USMCDOC
Silver $$ Contributor
Warped sense of humor
- Thread starter Ringostar
- Start date
- Status
There I was: book in paw, a comfy chair, a huge mug of tea and good music in the CD. Two quiet days off tend to be a rarity in small departments -- especially if you happen to be the only single officer in the department. I intended to enjoy that weekend to the fullest.
*ring, ring*
I don't want to answer the phone, I am not here, I died and..."Hello."
"Boy, the Shamu Squad are turning some jerk in a pink car loose 'bout 12 miles west of town. He's been speeding since California, and I want you to get out there and slow him down afore he hits town."
*sigh*
Small towns. We only had one radar unit in the department and it was installed in the night deputies’ cruiser to keep him awake during the wee hours of the morning. Guess who was the night deputy?
Being used to situations like this, I customarily kept a denim vest with a badge stuck to it hanging on a chair by the front door along with a shoulder holster holding a pistol, reload and a pair of cuffs. Mind busily trying to plot where to intercept this guy, I dress on the bounce out to the car, start the cruiser, fire up the radar, hit US287 -- just in time to see the unit light up.
98 in a 45.
I whip a U-turn, catch up to the driver and get him pulled over.
Now, I admit at the time I looked fairly youngish, so I was pretty used to odd looks when I walked up on a car during a traffic stop.
I walk up to the drivers side, knock on the window and the man behind the wheel gives me a startled look. Matter-of-fact, he just looks at me through the glass for the longest time. Finally I rap on the glass again, make a winding motion with my hand and down goes the window.
"Sir, my name is Deputy ****. I'm with the *** County Sheriff's Office. The reason I stopped you is that I clocked your vehicle doing 98 in a marked 45MPH zone. Is there an emergency that I need to know about?"
He looks at me awhile, then says, "No, I'm just in a hurry to get back to Massachusetts."
"Ah," I respond, "May I see your drivers license, registration and proof of insurance please?"
He kind of frowns. "Are you an officer of the law?"
"Yes, sir. Deputy Sheriff."
He gives me this really weird look, then digs out his info. I go back to the cruiser, and I see him with his head out the window, looking back at me and his eyebrows are kind of crawling up and down his forehead.
I write up the ticket and walk back up to the car.
"Sir, would you sign this here, please. Your signature is not a plea of guilty, it is merely a promise to appear in court."
He looks down at the ticket, and back up at me and says, "Are you sure you're a cop?"
*sigh*
I pointed at the badge: "I've got a badge," I open the vest, "I've got a gun," other side of the vest, "I've got handcuffs, and I can show you the jail, if you'd like."
"No, no, sir, that'll be alright." He scribbles his name on the ticket, and I hand him his documents and the courtesy letter, and wish him a safe trip.
It takes him a while to finally put the car in 'D' and leave, and I follow him to the city limits to make sure he keeps it to a reasonable speed.
I guess as soon as I was out of sight, he crammed his foot into the gas tank and took off again. Anyhoo, he hits my Mom's hometown of Electra, and the Electra cops aren't fooling around: they snatch him up and take him directly before the judge to plea his case.
He gets done paying the fine, and goes to the Dairy Queen there in Electra, whereupon he begins airing his gripes to the world. The locals, being bored, listen sympathetically.
"What is it with the cops in Texas?" Everyone nods sagely, and refills his coffee cup.
"I mean, here they all look like they were cloned from the same mustache." Smiles and nods all around.
"I hit the Texas State line, and I got pulled over by a mustache with a pair of nunchuks hanging off his belt. (That would be Vega.)
"Little later, I get ticketed by a bleach blonde grandmother." (Sheriff in Armstrong County)
"But the absolute worst time," he sputtered, almost in tears, "Is X number of towns back where I got pulled over by a redheaded kid wearing a Sheriff's badge pinned to a BUGS BUNNY T-SHIRT!"
It was not a Bugs Bunny T-shirt. I emphatically deny owning a Bugs Bunny t-shirt.
It was a Tazmanian Devil t-shirt.
Well, how often do you think about what you're wearing on your day off?
Wait, the worst of it is yet to come.
Every person in the diner starts counting towns on their fingers...X towns back...red-headed kid...Sheriff's badge...everyone turns and looks at Mom, sitting in the back.
Who, of course, made it a point the next time she visited me, to tell the whole wretched story to a restaurant full of gossips in my town.
I caught hell about the 'Bugs Bunny T-Shirt' for years after that.
LawDog
*ring, ring*
I don't want to answer the phone, I am not here, I died and..."Hello."
"Boy, the Shamu Squad are turning some jerk in a pink car loose 'bout 12 miles west of town. He's been speeding since California, and I want you to get out there and slow him down afore he hits town."
*sigh*
Small towns. We only had one radar unit in the department and it was installed in the night deputies’ cruiser to keep him awake during the wee hours of the morning. Guess who was the night deputy?
Being used to situations like this, I customarily kept a denim vest with a badge stuck to it hanging on a chair by the front door along with a shoulder holster holding a pistol, reload and a pair of cuffs. Mind busily trying to plot where to intercept this guy, I dress on the bounce out to the car, start the cruiser, fire up the radar, hit US287 -- just in time to see the unit light up.
98 in a 45.
I whip a U-turn, catch up to the driver and get him pulled over.
Now, I admit at the time I looked fairly youngish, so I was pretty used to odd looks when I walked up on a car during a traffic stop.
I walk up to the drivers side, knock on the window and the man behind the wheel gives me a startled look. Matter-of-fact, he just looks at me through the glass for the longest time. Finally I rap on the glass again, make a winding motion with my hand and down goes the window.
"Sir, my name is Deputy ****. I'm with the *** County Sheriff's Office. The reason I stopped you is that I clocked your vehicle doing 98 in a marked 45MPH zone. Is there an emergency that I need to know about?"
