I'm a cop. I want that known right off the bat. I don't want anyone thinkin' that I'm some kinda jag-off rented security schlump with severe acne and a gun permit. Nope. Like it says right here on the shoulder patch, I'm true blue, an academy grad, and nobody's asshole. SafeMart's my beat. Twenty-five aisles of produce and product, floor-to-ceiling household essentials, a bakery, a butchery, a fully-stocked delicatessen. Fifteen checkout stations, twelve full service and three express. Plus the parking lot.
Some guys at the station like to give me a hard time, think this gig is all gravy. But it ain't. It's meat and potatoes, too. Beer and wine. Detergent and cleansers. Dog food and breakfast cereal. Toys and candy. Magazines and cigarettes. Fruits and vegetables. And plenty of nuts, you bet. It's smack dab in the middle of the city, so we get all kinds.
Police assisted suicide. That's my new favorite, propaganda catch phrase. Cops being portrayed as powerless tools for other people's deathwish. Goebbles and Streicher are laughing their asses off in Hell over that one. I'd like to buy a beer for the government sociologist/psychologist that thought that one up. Pure genius. It's a great tool to get people to accept further violence against them by the state. Shifting the blame from the killer to the victim. The equivalent of blaming a rape on a woman's choice of clothing.
So what's next? Police assisted masochism? Rodney King was just a heavy, pig-bottom looking for stout men in uniform to scratch his itch? Fuck, all these trendy, suburban kids in rubber clothes could save a bundle on doms' and dungeons. The boys in blue are just here to help. Wrench some of your tax money out of them. Get them to put those sadistic tendencies to work on your behalf. Personally, if they're truly here to serve and protect, then "Hey pig. Go get me a double cheeseburger and make sure it gets here to me hot and in one piece."
Be careful because the beer cops are out there
those uncooked hams' damned to egg white streets
hiding in the weeds while addicted babies weep
like they did when the coloreds overran Los Angeles
driving by with numerical codes for cowardice
burning combustion supplied by their corruption
oh they'll act official right down to initials
and make fake arrests of simple handed suspects
but not some nigger with his finger on the trigger
not the snow shipments that slop their pig children
nor any real troubles in logged fathoms of justice
oh they'll pick up some whore and fine her a load
they'll mow the small dealers of grass from the road
or pass out tadpole tickets for spigots after two
and they'll harass you or anyone without rights
but that's okay because I'm waiting for the day
or night when their plight will pick the wrong fray
where Chicanos and Mexicans inhale and cough and
I'll laugh when they get their pork snouts blown off
and then they can write out their fucking reports
in the singeing contours