy. I actually left it at home twice today, purposely. I know some people that would rather leave their kids home alone than their cell phones and that is not an exaggeration. I use to work with this one chick who would be on the phone constantly. You would think the thing was glued to her ear. One time we were working together and she had three phones; Her’s, her little brother’s and the city one. She had all three of those bad boys working at once, while she drove the squad car. You think I’m kidding, but I kid you not. It was amazing to see. I will say it was a little annoying as well. I mean she had asked me to ride with her and then she spends the majority of the time on the damn phone. What up with that?
However, she was still not as bad as the young lady I worked with when I was new to the department. Her ass would be on the phone as we were making an arrest. She would be talking and both me and the prisoner thought she was talking to us, but no, her ass was carrying on a conversation over her headset. Who the hell are you talking to at three o’clock in the morning? That bitch use to call me in the middle of the night, on my days off, to hold a conversation. I’m sleep damn it. If we ain’t fucking! Don’t call me!
Anyway, as you can see this posting had nothing to do with a constipated penis, but I bet it got your attention.
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
As a black man, for some reason, when my people see me in the uniform they see me as a sell out, an Uncle Tom. But fuck that. I wear this shit well! I have never understood why people who look like me always like to complain about the status quo and how there are not enough black officer out there and then when they get a black officer, who is working hard to be fair and make a difference for everyone, and they want to hate on them. What’s up with that crap? Somebody explain that shit to me.
Let’s get this straight, I have only been a cop for ten years but I have been black all my life. I know what it is like to live the hard life, be on food stamps and have your water turned off. I know what it’s like to have your ass beat down by life and an overly oppressive step-father. I know what it is like to have to work, work and work and still manage to hold up your head during the storm and the rain.
My ass is like Oprah Winfrey’s character, in the Color Purple. Hell, all my life I’ve had to fight. So I know how to relate to the under trotted; people who still believe that it takes longer for the cops to answer a call in their neighborhood just because of the skin tone of people who reside there. I know what it is like to have not. Why do you think my ass is so cheap now? It is because I live with that constant childhood fear of someday having nothing and ending up homeless in the street. Still, let’s get one thing straight, so I don’t ever have to say it again. When I strap on that vest, button up that shirt and sling on that gun belt, I wear that shit well. And although I wear it well, I have never and will never forget that under that blue uniform I am still a black man. Police work is what I do, being a strong, black man is what I live. So just like the kink of my hair, the ash of my skin, the fullness of my lips, I wear my uniform with just as much pride and dignity as I wear my skin tone.
I have worked hard, through bogus complaints, favoritism, being unjustly removed from a station, having my badge taken from me, for a day, and being suspended without pay, all in a world that is still predominantly white, with a good ole boy system. I’ve taken the tests and proved myself worthy to go from P.O, to Senior Corporal to Sergeant. I’ve had maced spit into my eyes, have maced myself, been lied on, bitten (twice), fought, ran from, had to jumped over fences only to land on my head, had a gun pulled on me, fell into bushes, rolled over a squad car, climbed out the passanger window and walked away without a scratch (thank you JESUS-I don’t care if some of you don’t believe) and just about everything else you can image, and never once, not once have I ever used unnecessary force, cursed anyone out, called anyone a derogatory name (except for this one guy I called an ignorant bastard, but he really was, I promise you-long story, maybe I’ll share it someday-Whew, he was mad at me. Called me an Alabama Monkey. My partner cracked up). I follow the letter of the law to the “t” and hold my ass accountable both in and out of uniform.
Just like it is an embarrassment to me when people that look like me do things that is a detriment to my race; the same hold true when people that wear the same uniform as me do the same kind of shit. Because I know that the actions of one only end up reflecting on many, even though it is not the many that are fucking up. And you know why that holds true? It is because people who dislike black people only need one example of ignorance, violence, and stupidity, whatever, to pass judgment and say: “See, that’s just how those people are.” The same whole true with people who dislike the police. I wish people could see just how closed minded and ignorant that type of mindset is. But I know I can’t change the world. But how much you wanna bet that I take a stab at it every time I put on that damn, blue uniform?