He looks at me awhile, then says, "No, I'm just in a hurry to get back to Massachusetts."
"Ah," I respond, "May I see your drivers license, registration and proof of insurance please?"
He kind of frowns. "Are you an officer of the law?"
"Yes, sir. Deputy Sheriff."
He gives me this really weird look, then digs out his info. I go back to the cruiser, and I see him with his head out the window, looking back at me and his eyebrows are kind of crawling up and down his forehead.
I write up the ticket and walk back up to the car.
"Sir, would you sign this here, please. Your signature is not a plea of guilty, it is merely a promise to appear in court."
He looks down at the ticket, and back up at me and says, "Are you sure you're a cop?"
*sigh*
I pointed at the badge: "I've got a badge," I open the vest, "I've got a gun," other side of the vest, "I've got handcuffs, and I can show you the jail, if you'd like."
"No, no, sir, that'll be alright." He scribbles his name on the ticket, and I hand him his documents and the courtesy letter, and wish him a safe trip.
It takes him a while to finally put the car in 'D' and leave, and I follow him to the city limits to make sure he keeps it to a reasonable speed.
I guess as soon as I was out of sight, he crammed his foot into the gas tank and took off again. Anyhoo, he hits my Mom's hometown of Electra, and the Electra cops aren't fooling around: they snatch him up and take him directly before the judge to plea his case.
He gets done paying the fine, and goes to the Dairy Queen there in Electra, whereupon he begins airing his gripes to the world. The locals, being bored, listen sympathetically.
"What is it with the cops in Texas?" Everyone nods sagely, and refills his coffee cup.
"I mean, here they all look like they were cloned from the same mustache." Smiles and nods all around.
"I hit the Texas State line, and I got pulled over by a mustache with a pair of nunchuks hanging off his belt. (That would be Vega.)
"Little later, I get ticketed by a bleach blonde grandmother." (Sheriff in Armstrong County)
"But the absolute worst time," he sputtered, almost in tears, "Is X number of towns back where I got pulled over by a redheaded kid wearing a Sheriff's badge pinned to a BUGS BUNNY T-SHIRT!"
It was not a Bugs Bunny T-shirt. I emphatically deny owning a Bugs Bunny t-shirt.
It was a Tazmanian Devil t-shirt.
Well, how often do you think about what you're wearing on your day off?
Wait, the worst of it is yet to come.
Every person in the diner starts counting towns on their fingers...X towns back...red-headed kid...Sheriff's badge...everyone turns and looks at Mom, sitting in the back.
Who, of course, made it a point the next time she visited me, to tell the whole wretched story to a restaurant full of gossips in my town.
I caught hell about the 'Bugs Bunny T-Shirt' for years after that.
LawDog
Thanksgiving Day, 1994. Bubba (name changed to protect the...you get the idea) Green heads out to the Oasis Bar north of town. He's feeling a little rambunctious, and proceeds to down large quantities of his favorite libation. So goes the evening until Bubba winds up dancing on top of one of the pool tables.
Now Bubba is (I'm not kidding) six feet, nine inches tall. And he's not what one would call svelte. Matter-of-fact, the town doctor swears that when Mrs. Green delivered Bubba, they heard the scream in Abilene. Big old boy.
The owner of the Oasis, having gone through similar situations in the past, feeds four quarters into the jukebox and punches up "The Yellow Rose of Texas."
Bubba, as was his wont, climbs down off the pool table, removes his hat and stands to attention while the song played. Normally, at this point, Bubba would be eased out the door into a pickup bed or trailer, driven home and poured onto his front porch. Normally.
Bubba, who is weaving a bit towards the end of the song, glances around and sees a young cowpoke who has neglected to remove his chapeau during Bubba's song. Bubba heroically restrains himself until "The Yellow Rose of Texas" winds down, then reaches over and throws the cowboy *through* the wall of the bar.
An older cowboy peers through the gaping hole in the wall and sighs, "Goldurnit, Bubba. That was muh top hand." The bartender says a Nasty Word, dives for the phone and hits the speed-dial for 911 as the other cowboys from that ranch, obeying West Texas feudal law, pile onto Bubba.
Pandemonium ensues.
Into the fray steps one LawDog. He sizes up the free-for-all and, in a move that generated gossip for nigh-on six months, he jerks a mop bucket from behind the bar and empties it onto the mighty struggle in the center of the room. Sudden shocked silence. Without a word, the lawman grabs Bubba by one ear and drags him out of the bar. Once outside, the minion of the law proceeds to chastise Bubba in fine, rolling language, threatening Bubba with God, Jesus, Mary and all the saints.
According to a witness, the scene looked for all the world, "Like a fire-and-brimstone prairie dog preachin' the Gospel to a Brahma bull."
The lawman got nasty: He invoked Bubba's Mama. Spoke of the shame that Bubba was bringing down on that goodly lady. At length. Using them three dollar words. Had Bubba in tears by the time he was done.
Which was probably not the best idea the 'Dog ever had, because Bubba, being totally undone by the thought of the horror he was bringing unto his Mama, felt he had to proceed directly to the old homestead and beg forgiveness from his Mama. To which LawDog responds that Bubba is "going to jail, and that's that."
Over the car sails LawDog. Never even touched paint. Hell of a throw on Bubba's part. Set a new World Record in Cop Tossing.
'Dog stands up, brushes the dust off his jeans, stalks back around the front of the cruiser, reaches waaaaa-aaaaaaay up, pokes Bubba in the chest and snarls, "Don't make me hurt you, Bubba."
Bubba's second try at Cop Tossing beat the first by several feet, even clearing the lightbar on this go. Only this time, 'Dog bounces back over the hood of the car with a five battery flashlight and a can of mace. Bubba goes to jail, but it takes LawDog about 10 or 15 minutes to get the job done.
