…that’s how I treat ‘em

7/15/08

You know what I hate?

Crack heads.

And not because they scramble across the street swinging and chasing after each other over 5 dollars on Georgia Ave in the morning. Or because in the scrap, one crack head’s soggy, dingy red tank top sleeve is torn by the other to reveal her even soggier and dingier crack head left titty. …that’s the awesome part.

What I hate about crack heads is the 7 police cars that follow in response to the weaponless crack head altercation. 7 pistol toting, traffic blocking, U turning in the intersection, almost crashing into my car, looking at me like I’m crazy as he cuts me off although I hear nary a police siren nor see nary a police light…and in fact, neither see him in his lack of vehicular cautiousness…assholes.

“Honestly officer, I sincerely thought you were just passing by to patrol another part of this homicide ridden neighborhood seeing that you are obviously no longer needed here, given the 6 other police cars catering to this, again, weaponless 2 party crack head quarrel. I do apologize. Use your siren next time.”

I really do hate the way the law around here feels no need to abide by traffic regulations. I mean c’mon…I should have the right, as a citizen, to ticket any law enforcement officer who decides to stop traffic on any given avenue by sounding their siren to move across…only to turn it off when they’ve reached the other side.

I hate police officers most of the time.

Which reminds me of the only non traffic related altercation I had with one of those fuckers involving my door, school children, and the yelling of homosexual slurs.

These little pre-pubescent fuck twats came knocking on my door daily…harassing me. Asking me questions about my dog. And my this. and my that. I obliged…at first. It got annoying as their questions got more personal…and when they started writing stupid shit like “(so and so) fucked (so and so)” on my dirty picket fence. I dodged them as best I could until one day I just told them I was gay in response to their questions about my “boyish” appearance.

[Must have been the baggy sweatpants that always fell from my ass. Those were some lazy days.]

Why I told them this? To shut them up? For kicks? Who knows? Because they were little assholes who were repeatedly cursing at me…and who cursed at me again when I told them to watch their mouths?
I thought they could handle a little gay humor in their “I’m grown-ness”.
I was wrong.
This ended with a herd of them pointing and bouncing at my my front yard chanting “She’s a dyke! She’s a dyke!” at the top of their squeaking cunt kid lungs.

It was kind of funny at first, honestly, until some pig piece of shit cop came up to me a little later. Using that i’m-a-mean-bad-ass-police tone with me and threatening to cite me for “provoking” the stupid fuckers even after I informed him of their vicious slanderous tirades and disrespectful dispositions (what kind of retard fucking citation could I get for that, anyway?).

“They’re children.” he said.
Yes they are, the same children who threw a brick through a car window in my backyard and possibly stole my first dog.

[eh...maybe he ran away.]

I was livid.

So livid.

eh…I guess I could channel my angers at the children…but, they are the future.
And I could hate the pointless parent who obviously haven’t been laying a much needed tree switch to some tiny black child’s tail…but I don’t feel like it.

So I hate the officer for being retarded enough to come to my door fucking with me about the incorrigible young ones of my community.

And also for giving me speeding tickets…

…Fuck the police. That’s how I treat ‘em.