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace
Now, after all that is said and done, I would like to open up the blog for questions. I believe both Fuzzy and Raw Dawg did something like this so I’d like to jump on the band wagon. What would you like to know? Ask me and I will do my best to answer. All I ask is that you be respectful to me and my chosen profession. You can hate, but hate nicely.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Seriously though, has anyone else besides me, noticed this? How the world seems to bend to the needs of a few crazy folks who know how to orchestrate a letter. Department stores and Christmas cards now read Happy Holiday’s instead of Merry Christmas. What’s up with that? Isn’t Jesus the reason for the season? Prayer was taken out of schools because of the protest of a few. So, instead of allowing the people who want their children to participate in prayer in school, they focus on the few who don’t. Are you telling me that five minutes are prayer is going to convert a child over to Christianity? That’s insanity! Most of them are too busy digging in their booties to even pay attention to want is being said anyway. I say, taint your damn child on your own time.
Now they have minted the new dollar coin and taken out the motto, “In God We Trust”. Plus, I am learning that they are also making post offices around the world take down any posters with this saying on them.
What the hell? I’m not understanding the reasoning behind this stupidity. Did I miss a memo or something? Can someone please tell me why we are taking God out of the equation? Because to me, taking God out is like removing the “c” out e=mc². Not that I ever truly understood that shit completely, but hell, I don’t always understand God either, but I know he has a purpose in my life.
Did you know that it was way back on April 22, 1864 that Congress passed the Act that authorized the Mint Director to develop the design for IN GOD WE TRUST to be printed on the two cent coin? It would subsequently be placed on all U.S. Coinage until 1883 when it disappeared from the five cent coin, only to reappear in 1938, when Jefferson’s mug was placed on the nickel. In 1907 the motto was found to be missing from the new design of the double-eagle gold coin, but that was quickly remedied when based on a general demand, Congress ordered it restored and the Act of May 18, 1908 made it mandatory on all coins upon which it had previously appeared. Note: IN GOD WE TRUST was not mandatory on one cent and five cent coins, but could be inscribed on them based on the Secretary or the Mint Director with the Secretary’s approval.
It wasn’t all that long ago, July 30, 1956, that a law was passed by the 84th Congress that approved IN GOD WE TRUST to be the national motto of the United States. A year later that motto would be inscribed on all paper currency (the first time being on October 1, 1957).
And do you even know when the idea of having anything denoting America’s faith was even brought up as an issue? During the Civil War; That’s right’s, because of the deeply rooted “religious sentiment” that existed during this time of war, the Secretary of the Treasury was receiving many appeals from devout people throughout the country, urging the United States recognize the Deity of United Stated coins. ‘Cause you know those southern bastard believed that slave ownership was a God given right. Racist bastards! But the idea of recognizing God was still a good one on both sides.
Anyway, I thought I’d just give you a little background on the damn thing. My point is, why fuck with a good thing? I have always thought we build this country based on one facet of religion or another, so why change that? What is wrong with trusting in God? Hell, if you can’t trust him, who can you trust? You can’t trust the Police (yeah, I said it). You can’t trust the clergy. Hell, you can’t even always trust you own parents. I say you need someone to believe in beside yourself. I choose God, but maybe that’s just me.
In all honesty, it kind of scares me when we start removing God from the equation. We have all bore witness to what has started to happen in our schools since prayer was removed. I don’t know if it is just a coincidence or if God is trying to tell us something. But I, for one, don’t want to find out the hard way. My job is dangerous enough as it is, damn it! I say if it ain’t broke don’t fix it. Don’t get me wrong. I think some change is good and necessary, but taking the motto IN GOD WE TRUST is neither of the two.
But hell, you know me. That’s just….
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.
In GOD I will always trust. Everybody else can bite me.