And during that 15 minutes, the local DPS trooper was having hysterics on the hood of his shamu car. Each time he calmed down enough to give 'Dog a hand, he'd whisper, "Don't make me hurt you, Bubba" and start whooping with laughter again.
LawDog swears that he didn't say those words, by the way.
LawMom
Now Bubba is (I'm not kidding) six feet, nine inches tall. And he's not what one would call svelte. Matter-of-fact, the town doctor swears that when Mrs. Green delivered Bubba, they heard the scream in Abilene. Big old boy.
The owner of the Oasis, having gone through similar situations in the past, feeds four quarters into the jukebox and punches up "The Yellow Rose of Texas."
Bubba, as was his wont, climbs down off the pool table, removes his hat and stands to attention while the song played. Normally, at this point, Bubba would be eased out the door into a pickup bed or trailer, driven home and poured onto his front porch. Normally.
Bubba, who is weaving a bit towards the end of the song, glances around and sees a young cowpoke who has neglected to remove his chapeau during Bubba's song. Bubba heroically restrains himself until "The Yellow Rose of Texas" winds down, then reaches over and throws the cowboy *through* the wall of the bar.
An older cowboy peers through the gaping hole in the wall and sighs, "Goldurnit, Bubba. That was muh top hand." The bartender says a Nasty Word, dives for the phone and hits the speed-dial for 911 as the other cowboys from that ranch, obeying West Texas feudal law, pile onto Bubba.
Pandemonium ensues.
Into the fray steps one LawDog. He sizes up the free-for-all and, in a move that generated gossip for nigh-on six months, he jerks a mop bucket from behind the bar and empties it onto the mighty struggle in the center of the room. Sudden shocked silence. Without a word, the lawman grabs Bubba by one ear and drags him out of the bar. Once outside, the minion of the law proceeds to chastise Bubba in fine, rolling language, threatening Bubba with God, Jesus, Mary and all the saints.
According to a witness, the scene looked for all the world, "Like a fire-and-brimstone prairie dog preachin' the Gospel to a Brahma bull."
The lawman got nasty: He invoked Bubba's Mama. Spoke of the shame that Bubba was bringing down on that goodly lady. At length. Using them three dollar words. Had Bubba in tears by the time he was done.
Which was probably not the best idea the 'Dog ever had, because Bubba, being totally undone by the thought of the horror he was bringing unto his Mama, felt he had to proceed directly to the old homestead and beg forgiveness from his Mama. To which LawDog responds that Bubba is "going to jail, and that's that."
Over the car sails LawDog. Never even touched paint. Hell of a throw on Bubba's part. Set a new World Record in Cop Tossing.
'Dog stands up, brushes the dust off his jeans, stalks back around the front of the cruiser, reaches waaaaa-aaaaaaay up, pokes Bubba in the chest and snarls, "Don't make me hurt you, Bubba."
Bubba's second try at Cop Tossing beat the first by several feet, even clearing the lightbar on this go. Only this time, 'Dog bounces back over the hood of the car with a five battery flashlight and a can of mace. Bubba goes to jail, but it takes LawDog about 10 or 15 minutes to get the job done.
And during that 15 minutes, the local DPS trooper was having hysterics on the hood of his shamu car. Each time he calmed down enough to give 'Dog a hand, he'd whisper, "Don't make me hurt you, Bubba" and start whooping with laughter again.
LawDog swears that he didn't say those words, by the way.
LawMom
A BIG CITY Patrol Officer was on duty driving thru the ritzy neighborhood looking for traffic violators. The powerful neighborhood association had complained to the Police Department about wild drivers speeding, running red lights and stop signs causing very dangerous streets and they demanded an end be put to it! So with this in mind, the Patrol Officer was on the outlook for all these reckless drivers. It wasn't long and he spots a car run a stop sign. He pulls the car over and as he approaches the vehicle a lady sticks her head out the window and berates the Officer for pulling her over. The Officer politely states why he is here on traffic duty at the behest of the neighborhood association and that she ran the stop sign. The lady starts screaming at the Officer that she is the head of the association and that she DID IN FACT STOP at the stop sign. The Officer said "No Maam, you did not STOP"! To which she replied that she had slowed down and that should be good enough. So the Officer, wanting to make the big-shot lady understand, grabs her by her head that is sticking out the window and begins to strum her head with his night-stick! The Officer then asks her if she wants him to STOP or would slowing down be good enough?
No, I can't take credit for these LawDog stories. At first, I was prefacing these stories with a short comment on where they were from, but I got lazy and stopped. These stories were written by a sheriff's deputy from Texas and were posted on the forum 'The Firing Line'. I'm posting them on this thread because I think the stories are hilarious. I also think that there are many other LEOs out there who have experienced situations that were just as funny and weird and would appreciate these, maybe even encouraging them to give their own stories. LEOs need to laugh once in a while because, most of the time, their jobs and encounters suck eggs because people these days are watching too many Youtube videos and thinking cops are evil, making them targets of a tremendous amount of abuse, both verbally and physically.
I was a bus driver (public transportation) for 27 years. Sometimes a bunch of drivers would get together for a bull session and trade stories about the weird and funny stories that they experienced as a way of escaping from the dour mood most of us were in from dealing with the public and traffic. We all said that, if we ever got together and wrote a book about our collective experiences, just about nobody would believe them, both good and bad.
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They missed the General Lee in that load, also the 77 TA from Smokey and the Bandit
Mind you there are so many that they might require a train for that lol.
TAJ45
Silver $$ Contributor
Luv it ! ! !
Big Mama was the matriarch of what passed for a crime family in our neck of the woods. She was responsible for most of our crime, until she got too big, then she left it up to her family.
