A Guest Post by Motorcop

oh man.  mind your butts.  there’s a cop in the house.  Motorcop wrote us a guest post that is exactly 666 words.  coincidentally, the post i wrote for him over at his blog is also 666 words.  we’re like the Axis of Evil for blogging.  he’s gracing us with his first responder presence.  why haven’t i mentioned his name?  because i don’t know it.  so don’t ask.  he’s all secretive and stuff so he can get away with writing his hilarious blog.  read it, love it, follow him on Twitter.

enjoy.  or i might have to get upset.

I should probably start this by saying I am not a relationship counselor (although I could be given my vocation).  There are two people that folks come to for free relationship advice.  (I mean besides our gifted host here.  I’m not looking to stick my foot in my mouth this early on.)  One is more preferable than the other.  The more preferable of the two would be bartender.  The less preferable one would be me.  I’m a cop.  If I show up to give you relationship advice, someone may likely go to jail.

They make us do that when they give us badges and guns.

Over my career, I’ve had a myriad of occasions in which I’ve given advice, solicited or otherwise, to those claiming to be in the throes of love.  What follows is directed more towards those of you less world-wise in the ways of amorous affectation.

A number of years ago, I got detailed to a haunted house.  No joke.  Every time I go to this joint, I look for Shaggy and Scooby and I wait for old man Perkins to jump around the corner dressed like a ghoulish Tiki.  (If that ever happens, old man Perkins may very well catch a .40 for his trouble…ghoulish Tikis scare the crap out of me).

At any rate, this house has been abandoned for years and is frequently used as a crash pad for a variety of activities from the illicit (drinking, drug use) to the carnal.  This was the latter.

 My partner and I went inside through a hole in the door (me stifling a “Jinkies”) in search of our prey.  We heard some noise coming from upstairs and followed.  As we rounded the corner, guns drawn and flashlights ablaze, we stumbled upon Romeo and Juliet.  

On second thought, let’s rename them Randy and Jules…seems more appropriate.

Jules is in mid-clothes-shed/scrambling to re-clothe and Randy is standing with his shirt half off and his hands deftly reaching for his fly.  

My partner and I (trying to not laugh) see an opportunity to correct some awful decision making.  The crux of which was this:

Boys: Don’t take your girls to the local abandoned house (which may or may not be haunted) for a roll in the hay.  Even if it’s her birthday (it was her birthday).  You will scar her for life.  I understand that you don’t really care about that right now because you’ve no blood left in your (upper) head, but believe me when I tell you it makes you a ginormous douche and karma will kick you in the very thing to which you’re trying to get her to pay attention.

Girls: Have some respect for yourself, for crying out loud.  This is how you want to remember your 17th birthday?!?  Really?  With Randy lasting 37.4 seconds on a mattress that has seen 10 times that many couples?  Your Dad failed you.  Miserably.  If Randy is too much of a misogynist, perhaps he isn’t your dream guy?
Listen, I was a teenage boy.  I get it.  I didn’t then, but that really isn’t any of your business, now, is it?  I was raised to respect women.  Believe me when I tell you my daughters will expect future suitors to open doors for them, walk curbside, and pull out their chair.  If one ever honks for her to come out for a date, he will be incredibly disappointed with the outcome.  

So boys, show women the respect you’d show your grandma.  Girls, expect to be shown at least a modicum of appreciation.  You will garner a much more reliable, strong, dependable and loving man because of it.

What could very well be the saddest part of the tale was when I walked Randy and Jules out to their car.  They headed to their own sides of the car.  I looked at Randy and said, “Are you kidding me?  Open her door!”

To which Jules replied, “Oh, it’s okay.”

No, sweetheart.  It really isn’t.

and that ladies and gentlemen, and those of you who hang out here at my blog, that is how it’s done.

favorite cop story?  favorite haunted house story?  favorite got caught with your pants around your ankles story?

go.

 

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10 comments on “A Guest Post by Motorcop

  1. JBen says:

    MC, why do I feel like this is one of the tamer things you’ve walked in on? I wonder what that kid told his friends the next day.

  2. […] MCPD is an Equal Opportunity Employer July 29, 2011 Training No Comments You may be wondering just what the title of this post means.  A couple months ago, I joined up with some other crazy bloggers at Blogrocket.com.  One of my fellow BlogRocketeers (a term I wish I coined) contacted me recently about guest posting.  We decided to take over one another’s blogs today.  Here’s me invading her space. […]

  3. Mars says:

    Man, this makes me so sad, almost tear up… I wasn’t ever exactly in that girl’s shoes but I came really close and it scares me to think what would have happened. I don’t want to sound alarmist, but she’s lucky she was safe (at least in that instance) and that something truly bad did not happen.

    • MotorCop says:

      I assure you she was there of her own volition and there was no crime afoot. This would have played out quite a bit differently if either of those things were different.

  4. Jennifer says:

    While I do have an entertaining story involving a state trooper (does that count?), I simply had to comment due to the use of the term “37.4 seconds” as that is my favorite number paired with my favorite exaggeration. I might have possibly squealed with delight when I read that, unless it makes me sound nerdy, in which case I did not and you can’t prove it.

    Delightful story. Love the number usage. The end.

  5. maybe she brought him there.

  6. Jamie says:

    My favorite cop stories are yours, so…

  7. I once got pulled over for stealing my own 1979 Lincoln Towncar (in 2002). I had left all the windows down, and when I headed to the car, I walked by a campus cop and waved at him (like ya do if you’re from the country), who proceeded to follow me to the car, watch me jump in (like ya do if you grew up on Dukes of Hazzard), and pull me over 50 feet later.

    The moral of the story is: emulating your childhood heroes leads to fun stories.

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