Monday, May 12, 2008
1. For instance: when the light turns green, that shit means go, so GO already. Sure, look both ways because people are stupid, but complete a freaking open air sketch of the damn intersection.
2. Don’t get put on your blinker to get in front of me and then go slow. What the fuck? I can’t stand when I have a nice little speed working and some idiot moves over into my lane and slows the fuck down. You could have stayed in your own fucking lane to go slow. Move the fuck out of my way!
3. Don’t ride all up on my ass! We are not dating and you don’t know me like that. Now, if I was one of those slow ass drivers then maybe I could understand, but since I know I am already going pretty fast to begin with than yo ass either needs to slow down or go the fuck around. If you are close enough that I can see the boogers in your nose you might want to back the fuck off!
4. How long does it take to make a fucking right hand turn? Turn already, damn it. It ain’t that hard. And if I am in the other lane, why the fuck do you have to move into my lane to maneuver your car in order to make that turn. That shit is crazy to me.
5. Bus drivers and eighteen wheelers, if you can’t keep that bitch in a single lane of traffic than turn in your CDL, cause you don’t know what the fuck you are doing. I know that bitch is big that you are driving, but it is your duty to keep that motherfucker in your own lane of traffic. Don’t veer over into mine, you stupid bastard.
6. We all do know that you can make a fucking right hand turn on red, right? As long as it is safe to do so. That being said, don’t hold my ass up because your dumb ass is too afraid to turn the fucking corner. Nothing pisses me off more than a person who waits for the light to turn fucking green before that make that fucking right hand turn. Turn the fucking corner already. Damn, I got places to go.
7. Get off the fucking phone. Seriously, if you can’t walk and chew gum at the same time, what the hell makes you think you can operate a motor vehicle and hold a conversation on the phone? Don’t get me wrong, some people can do it, but the majority of you bastards can’t, so stop it all ready. Damn, that shit bugs the fuck out of me.
8. Why is you fat ass eating a hamburger, fries and drinking a large shake, while trying to drive? Is it that serious? You couldn’t eat the shit there are wait till you got to your destination. Are you really that hungry? Maybe you should keep a few crackers in your car instead. Okay, I don’t have a problem with the shake, but why do you have a burger in one hand, while stuffing fries in your mouth with the other. That shit ain’t safe.
9. Can the blow job wait until you make it home? Oh the things you see when you sit high above other cars. Why is any one sucking anybody else’s dick while they are driving? Is it Christmas? Did he save your life? This shit can’t wait until you get home and if it can’t, can you at least find a place to park? Damn!
10. Slow ass drivers! What the fuck is this, a school zone. Why in the fuck can you not move your ass out the way? The speed limit says 35, can I at least get you to go that fast. Just the speed limit, that is all I am asking. Why are you driving like your ass is constipated? Move out the fucking way!
11. Don’t even get me started on funeral procession. I know, I know. Ain’t that horrible? But damn, how many people did you touch before you died and do all of their asses have to go to the damn grave site? And if the answer is yes than they at least car pool, damn.
See, this is why I rarely leave the fucking house. Other people’s driving skills drive me nuts. I cuss more in my car than I do on this fucking blog. My family has accused me of driving crazy. They even said I was the reason that my little sister almost had my nephew early. Whatever, we were late for a graduation, damn it. It was a false alarm anyway.
Besides, I am a damn safe driver. It is all the other idiots out there, that I have to drive for (you know what I mean) that makes it seem otherwise. Maneuvering the streets these days is like a game of football. I find myself playing both offense and defense. I wonder if they cuss as much in football.
Before my nephew was a good one year old and was learning to talk, he was riding in the back seat of my car. I loved having him in the car with me because you could hear him muttering out words and every now and again he would use real ones and I was always amazed. My little man was learning to talk and he isn’t even one yet. He still couldn’t say my name, but that’s all good, he was with me the least amount of time.