Anyhoo, I was on duty one day when the word came in: Big Mama had Passed On. We were in the middle of a Moment of Silence ("Thank God", murmured the Sheriff) when the ambulance crew requested help.
We had a problem. Hoo boy, did we have a problem. When I say Big Mama was big, I mean she overloaded the 300 pound weight limit on the stretcher by a good bit. We couldn't even get her off the bed. After a couple of hours, we worked out a plan: someone scooted over to the local monument company and borrowed their forklift and a spare pallet, the volunteer fire department got out the Jaws of Life and popped the exterior wall off of Big Mama's bedroom. Six of us rolled her onto the pallet, then we raised the pallet and put it (and Big Mama) onto the hosebed of a firetruck. Voila!
Off we go to the funeral home, where the Director (Bless his heart), had dug out a portable embalming outfit (I didn't even realize there was such a thing) and did the deed on Big Mama in the garage.
Which, in retrospect, was probably responsible for what happened later.
The day of the funeral arrived. I had to be there, because--true to form--four of Big Mama's nephews, cousins and grandkids were in jail on various charges. My handcuffed, shackled and leg-ironed charges and I showed up early, and let me tell you--I was impressed. Someone, somewhere had found a casket big enough, and Big Mama was laid out in her Sunday Finest with a peaceful smile on her face.
Which in and of itself was shocking. I had only ever seen Big Mama when she was fighting and cussing fit to make a sailor blush. Never saw her smile until she was gone. Looked downright odd.
Anyhoo, we're there early, and I'm listening to the gossip, which was all based on whether Big Mama's youngest daughter would show her face. Big Mama had, years earlier, attempted to rearrange her daughters' giblets with a set of pinking shears, and daughter had run off to California, vowing Never to Return.
Well, she came back. And that performance should have gotten her an Oscar, I'm here to tell you. But I'm ahead of myself.
Four, count 'em, four Baptist preachers got up behind the pulpit and lied their butts off about the Deceased. Three different people got up to sing muzak versions of pop songs. The Eulogy was a masterpiece--bore no more resemblance to the Dearly Departed than a toady-frog resembles a polecat--but it sounded nice.
Then, finally, it was almost over. The family rose up and walked past the casket in saying their Final Farewells (and stealing any jewelry left on the body), with the entire congregation looking on and sniffling. And last in line was Baby Daughter.
Like I said--a masterpiece. Baby Daughter had to be supported by two cousins in her time of grief. She was bravely fighting back tears, as she tenderly touched the frozen features of Big mama, then she'd turn to leave, and then wail: "Oh, Big Mama, why'd you leave us!?" And the two cousins would gently lead her away, but she'd turn back to the casket, and blubber, "But I can't leave her!"
Someone get that girl an Emmy Award.
Anyhoo, This went on for about five minutes, until finally, Baby Daughter flings herself across Big Mama and wails, "Come back, Big Mama, come back!"
And Big Mama did. Sort of. Well, actually, she kinda flopped a bit and made a 'song of the humpback whales' kind of noise, as a glowing green ball appeared over the casket.
I remember thinking: Aha! That's what an air bubble in a corpse looks like. I always thought that was an Urban Myth. Fascinating.
And then I noticed that I was the only person left in the church. Everyone else was sprinting down the hill.
With the Head Preacher and my four leg-ironed prisoners leading the pack. And the glowing green ball was the tritium insert in my front sight.
I also noticed, about that time, that I was in a Weaver stance that was so solid that it took me about five minutes to bust my knees loose enough to sneak down the aisle to make sure Big Mama was well-and-truly deceased. (There are rumours floating about that I actually poked the Departed with stick during my examination. I deny these allegations. I couldn't find a stick. So I stood at the Amen Pew and tossed flower arrangements instead.
)
LawDog
Anyhoo, I was on duty one day when the word came in: Big Mama had Passed On. We were in the middle of a Moment of Silence ("Thank God", murmured the Sheriff) when the ambulance crew requested help.
We had a problem. Hoo boy, did we have a problem. When I say Big Mama was big, I mean she overloaded the 300 pound weight limit on the stretcher by a good bit. We couldn't even get her off the bed. After a couple of hours, we worked out a plan: someone scooted over to the local monument company and borrowed their forklift and a spare pallet, the volunteer fire department got out the Jaws of Life and popped the exterior wall off of Big Mama's bedroom. Six of us rolled her onto the pallet, then we raised the pallet and put it (and Big Mama) onto the hosebed of a firetruck. Voila!
Off we go to the funeral home, where the Director (Bless his heart), had dug out a portable embalming outfit (I didn't even realize there was such a thing) and did the deed on Big Mama in the garage.
Which, in retrospect, was probably responsible for what happened later.
The day of the funeral arrived. I had to be there, because--true to form--four of Big Mama's nephews, cousins and grandkids were in jail on various charges. My handcuffed, shackled and leg-ironed charges and I showed up early, and let me tell you--I was impressed. Someone, somewhere had found a casket big enough, and Big Mama was laid out in her Sunday Finest with a peaceful smile on her face.
Which in and of itself was shocking. I had only ever seen Big Mama when she was fighting and cussing fit to make a sailor blush. Never saw her smile until she was gone. Looked downright odd.
Anyhoo, we're there early, and I'm listening to the gossip, which was all based on whether Big Mama's youngest daughter would show her face. Big Mama had, years earlier, attempted to rearrange her daughters' giblets with a set of pinking shears, and daughter had run off to California, vowing Never to Return.
Well, she came back. And that performance should have gotten her an Oscar, I'm here to tell you. But I'm ahead of myself.
Four, count 'em, four Baptist preachers got up behind the pulpit and lied their butts off about the Deceased. Three different people got up to sing muzak versions of pop songs. The Eulogy was a masterpiece--bore no more resemblance to the Dearly Departed than a toady-frog resembles a polecat--but it sounded nice.
