Headline ripped from Modern American Police magazine: it is o.k.to beat grandmothers, well, you know, because they needs a beatin’ sometimes.

I struggle with huge dilemmas of conscience, stuck as I am in my semi-private world of words. And, that private world trod upon and monitored for decades by law enfarcers.

Well-being one of the good guys, I have every day crisis like “should I go and save old grandmothers from wandering into traffic, or should I tackle them, and mercilessly beat them on and about their faces?” What lessons do I teach the citzens today?

Because, as a real American, I know the slippery slopes is that sooner or later if I don’t do my job, we will be a socialist nation, like England.

In this July 1, 2014 image made from video provided by motorist David Diaz, a California Highway Patrol officer straddles a woman while punching her in the head on the shoulder of a Los Angeles freeway. The woman had been walking on Interstate 10 west of downtown Los Angeles, endangering herself and people in traffic, and the officer was trying to restrain her, according to a CHP assistant chief. The officer, who has not been identified, has been placed on administrative leave during an investigation. (AP Photo/David Diaz)

Sometimes, even grandmothers need to get Putin their place. http://news.yahoo.com/lawsuit-filed-la-womans-pummeling-patrolman-214511838.html

Then, after I beat them, should I enlist the aid and protection of my brothers and sisters in the fraternal order to cover my ass–and lock these people up without access to their lawyers, or their psychiatrists and so forth?  Take their medical records before their own lawyers get their greedy, ambulance chasing hands on them?

I sure as hell think so-because –you could never know-but we sometimes need to ‘contain evidence’ before it becomes evidence, if you know whatI mean–which you don’t because you are the average citizen who has never had to stop a grandmother from wandering of in traffic!

I mean–these are every day crisises that the average citizen would never face!

No one can know how hard my job is, being watched all the time for any little slip up. It pisses me off big time.

And the average citizen has NO WAY of knowing about the threats that people like me face daily-FROM American citizens and GRANDMOTHERS who wander off. For instance, maybe she was wired with an I.U.D., and set to go off in traffic? Domestic terorrists do shit like that. She could have gone off, if I hadn’t jumped on her like a hot molatov.

“because if good women had their heads screwed on right, they would just have more children, and stop wasting time in relationships where men talk, argue, discuss, disagree, and or attempt to ‘relate to’ women–“

I mean-any common sense person knows that Alzheimers and other mental illnesses is a dangerous disease. I get special training in how to recognize that sort of thing, and this was that sort of thing.

Lots of people get these diseases, and I sure as hell don’t want that on my hands or my black leather gloves which I wear especially for these kinds of necessary beat downs. Probably, these people are contagious, and a threat to the public.

Other people are mentally ill, and–the average citizen could never understand how line walking teetotalers like me (except for steroids, which improve my muscle masses for the sake of the public) have a big reason to dislike and distrust alcoholics, the mentally ill, and drug users, or poor people in general if for no other reason than those people are taking the easy way out! They just refuse to work right!

I mean, I haven’t read up on this crap since my four year college and all that socialist brainwashing about “pyramids of self actualization,” and other gibberish, and seein’ as how I don’t have time for all that brainy stuff–because I am a doer, nota talker–because of the demands of my job–and because law enfarcement degrees focus on technical stuff–like weight training, in-group versus out-group hiring practices; sycophantic testicle nuzzling of my superiors, kowtowing to all of those ‘dieverse’ hires who got rank above me because they are dieverse; and domestic violence training.

Have YOU ever had to sit through some dieversity training?? Well shut up then! You would be like I was: paid, but not paid enough to do it over again.

And it’s not easy waging domestic violence on whole cities! I mean, when I show up at someones door, and I see 1) sexy, or otherwise fuckable women being abused by men (because all men-and lots of queers, statistically, are abusers, and women are not violent, unless they are forced to be, or are deranged grandmothers) I get bothered, because these breedable women could be with better men than the one she is stuck with–and because I am a better man, I know this.

2) domestic violence means that the breadbasket of America gets robbed of the potential to breed new taxpayers–because if good women had their heads screwed on right, they would just have more children, and stop wasting time in relationships where men talk, argue, discuss, disagree, and or attempt to ‘relate to’ women–because after all, women are essentially here for one reason: to give life to the state, for the betterment of the nation! And men oughta know that, or get the hell out of the house after she hits him in the face with a frying pan–get a clue, dudes.

Well-anyways, I am stressing out-you don’t even know! And I am pissed because writing this shit takes tme away from my gym schedule, snapping towels at the asses of my peers who think they are so cool because they did more reps than me today-or just because I like snapping gym towels on male asses, and then getting all serious and discussing “the bad guys out there.”

Here’s a peak at my daily schedule:Prayer warrior session at 5 a.m. just to touch base with Jesus; 6 a.m. roll call in a room full of farting men and women who are just starting to get their adrenalin on with a cup o’ morning JOE; THEN, four to five hours sitting in my cruiser, leering into oncoming traffic, and sometimes–sometimes–showing up at the scene of an accident and taking a report-which I have to write, on paper!

And that’s when I am not volunteering time at a local fushion center learning the spycraft of keeping America safe by chatting up fifteen year olds in chat forums about whether or not their moms and dad’s smoke weed, or use guns like I do-as extensions of my pride in being FREE.

Now, in contrast to those big talkers all over the internet, I am a real and bonerfide keyboard commando, because I get paid to protect the conversational flow of Americans from going in directions that are un-American, and SOMETIMES, I just give those conversations a nudge to make them more American, or at least, to cause those fake mom’s basement keyboard commandos to feel the shame of loose talk that threatens American lives overseas.

Well, you get the idea-there’s almost NO TIME in my day to work off all that stress that builds up, and I get real pissed when helping people gets in the way of my time at the gym. I mean, like, I do 400 reps a day, and that’s just on my gluteous maximi musculature–the Lord knows how hard those cruiser seats can be–and my pecks,and biceps– because how would you feel if you were part of the SWAT team, and your bullet proof vest looked all saggy in front of the team?? And some of the people on that team are women with bigger chests? NOT GOOD for the photo ops, I can tell you…

Saggy, like a grannies tits, is not gud-I can hear them now, just mocking me! And I don’t have any time in my work schedule to adjust my ego for LOSERS who compare bad apples with avocado and raw egg smoothies.

Or grandmothers who wander around probably on drugs or something.

So, yeah, sometimes, grandmothers just needs a beatin’, and it’s MY JOB to dish that beatin’ upon them. I am the guardian angel of grandmotherly beat downs.

You don’t know–you weren’t there–and if you were? I might have beat you down too–or putin my own camera in your face! Or just beat you with it.

Yeah-I can show YOU what to do with a camera, alright. You’ll see, I promise you. And I am sayin’, it won’t be pretty at all.

And that grandmother? Bitch was yammering on about “I am ready for my closeup, Mr. DeMille,” whatever the fuck that means.

Probably some conspiracy she was involved in, with the French, or some other Arabs.

But I just don’t give a shit- doin’ mah job means never, ever doubting that there are only two colors that I need to be concerned about: black, and white, and–you weren’t there–but she looked black to me.

 

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