Well, as I am driving him home I hear him behind me saying; “C’mon truck. C’mon car.” I mean, just randomly saying it as we were driving. If you could have been in the car with me you would have thought it was the cutest thing you had ever heard. So, I am smiling as I listen to my little nephew. I can’t wait to get him home so I can ask my sister what kind of shows he is watching where he picked this up. Have they being watching the races or something?
We get to a stop light, and I am sitting behind this lady driving a SUV. The light turns green and she just sits there. There are no cars coming in the opposite direction so why are we not going?
Uncle One Man: “C’MON CAR!”
What the hell? I am not spending anywhere near enough time around this little boy for him to be mimicking me. Thank goodness I don’t cuss around my family, and never around little kids.
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Jury selection for the trail of the century, featuring the great R. Kelly is finally underway. I can’t wait. I heard they are gonna put it to music and feature it on MTV just in time for Christmas. Oh, Joy. R. Kelly’s “Trapped in the Courtroom.”
I know I am treating this trail as a joke, but how can I do otherwise. The fact that R. Kelly, who we all know has a sick fetish for pre-pubescent girls, had sex, peed on and videotaped the whole shebang, made me sick, ten years ago. I was like what a perv. Someone should do something about this. His ass should be brought to justice. I don’t care how many, so-called hit songs he can pull out his ass. Now, ten years later, with the teenage girl, at the time, now 23 and claiming it is not her on the tape, what’s the point? Does anyone truly think that the boy is going to see even a lick of jail time on this shit? I don’t think they’ll even consider putting a monitor on his dick that will signal police anytime blood rushes there while in the presences of any child seventeen years old or under. (Hey, that’s a damn good Idea. You heard it here first!)
What gets me is that Kelly’s attorneys are still trying to get the damn case postponed, citing that a recent article in the Chicago Sun-Times has served to poison the minds of any potential juror and thus sabotaging Mr. Kelly’s chance of a fair trial. What the fuck? What is a damn article in a newspaper gonna do that could be worse than Dave Chappelle’s comedy skit where he portraits himself as K. Kelly peeing on his audience. I’m willing to bet not everybody read whatever article the attorney is referring to, but thanks to YouTube, just about everyone has seen that funny video clip. And let’s us not forget the wonderful parody that the Boondocks did on this case. Now that shyt was funny.
Besides, like I said before, It’s been ten years, damn it! Ten fucking Years! What are they waiting for, the girl to be placed on Medicare? Seriously, if it was me I’d want the shit to be over with already. Especially if I were innocent, like this bastard claims to be. Well, if you are innocent, bitch boy, man up and go to trial. Put this shit to rest. You should have taken the shit to court long ago. I for one could have done without the time you spent making that “In the Closet” bullshit.
As you can probably tell, I am in no way a fan of R. Kelly, but even if I was, I would still believe he should be brought to justice for this nasty shit. Then there is the fact that many years ago, Kelly contended that that the tape was faked and someone had superimposed his face onto somebody else’s body. If that were true, that along would have pissed me off and made me want to clear my good name.
Now, keep in mind that the tape has been authenticated beyond a shadow of a doubt, and they can even provide proof that the tape was made in a place that Kelly once owned. So now we go from the tape not being him to the tape being of his brother, who looks like him. What the fuck. Pick a story, nigger, and stick with it! (I’m sorry, I know I promised not to use that word any more, but the shit just seemed to fit in this case.)
Mr. Kelly is a sick ass bitch and you be brought to justice for this crime like any other pedophiles in the world we live in. Anyone who can look at a child and think, “I’d like to hit that”, needs serious help and they can seek that help on an island, with other’s just like them.
In closing, I wonder about the parents of the girl Mr. Kelly is accused of “taking advantage of”. Where are their asses? I for one would be pissed as hell! Shit, I got mad when a one year old bit my nephew; you know this kind of shit would have put me behind bars. But you never hear about this girl’s parents. Wouldn’t you think that they would be outraged to have their child’s name slandered like this? I can understand a child not wanting to face the light of all this drama, but not the parents.
Just how much money do you think it cost to whore out your child to a superstar?
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.
Oh, and by the way. HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!