Then, finally, it was almost over. The family rose up and walked past the casket in saying their Final Farewells (and stealing any jewelry left on the body), with the entire congregation looking on and sniffling. And last in line was Baby Daughter.
Like I said--a masterpiece. Baby Daughter had to be supported by two cousins in her time of grief. She was bravely fighting back tears, as she tenderly touched the frozen features of Big mama, then she'd turn to leave, and then wail: "Oh, Big Mama, why'd you leave us!?" And the two cousins would gently lead her away, but she'd turn back to the casket, and blubber, "But I can't leave her!"
Someone get that girl an Emmy Award.
Anyhoo, This went on for about five minutes, until finally, Baby Daughter flings herself across Big Mama and wails, "Come back, Big Mama, come back!"
And Big Mama did. Sort of. Well, actually, she kinda flopped a bit and made a 'song of the humpback whales' kind of noise, as a glowing green ball appeared over the casket.
I remember thinking: Aha! That's what an air bubble in a corpse looks like. I always thought that was an Urban Myth. Fascinating.
And then I noticed that I was the only person left in the church. Everyone else was sprinting down the hill.
With the Head Preacher and my four leg-ironed prisoners leading the pack. And the glowing green ball was the tritium insert in my front sight.
I also noticed, about that time, that I was in a Weaver stance that was so solid that it took me about five minutes to bust my knees loose enough to sneak down the aisle to make sure Big Mama was well-and-truly deceased. (There are rumours floating about that I actually poked the Departed with stick during my examination. I deny these allegations. I couldn't find a stick. So I stood at the Amen Pew and tossed flower arrangements instead.
LawDog
Many, MANY moons ago (don't even ask, 'cause I won't tell you) when I was still a pup, the family lived in Nigeria. We had a bungalow at the Odibo Estates, out near the Biafran border. Every evening peddlers (called 'traders') used to walk up and down the main road, offering to sell or trade various knick-knacks and merchandise.
Ali Cheap-Cheap was one of the busier traders, and he spent a lot of time on our front porch haggling with Mom. Now, Ali Cheap-Cheap was very proud of his ability to get just about anything you might want or need.
One evening, Mom was visiting on the front porch with the visiting wife of one of the English engineers. Said wife had never been outside of London before, and as a consequence, loathed Africa. She and Mom are chattering and griping when along comes Ali Cheap-Cheap. Old Ali Cheap-Cheap doesn't have anything Mom or the English lady want, so, before he wanders off, he asks if, "Madams want for anything?"
English lady gets a funny look in her eye, taps her snakehide purse and says, "I want one of these."
"Yes, madam," replies Ali, and off he wanders.
'Bout three weeks later, Mom and the English twit are on the front porch, and along comes Ali Cheap-Cheap. With a friend. Ali and friend have a cane pole slung over their shoulders with a burlap bag hanging from said pole.
Now, on the front porch, we had a Mongoose-a-minium in which lived our pet kusimanse (Pygmy mongoose). This Mongoose-a-minium had a PlexiGlass ceiling which Dad had assured us was unbreakable.
Riiiight.
Up to the porch comes Ali Cheap-Cheap and his buddy.
Mom is eyeing the burlap bag with some trepidation, having had some nasty experiences with what the locals tended to store in burlap bags, when Ali and buddy proudly lift the burlap bag and announce, "Oh, madam! We have your beef!"
I should interject here, that "Beef" is bush slang for any animal. Wait for it.
Mom has risen to her full height, and is about to order Ali to get his beef away from her house, when Squeaker (the Pygmy mongoose) wanders out of his apartment, and screams in sheer rage. (It was always amazing how much sheer volume that little hairball could put out) Ali and buddy are startled by the shriek and drop the burlap bag onto the Plexiglass roof of Squeaker's residence.
The 'unbreakable' Plexi shattered and dropped the burlap bag into the Mongoose-a-minium. Inside said burlap is one 15 foot, rather scared python. (Did I mention that he was still alive?)
Squeaker, who was about the size and girth of a tennis ball, offers up a brief prayer to the Mongoose God for the meal he is about to partake of, andlatches onto the snakes tail, with tooth and claw.
The snake has discovered that he has been dumped into a place which reeks of mongoose, panics and pours himself up the side of the Mongoose-a-minium and down to the porch--with Squeaker not only still firmly attached to his tail, but bracing all four legs to prevent his meal from getting away. I should probably mention that the snake was approximately fifteen feet long. However, Squeaker didn't even slow him down.
The snake hit the porch floor with Squeaks gnawing away at his tail like a chipmunk on speed, and notices that the sliding glass door in the front of our house is open about six inches (for ventilation).
Yep. You guessed it: in goes the snake.
Now, Dad and one of his Brit buddies were sitting in the house, drinking whiskey-and-sodas. Brit buddy looks down and sees several yards of snake whip by, shrieks, and makes a flat-footed, sitting-down leap from the sofa to the top of the bar. Whereupon, he begins to utter genteel curses at the top of his lungs.
Dad looks down, lifts his feet, insures that his drink doesn't tip over, and watches the snake haul scales with bemused interest. (Dad didn't ruffle easily) In one corner of the living room was The Chest. The Chest was a great huge hand-carved teak box, that weighed approximately the same as an early 60's Buick. Guess where the snake went?
Yep, slithered under that chest slicker than grease (knocking Squeaks off in the process), wrapped about 13+ feet of coils around the solid teak legs of The Chest, tucked his head back into the darkness and muttered nasty things.
Mom sails into the house at full speed, Ali Cheap-Cheap and buddy hot on her heels.
Mom (as she scooped up Squeaks): "Where is it?"
Dad: "Hmm?"
Brit Buddy: "Under the bloody chest!"
Ali Cheap-Cheap: "Dis beef, 30 Niara!"
