Little piggies on a Sunday morn
Ahhh Sunday mornings in the Nu Nited States Air Force; good for sleeping in. Semi-sacred for peace and quiet. Except for our military constabulary: The APs, or Air Police as they would prefer to be known, or "The Apes" as we enlisted swine called them. (This was 1975. Del Rio Texas. Not quite the end of the world, but you could see it from there. Started out doing our duty, but ended up just doing time kind of boring.)

Sgt. Ed Clark, on patrol and vigilant: Caught himself a bicyclist at 7:30 in the A.M. swinging through a stop sign on an otherwise car-deserted air base. "Whoop! Whoop!" said his siren in a quick double tap blip. "Pull over to the side of the road!" growled his loudspeaker. He turned on the twin rotating Smokey-and-the-Bandit bubblegum machine lights of his patrol cruiser and yanked the emergency brake with a ratchety grind.

I'd always been an early riser, and the siren blip got me up to see what the miniscule excitement was about. Got to the baracks window in time to see Sgt. Clark closing his cruiser door, eyeballing his quarry, adjusting his wheel cap, flipping open his ticket pad, hitching his gun belt up over his just-a-hair-under-regulation gut paunch, and saunter slowly over to the bicyclist.

A bit of background: Ed Clark was a beady-eyed Silurian, an I.Q. just above room temperature, with a flabby moon-face graced by a very unflattering child molestor mustache. He'd come to the base fresh from cop school only a month or so before, and to our barracks' Shit List just a week or so after by giving in to his curiosity with the "thingy" in the middle of his room ceiling, thereby setting off the fire alarm at 2:45 in the morning mid work week. The thingy cover was found in his room floor center by the fire department as they made the rounds throughout the recently vacated rooms as we all grouchily swatted night bugs in the road out front.

Ed launched into his cop explanation as to why he stopped the cyclist. As he was warming up and getting going, he stopped mid-harangue and noticed that one of the lights atop his cruiser had stopped rotating.

He strode quickly back to the car, piggy-eyeballed the offending light up and down and swiftly smacked the mechanism upside its' perspex cabesa. The light once again started 'round. A curt head nod, he quick stepped back to his perp, and continued to explain in police parlance punctuated with pen wags that a bicycle was no different than a motor vehicle when it came to obeying traffics signs and laws and that a ticket was in order.

A click of his ballpoint, pen poised to do the deed, ... aaaaand he spies that his light has once again stopped rotating. Shoulders up, chin out, stomp-stomp-stomp back to the car. A scowl, a lip pout, a cocking back of a pudgy right shoulder and a mighty open-handed Thuh-WHACK onto the plastic cheek of the light covering .... which promptly dis-attached itself from the chromium plated base, liesurely arced, tumbled, and spun through the air, bouncing singularly off of the cruiser hood, twice along the ground, and came to rest at the feet of the bicyclist. A pregnant pause as all of us watched it rock once and come to rest.

At this point Your Dear Narrator doubled over laughing loudly enough to be heard by Constable/Ape Clark who was last seen by me attempting vainly to see which room window the hoo-raw was coming from. No idea as to the fate of the cyclist.
(shamblinthru Grasshopper! Next time use the potholders!, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 21:39, 5 replies)

The noir pastiche is an interesting, stylistic development, Dr Skagra.
Could you do the next one in the style of Irvine Welsh?
Or, better still, just hurry up and die in a fire?
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 22:11, closed)

Well... sure
Welsh. He's a turgid one alrighty. I suppose I could cut it way down and make it more "oot-greep" and Drimble-esque. Or a lot longer winded and bizarrely obscure like Skagra.

Fire? No thanks. C'n I choose oral sex death by 23-y.o. putas?
(shamblinthru Grasshopper! Next time use the potholders!, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 22:29, closed)

At least you're not pretending to be a mouse.

( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Tue 7 Oct 2014, 22:54, closed)

if this is Skagra
WHY THE FUCK YOU NOT WRITING BOOKS. Your styles varied and interesting, and you can make a pile of bollocks like this readable.

If not Skagra, still interesting. Write books.
(yeswehavenopasties, Wed 8 Oct 2014, 4:36, closed)

You've just robbed me of about 5 minutes of my life
by pretending to be someone literate with something interesting to say. I demand a refund.
( .Yeti. El amor en los tiempos del cólera, Wed 8 Oct 2014, 0:02, closed)

Too late
5 minutes ... and I used short words, too! You could be myopic or have other vision problems you know. PayPal doesn't seem to have an option for "sand timer", and an int'l stamp is worth more than 5 minutes. How about a joke: Didja hear about the paranoid dyslexic who was certain he was following someone?
(shamblinthru Grasshopper! Next time use the potholders!, Wed 8 Oct 2014, 4:37, closed)

It's a pity nothing happened
I quite enjoyed reading that.
(zebideedoodah likes florence but prefers venice, Wed 8 Oct 2014, 2:59, closed)

Fuck off and die in a fire Skagra.

( stuj (^(^;;^)^) GO TEAM SPIDERS!(^(^;;^)^), Wed 8 Oct 2014, 5:37, closed)