Thursday, May 8, 2008
I have always considered Sgt. Old Ass Bitch-Face to be racist just because of the fact that he is an old, white bastard, who smokes a cigar. There are other reasons, sure. One of them is the fact that I don’t think he likes black people; however, I don’t know that for a fact. I don’t know who the man associates with at home. Hell, his wife could be black, but I doubt it.
The reality is that when I first came over to work at the station I am currently at, I only saw Sgt. Old Ass interact with two black people. One was a black officer who I had been told had been working the station for over seven years. The way I figured it, you can’t help but interact with someone you’ve been forced to sit side by side with for seven years, even if you don’t like their kind. The other person was a young black girl. She was under his charge, so that didn’t count either, because he was her boss. I later would find out that he never had any problems interacting with black women, period. This, of course, made me think that he liked black women because it was taboo and he was like one of those old slave masters who got their jollies from raping the female specimen of the black race. Isn’t that terrible? The finally reason is because I never felt like the man liked me; a black man. And let’s face it…what’s not to like? I’m adorable, damn it!
When I was going through my police training, one of my trainers was an old, fat ass, white guy. When I first meet him I was like, “Oh shit. Look at this racist bastard.” As it turned out he was the best trainer I had (we normally have three main trainers) and I credit him with a good portion of what makes me such a hell of an officer. Plus, the man didn’t have a racist bone in his body. Okay, that might be a bit of a stretch. I think we all might have a racist bone somewhere in our bodies. Some of ours are just bigger than others. But the fact still remains that I thought the man was gonna be racist for the simple fact that he was white, old, wore a uniform and in this case, fat. How terrible is that?
Oh, and don’t think for a minute that I believe that just because someone doesn’t like me that they are racist. That is not the case at all.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
The past couple of weeks on the Department have been a bitch. My fellow sergeants have been riding a disconnect and it is getting worst by the day. It all came to a head for me when I had a talk with two of my troops, who were implicated in playing a part in the harassment of one of their fellow officers. One of the two has already gotten in trouble and has been taken off the street. His investigation just came back and I recommended a Supervisor Report, not too harsh, not too lenient (it still has to be approved through the Chief of Police). So, after the first detail, I take them both into the conference room, shut the doors, take out my recorder and start the meet (I tape my meetings so people can’t go back and lie about what I said and nothing is open for misinterpretation). Our meeting last for about an hour and I lay down the law for the last time. I let them know that I don’t think they were involved, but I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t address the issue so they would have a chance to self correct.
One of the officers in particular tries to get me to give a name of the officer in question, whom they are, suppose to be harassing. I tell them both that this is not an official investigation so they are not entitled to a name. It should be enough for me to say what the allegation is that way if they are involved they would stop and if they are not involved then this meeting shouldn’t pertain to them and we just move on (I actually say more than that, but I am trying to keep this as short as possible). The meeting last for almost an hour; running into the next Detail time. I tell them I have to go into the second detail, but if they want to continue to talk me they could meet me by my desk after I came out of detail. One of the officers takes me up on this the other doesn’t.
After the second detail, I take one of the officers outside and we have a nice long talk, off the record (no tape recording). This bastard, who in the initial meeting knows nothing about any officer being harass admits to me that he has not only play a part, but is the main instigator of these events. I maintain my composer, let him know how disappointed I am in his behavior and tell him that this behavior would have to stop or else he would suffer dire consequences from me. He tries to justify his actions saying that he thought he had the type of relationship with the officer that allowed him to play such a childish prank, but I called him out on that lie as well.
Anyway, why we are talking and he is telling me how he is willing to go to the officer and apologize, Sgt. Lupe comes out the side door and tells me I am being summoned over the radio. I get on the radio and ask if someone was trying to reach Alpha Three Twenty. Low and behold, it is my Lieutenant requesting that I come back to the station. I get on the radio and inform him that I was actually already at the station and would come inside in a minute. Me and the troop finish our meeting, he promises that he will no longer play apart in any shenanigans and will just be about work and nothing more. Problem found, solved and all is happy with the world, right? Wrong.