Mom: "Get it the hell out of my house! 30 Niara? I don't want the damn thing!"
Dad: "It'll probably leave on it's own after things calm down..."
Brit: "Good God, the thing is bloody huge!"
Ali: "Oh, madam, you take the food from my childrens' mouths! 25 Niara!"
Brit: "25 Niara for a snake?! Are you daft?!"
Mom: "OUT! I don't want the damn snake!"
Brit: "I should say not. Must be charging by the pound."
Ali (tearing at clothes): "20 Niara! Not a kobo less! You are evil woman!"
Snake: "Hiiiiiiiisssssssss!"
Squeaks (translation): "As God is my witness, I'll never go hungry again!"
Mom: "Get. That. Thing. Out. Of. My. HOUSE! Ali! Get out of my house!"
Ali (much offended): "Madam, you have my beef. You give 20 Niara."
Dad: "Thief man, this beef 10 Niara--no more."
Ali: "Ah! Boss! Is good juju--make you strong like bull! 15 Niara!"
Brit (still on top of the bar): "I say, do you really think so?"
Dad: "Well, Tom, if you've got 12 Niara, you can find out."
Mom (dreadfully quiet): "Why is that thing still in my house?"
Ali: "13 Niara!"
---------------------------------------
I'm still working on the last half of this story. Some people have threatened me with bodily injury if I go any further, but I think I've almost got them worn down.
Ali Cheap-Cheap was one of the busier traders, and he spent a lot of time on our front porch haggling with Mom. Now, Ali Cheap-Cheap was very proud of his ability to get just about anything you might want or need.
One evening, Mom was visiting on the front porch with the visiting wife of one of the English engineers. Said wife had never been outside of London before, and as a consequence, loathed Africa. She and Mom are chattering and griping when along comes Ali Cheap-Cheap. Old Ali Cheap-Cheap doesn't have anything Mom or the English lady want, so, before he wanders off, he asks if, "Madams want for anything?"
English lady gets a funny look in her eye, taps her snakehide purse and says, "I want one of these."
"Yes, madam," replies Ali, and off he wanders.
'Bout three weeks later, Mom and the English twit are on the front porch, and along comes Ali Cheap-Cheap. With a friend. Ali and friend have a cane pole slung over their shoulders with a burlap bag hanging from said pole.
Now, on the front porch, we had a Mongoose-a-minium in which lived our pet kusimanse (Pygmy mongoose). This Mongoose-a-minium had a PlexiGlass ceiling which Dad had assured us was unbreakable.
Riiiight.
Up to the porch comes Ali Cheap-Cheap and his buddy.
Mom is eyeing the burlap bag with some trepidation, having had some nasty experiences with what the locals tended to store in burlap bags, when Ali and buddy proudly lift the burlap bag and announce, "Oh, madam! We have your beef!"
I should interject here, that "Beef" is bush slang for any animal. Wait for it.
Mom has risen to her full height, and is about to order Ali to get his beef away from her house, when Squeaker (the Pygmy mongoose) wanders out of his apartment, and screams in sheer rage. (It was always amazing how much sheer volume that little hairball could put out) Ali and buddy are startled by the shriek and drop the burlap bag onto the Plexiglass roof of Squeaker's residence.
The 'unbreakable' Plexi shattered and dropped the burlap bag into the Mongoose-a-minium. Inside said burlap is one 15 foot, rather scared python. (Did I mention that he was still alive?)
Squeaker, who was about the size and girth of a tennis ball, offers up a brief prayer to the Mongoose God for the meal he is about to partake of, andlatches onto the snakes tail, with tooth and claw.
The snake has discovered that he has been dumped into a place which reeks of mongoose, panics and pours himself up the side of the Mongoose-a-minium and down to the porch--with Squeaker not only still firmly attached to his tail, but bracing all four legs to prevent his meal from getting away. I should probably mention that the snake was approximately fifteen feet long. However, Squeaker didn't even slow him down.
The snake hit the porch floor with Squeaks gnawing away at his tail like a chipmunk on speed, and notices that the sliding glass door in the front of our house is open about six inches (for ventilation).
Yep. You guessed it: in goes the snake.
Now, Dad and one of his Brit buddies were sitting in the house, drinking whiskey-and-sodas. Brit buddy looks down and sees several yards of snake whip by, shrieks, and makes a flat-footed, sitting-down leap from the sofa to the top of the bar. Whereupon, he begins to utter genteel curses at the top of his lungs.
Dad looks down, lifts his feet, insures that his drink doesn't tip over, and watches the snake haul scales with bemused interest. (Dad didn't ruffle easily) In one corner of the living room was The Chest. The Chest was a great huge hand-carved teak box, that weighed approximately the same as an early 60's Buick. Guess where the snake went?
Yep, slithered under that chest slicker than grease (knocking Squeaks off in the process), wrapped about 13+ feet of coils around the solid teak legs of The Chest, tucked his head back into the darkness and muttered nasty things.
Mom sails into the house at full speed, Ali Cheap-Cheap and buddy hot on her heels.
Mom (as she scooped up Squeaks): "Where is it?"
Dad: "Hmm?"
Brit Buddy: "Under the bloody chest!"
Ali Cheap-Cheap: "Dis beef, 30 Niara!"
Mom: "Get it the hell out of my house! 30 Niara? I don't want the damn thing!"
Dad: "It'll probably leave on it's own after things calm down..."
Brit: "Good God, the thing is bloody huge!"
Ali: "Oh, madam, you take the food from my childrens' mouths! 25 Niara!"
Brit: "25 Niara for a snake?! Are you daft?!"
Mom: "OUT! I don't want the damn snake!"
Brit: "I should say not. Must be charging by the pound."
Ali (tearing at clothes): "20 Niara! Not a kobo less! You are evil woman!"