I go inside and my Lieutenant, goofy son of a bitch that he is, asked me why it is that I had a talk with, let’s call him Crawdad, without Sgt., let’s call him Old Ass Bitch-Face. I tell him that I felt no need to have Sgt. Old Ass Bitch-Face sit in on a meeting between me and my troops and that I had taped the meeting to begin with. He tells me that didn’t matter and that technically Officer Crawdad was under Sgt. Old Ass Bitch-Face’s charge while he was working the station. (WHAT THE FUCK). Now I am truly dumbfounded and refuse to have this conversation until the other two parties involved are present to clarify.
He goes and gets Sgt. Old Ass Bitch-Face, who I don’t like to begin with, and Officer Crawdad, while I wait in his officer. Officer Crawdad makes it around the corner first, and it is a tell-tell sign to me that he has done something underhanded when he just stands outside the front of the office and doesn’t come inside until the Lt. and Sgt are with him. Everyone has a sit and I ask Crawdad what was going on. He goes on to inform me how disturbing my little meeting with he and the other officer had been to him and how Harassment is a very serious offense and how he was soooo scared that he was going to get fired and so he had went to the person that that he “believed to be his Sergeant” and ask if his conduct towards anyone could be considered disrespectful in anyway (not a quote, but something to that affect).
I first remind Officer Crawford that our meeting was taped and that I had said nothing that would have lead him to believe that he was being brought up on charges of harassment, nor did I say that he had been mention outright and some other stuff that is not important. Then I turn my attention to the Lt. and Sgt. Old Ass Bitch-Face that although Sgt. Old Ass had been a supervisor for longer than I’d been on the department (is badge is in the 1500 and mine is in the 7600), the reality was that on paper Officer Crawdad was my troop. The reality was that any trouble that Officer Crawdad got into would be handled by me, if Crawdad had to go and sit before the Chief if would be me that would have to go down there with him and that I was under no obligation to inform Sgt Old Ass because it was my job to correct my troop when he was doing wrong. Then a lot of other things were said, and I went out in the field to help Sgt. Lupe out on the Double Homicide that she’d been flagged down on (I will save you the truly gruesome details of what was found inside of the apartment).
A lot of stuff, regarding the mess that is going on between us Sergeants on deep nights is brought up, by Sgt. Lupe, while we are waiting for Homicide detectives, PES and the Medical Examiner to arrive at the location. However, all I can think about is the little incident with the Lt, Sgt and Crawdad. My mind is a swirl with trying to understand what happened that lead to me being called into the station, over the air mind you, by my supervisor (still not mad yet, just confused). I eventual get in contact with the Lt, and let him know that what had occurred disturbed me and I wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. I somehow felt disrespected. He tells me to just let it go (Okay, not I am mad).
I get home that morning and instead of going to bed I listen to the recorded meeting. Nope. Nothing said that could have been misconstrued by the officer, plus it was inappropriate for Sgt. Asshole, I mean Old Ass-Bitch-Face to go to the Lt. first instead of coming to me. I make up in my mind to fuck what the Lt. said and have another meeting, this time with Old ass and Crawdad, first thing when I get in. Well, as luck would have it, God was looking out for old ass, because for some reason he didn’t come in to work that night. Lucky for him, because I was gonna give his wrinkled, grumpy ass a stroke. However, I go and find a third watch Sergeant and ask him if he’d be so kind as to sit in on a meeting between me and officer Crawdad.
Once again I inform Officer Crawdad that the meeting would be taped and ask him to clarify what had occurred that lead to me being called into the station, by my supervisor, over the radio. He goes into this spill about how he thought that Sgt. Old Ass was his supervisor and how he was disturbed by our meeting from the previous day and how he was all concerned about being fired and a lot of other bull shit. What the fuck ever.
I let him know how disrespected I felt. How I went back to play the tape and how nowhere on it was it did it even remotely imply that he was anywhere endanger of being fired. I reiterate the fact that I am his supervisor all day long and I have walked him through every point of his IAD investigation and tied to make it as painless as possible for him. I tell him that I didn’t care if Sgt. Old Ass had been a supervisor since the beginning of time, he’s strips held no more authority than mine. I let him know how I wish that Sgt. Old Ass had been present for the meeting, but he was free to tell him the details of it when he returned the following week. I said a lot of things, and gone was my carefree, happy go-lucky, tone. I give him his time to speak again and start spouting off a bunch of bullshit, like I have dumb-fuck, tatted across my forehead. I call him on all his bullshit and let him know that this shit can never occur again. I let him know that it is a vagrant violation of our General Order for him to violate his chain of command the way that he had and I would not tolerate being disrespected like that again.
Well, I’ll be damn if the boy didn’t start to cry. I’m talking, lip quivering, take off his glasses, boo-hooing. How do you make a thirty-year old man, with a gun cry? I was taken aback and got up to comfort him, but I continued to lay down the law. After all was said and done, the other sergeant and I left him in the room to compose himself. I was sorry that I had to make the boy cry, but he needed to be put in check.
Anyway, a few other things happened over the weekend that lead to me writing the following letter to my co-workers:
To my fellow sergeants,
I am using this email to inform you that I am suspending my duties with the bar checks, until further noticed. I made the members of Community Prosecution and the others aware of this in our wrap up meeting this morning. I informed them that I would be passing the torch on to any of you good people who would like to carry on what I started. I think it is a good thing that we are doing, but because of other matters, that in my opinion, are petty, underhanded and somewhat passive aggressive that we have going on here on deep night I’ve decided to focus my attention back to the twenties; at least until we are able to fix the problem that lies deep within our mist. That being said let it also be known that if any of you need me for anything police related, that my services are always available.
I have decided that I will no longer play the game of rookie/senior sergeant. We all have a job to do and that includes being available for both troops and citizens when they call. No more will I be a part of taking a phone call, from anyone, when there are able bodied Sergeants at the front desk that can handle that call. It is unfair to the troops, the citizens and your fellow sergeants for the people staffing the front desk to have to go in search of a sergeant when there is one right in front of them. No more will I jump from supervisor call to supervisor call, when we have another sergeant, who will remain nameless, who talks a good talk, but more often than not will not play an active role and going out into the field to help out his fellow sergeants and troops. No longer will I play apart in the vicious game of he said she said, or any of the other behaviors that I consider to be childish and unprofessional.
For whatever role, if any, that I have played in the slow deterioration of what should be a positive work environment, I apologize. That being said, I reiterate the fact that I am now washing my hands of all of it. I use to think it was the “us against them” mentality that was the problem, but I see now that it is an “us against us” mentality that we are battling. I have seen the enemy and the enemy is us. Well, I don’t want to be the enemy any more.
Peace to you all until we can get back to the business of police work.
I CC a copy of this bad boy to my Lt., because I feel like he is obligated to get involved in all this shit. I am sick of trying to play the fucking peace maker. The repercussion of this letter is still coming down. (I DON’T CARE! I got God on my side.)
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Here’s an interesting story for you. It’s a week old, but interesting nonetheless.
So, last week one of my older sisters, let’s call her Dot, had surgery on her rotator cuff (or is it cup). Anyway, as I was going over to visit her I decided to call my moms and see how she was doing and check on my little heart. During the course of our conversation she tell me about what a wonderful day he had in Daycare and how he brought home all his crap and dumped it on her floor. Then she mentioned the thing that pissed me off.
Mom: You know he got bit by one of his classmates, right?
Me: What? He got bitten?
Mom: Yeah, this little girl bit him.
Me: Why is somebody biting my little nephew and what happened to her?
Mom: I don’t know, you’ll have to ask your sister (let call her Bonnie).
Me: Where is Bonnie? Is she home from work yet?
Mom: Yeah, she’s in there.
Me: Okay mom, let me call her and see what is going on. Love you.