Snake: "Hiiiiiiiisssssssss!"
Squeaks (translation): "As God is my witness, I'll never go hungry again!"
Mom: "Get. That. Thing. Out. Of. My. HOUSE! Ali! Get out of my house!"
Ali (much offended): "Madam, you have my beef. You give 20 Niara."
Dad: "Thief man, this beef 10 Niara--no more."
Ali: "Ah! Boss! Is good juju--make you strong like bull! 15 Niara!"
Brit (still on top of the bar): "I say, do you really think so?"
Dad: "Well, Tom, if you've got 12 Niara, you can find out."
Mom (dreadfully quiet): "Why is that thing still in my house?"
Ali: "13 Niara!"
---------------------------------------
I'm still working on the last half of this story. Some people have threatened me with bodily injury if I go any further, but I think I've almost got them worn down.
When last we left, Mom was sitting in a chair with an enraged African Pygmy Mongoose in her lap, Tom was standing on the wet bar, Ali Cheap-Cheap was trying to get someone to pay him for 15 feet of perturbed python lurking under the furniture and Dad was...well, contemplating.
*ahem*
----------------------------------------
Does anybody know how big a fifteen-foot python is?
I can hear the chorus now: "It's fifteen feet!" Yes, but do you realize how big around a fifteen-foot python is? It's bloody huge.
My brother and I had been attracted by the up-roar and, as boy-children will, immediately converged on the snakey parts sticking out from under the Chest.
Dad murmured, "Watch the sharp end, boys" as he pushed the chest out from against the wall, then knelt down and peered under it from the back side. Upon seeing something, Dad promptly slid his arm under the chest and began to feel around.
Squeaks, fed up with the wait-service, banzai-ed off Mom's lap, hit the floor and in one bounce shot under the chest, shrieking a tremendous mongoose war-cry as he disappeared: "Hah! Feel my wrath! Here is your doom! Prepare to be devoured!"
One of Dad's eyebrows kind of slid up, and he pulled his right arm out from under the Chest, revealing Squeaks clinging to it with all four sets of claws whilst delivering the dreaded Mongoose Death Bite(tm) to the back of Dad's wrist.
"Honey," said Dad, mildly, "Your rat isn't helping all that much."
"Are you sure you need the boys help?" inquired Mom, as she sat back in the chair, with Squeaks firmly anchored to her lap.
"Hmm?" mumbled Dad's voice from behind the Chest.
"Too right, Jim, old boy, I mean, that is a predator after all," chimed in Tom, helpfully.
The head of the python appeared over the top of the Chest, with one of Dad's hands clamped around its neck, "I've got the pointy end. Boys, see if you can find a tail on this thing."
Chris and I began to root about happily under the chest, and with the aid of a couple of Dad's walking stick collection, we pried the south end of the snake out from under the Chest.
"Dad, we found...oh, yuck."
Now, the Discovery Channel will tell you that, when disturbed, some species of snake will: "Secrete a noxious substance from their tails."
They lie.
Folks, I'm here to tell you that if a snake "secretes" that noxious substance, then a firehose "secretes" water. Got a hell of a range on it. Enough range, as a matter of fact, to reach out and paint a mother from her eyebrows down to the mongoose retching in her lap. And her with waist-length hair.
"Eep," said Chris, rather eloquently I thought, as Mom slowly scraped black/green grease off her face with one taloned hand.
"Bad luck," murmured Tom.
Dad popped up like a prairie dog. "What?"
"Dad, it, uh, sprayed..."
"Did any of it get on you?"
"Ah, hmm. On us? No, but, umm..."
"Good, good. Don't let the hind end get back under the Chest. Ali, come here."
Ali Cheap-Cheap, who had been watching all of this with intense fascination, jumped and pointed to his torso, "Boss?"
"Yes, you," One of Dad's hands reached out and got Ali by the front of his dashiki and pulled him behind the Chest. "Hold this. When I tell you, I want you to drag this end towards the door. Boys, when I lift the Chest, drag the tail out from under, okay?"
"Uh, Boss?"
Dad got his fingers under the edge of the chest, puffed a couple of times, and then lifted what I swear to God was half-a-ton of hand-carved teakwood.
"All right, pull."
"Boss, you say 'pull', nah beef, he say 'no'."
"Pull the snake, Ali."
"Boss."
"Bush man, I swear, if you don't..."
About this time, Mom levitated some three feet off her chair and, a bit like a Roman candle, exploded in a flaming mass of eyes, hair, grease and claws: "Pull the blankety-blank snake..."
...Ali took off like he'd been goosed with a cattle prod...
"...you blankety-blank son of a blankety..."
...Tom's eyebrows crawled up into his hairline as he regarded my rampaging mother...
"...blankety-blank mother of a blankety-blank goat..."
...Ali got to the end of the snake with approximately the same results as a running dog hitting the end of his chain, but he moved the snake about three feet...
"...Blankety-blank snake blankety-blank IN MY HAIR!"
Dad vaulted the Chest, grabbed the python in the middle and heaved him onto the front porch, where he bounced twice and skidded into the yard.
Watching the snake haul scales in the general direction of Port Harcourt, Dad sniffed reflectively, dusted off his hands, turned around and the first thing he saw was Mom.
"Honey," said Dad, somewhat bemusedly, "Why are you covered in grease?"
Mom glared at Dad, whipped around, and with Squeaks still firmly clenched in her hand stomped into the back of the house, muttering explosively and gesturing wildly. Crashing sounds drifted back.
"Redheads," opined the worldly-wise Tom.
Ali was practically dancing in rage, "Boss! Dis beef, fifty Niara!"
"Ali," murmured Dad, as he poured two glasses of Mr. Daniels finest, "You have gold?"
"Ah, Boss! I have gold necklace. A necklace such as only a princess could wear!"
"Seventy Niara."
"Oh, Boss! Seventy Niara is taking..."
"Trader man," Dad contemplated the bourbon, "Madame has gone to fetch her machete."
"A blessing on your house, Boss." Ali traded the necklace for the money, bowed once and hot-footed it out the door.
Dad gathered up the necklace and both glasses of bourbon, and began wandering in the direction of the destructive noises emanating from the back of the house, "Bye, Tom. See you at the office tomorrow. Boys, go play. Stay away from anything with an appetite."
Et voila! The snake story.
LawDog
*ahem*
----------------------------------------
Does anybody know how big a fifteen-foot python is?
I can hear the chorus now: "It's fifteen feet!" Yes, but do you realize how big around a fifteen-foot python is? It's bloody huge.
My brother and I had been attracted by the up-roar and, as boy-children will, immediately converged on the snakey parts sticking out from under the Chest.
Dad murmured, "Watch the sharp end, boys" as he pushed the chest out from against the wall, then knelt down and peered under it from the back side. Upon seeing something, Dad promptly slid his arm under the chest and began to feel around.
Squeaks, fed up with the wait-service, banzai-ed off Mom's lap, hit the floor and in one bounce shot under the chest, shrieking a tremendous mongoose war-cry as he disappeared: "Hah! Feel my wrath! Here is your doom! Prepare to be devoured!"
One of Dad's eyebrows kind of slid up, and he pulled his right arm out from under the Chest, revealing Squeaks clinging to it with all four sets of claws whilst delivering the dreaded Mongoose Death Bite(tm) to the back of Dad's wrist.
"Honey," said Dad, mildly, "Your rat isn't helping all that much."
"Are you sure you need the boys help?" inquired Mom, as she sat back in the chair, with Squeaks firmly anchored to her lap.
"Hmm?" mumbled Dad's voice from behind the Chest.
"Too right, Jim, old boy, I mean, that is a predator after all," chimed in Tom, helpfully.
The head of the python appeared over the top of the Chest, with one of Dad's hands clamped around its neck, "I've got the pointy end. Boys, see if you can find a tail on this thing."
Chris and I began to root about happily under the chest, and with the aid of a couple of Dad's walking stick collection, we pried the south end of the snake out from under the Chest.
"Dad, we found...oh, yuck."
Now, the Discovery Channel will tell you that, when disturbed, some species of snake will: "Secrete a noxious substance from their tails."
They lie.
Folks, I'm here to tell you that if a snake "secretes" that noxious substance, then a firehose "secretes" water. Got a hell of a range on it. Enough range, as a matter of fact, to reach out and paint a mother from her eyebrows down to the mongoose retching in her lap. And her with waist-length hair.
"Eep," said Chris, rather eloquently I thought, as Mom slowly scraped black/green grease off her face with one taloned hand.
"Bad luck," murmured Tom.
Dad popped up like a prairie dog. "What?"
"Dad, it, uh, sprayed..."
"Did any of it get on you?"
"Ah, hmm. On us? No, but, umm..."
"Good, good. Don't let the hind end get back under the Chest. Ali, come here."
Ali Cheap-Cheap, who had been watching all of this with intense fascination, jumped and pointed to his torso, "Boss?"
"Yes, you," One of Dad's hands reached out and got Ali by the front of his dashiki and pulled him behind the Chest. "Hold this. When I tell you, I want you to drag this end towards the door. Boys, when I lift the Chest, drag the tail out from under, okay?"
"Uh, Boss?"
Dad got his fingers under the edge of the chest, puffed a couple of times, and then lifted what I swear to God was half-a-ton of hand-carved teakwood.
"All right, pull."
"Boss, you say 'pull', nah beef, he say 'no'."
"Pull the snake, Ali."
"Boss."
"Bush man, I swear, if you don't..."
About this time, Mom levitated some three feet off her chair and, a bit like a Roman candle, exploded in a flaming mass of eyes, hair, grease and claws: "Pull the blankety-blank snake..."
...Ali took off like he'd been goosed with a cattle prod...
"...you blankety-blank son of a blankety..."
...Tom's eyebrows crawled up into his hairline as he regarded my rampaging mother...
"...blankety-blank mother of a blankety-blank goat..."
...Ali got to the end of the snake with approximately the same results as a running dog hitting the end of his chain, but he moved the snake about three feet...
"...Blankety-blank snake blankety-blank IN MY HAIR!"
Dad vaulted the Chest, grabbed the python in the middle and heaved him onto the front porch, where he bounced twice and skidded into the yard.
Watching the snake haul scales in the general direction of Port Harcourt, Dad sniffed reflectively, dusted off his hands, turned around and the first thing he saw was Mom.
"Honey," said Dad, somewhat bemusedly, "Why are you covered in grease?"
Mom glared at Dad, whipped around, and with Squeaks still firmly clenched in her hand stomped into the back of the house, muttering explosively and gesturing wildly. Crashing sounds drifted back.
"Redheads," opined the worldly-wise Tom.
Ali was practically dancing in rage, "Boss! Dis beef, fifty Niara!"
"Ali," murmured Dad, as he poured two glasses of Mr. Daniels finest, "You have gold?"
"Ah, Boss! I have gold necklace. A necklace such as only a princess could wear!"
"Seventy Niara."
"Oh, Boss! Seventy Niara is taking..."
"Trader man," Dad contemplated the bourbon, "Madame has gone to fetch her machete."
"A blessing on your house, Boss." Ali traded the necklace for the money, bowed once and hot-footed it out the door.
Dad gathered up the necklace and both glasses of bourbon, and began wandering in the direction of the destructive noises emanating from the back of the house, "Bye, Tom. See you at the office tomorrow. Boys, go play. Stay away from anything with an appetite."
Et voila! The snake story.
LawDog
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