So I call my sister and get the story. Apparently this abuse is has been going on with this little girl, let’s call her Martha (and yeah, that’s the little heifer’s real name). My little man has been coming home with all kinds of scratches and crap on his face for a while now. Minor stuff, but still; why the hell is this being allowed to go on? Now I find out that this little bitch done bit my nephew on the neck. What is this child, a vampire? Now, yall know I have posted on human bites before. They are some of the nastiest bites you can get; worst than being bite by a four legged animal. So, I am pissed.
To make things worse, when Bonnie notices that her child has been bitten she ask the Daycare owner who had bit him and she tell him that she is not allowed to say. So, since little man is old enough to tell (thank God), she asks him who had bit him and he say, “Martha”. So, Bonnie stays to try and have a conversation with this girl’s mother, since nothing apparently is happening to the little girl. On and Martha is just a little over one year’s old, but I don’t give a damn! She needs some damn home training. Somebody needs to pop her little ass. She ain’t no dog, so she shouldn’t be biting folks.
But I digress; my sister tries to have a little back and forth with Martha’s mommy, but the woman doesn’t speak English, (yes, Martha is Hispanic) so that went nowhere. So, my sister goes on to tell me how Dot and her kids tells Little man that he should fight back. So he gets in trouble for beating up the little girl, which I don’t agree with either. I don’t want him to be a little sissy, which he isn’t, but I don’t won’t him being a little bully either and I definitely don’t want him to grow up thinking it is okay to hit a woman. Keep in mind that little man is heavy handed, when he play hits me that crap stings (that’s why he knows not to play with his uncle like that). Plus, he doesn’t fight fair. He will pick something up in a minute (which I don’t have a problem with actually, depending on the situation). He also wrestles with my two-hundred and something pound nephew, so he is use to ruff housing. I’m rambling, but in a nutshell, he should be doing what he was taught by his mom to do and that is to tell the teacher and let the adults handle it. The problem is that it is not being handled and Lord knows they don’t want Uncle One Man to roll up into that Daycare. I’ll taser a one year old and then yall will truly be hearing about some police brutality on the news.
Anyway, it gets better. I get over to Dot’s house and I immediately ask them why they are telling little man to fight girls. We want him to make good decisions before he enrolls into our public school system. I don’t want him to be the victim of zero tolerance, kicked into alternative school and getting a secondary education. God help us if his mother tries to home school his ass. She may have her bachelor’s degree, but I swear that I expect that damn thing to spontaneously combust, every time she opens her mouth.
Here’s the kicker, in the course of my conversation with Dot and my Niece, Dee, I find out that now, little man considers Martha his girlfriend. Oh, hell naw! We will not have dysfunctional, abusive relationships going on at the age of two. Not on my watch. I am honestly thinking that someone has put it into this little boy’s head that this is how relationship’s work. Keep in mind, that my nephew is very perceptive. I think he’s a child prodigy myself (but I’m bias).
So, a couple of days later I’m over to my mom’s and jokingly ask who has been teaching little man that it is okay to hit in a relationship. Do you know that I found out that his dad, God rest his soul, was abusive. Not only did I find out that he slapped my little sister, once,which pissed me off because she didn’t tell her police officer brother. Plus, my sisters do not get beat up by men. It is not in them. They are not that kind of women. They fight the hell back. It turned out that her and my step-father, when he found out, put him in check. However, he use to beat the hell out of his next baby momma. Yeah, little man’s daddy was a hoe. Little man, at the mere age of two, already has a little brother and sister, by two different women and I think about four of five older siblings (ain’t that some shit).
Bonnie goes on to tell me how when little man was just a little over a year old he came home, after spending a day with his dad and skank girl, and attempts to put her in a head lock. She promptly calls daddy and ask him to please not beat up his girlfriend in front of her child. Ain’t that something? Well, this negative male influence died in a car accident before little man turned two years old, but I kind of wonder what damage he’s done to my little man’s impressionable psyche.
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.