I don't have any stories but the week is young.
My hometown was proud when they bought a new police helicopter. They flew it around spying in people's apartments.

One night, a friend of mine was up really late. It's worth noting that he was 14 and NATIVE, which is practically a crime in itself. He was caught in the spotlight (yeah, subtle) so he says to his friend: "Pretend I'm beating you up." Cue the SWAT team coming down on them.

A guy I used to work with had the cops figured out. He wrote a column for our paper about oddball crimes in the university area, and he was a celebrity on the campus security force. Once he got out of a speeding ticket when the officer pulled him over. "Oh, thank you, officer. I have a terrible problem, and I needed a wake-up call. You may have saved my life." And so on. He didn't get a ticket. I guess the cop liked having his cock sucked.

And this isn't exactly police, but it's law-related. A friend of mine's dad (divorced and aging) got a summons to appear in court in a paternity case. He didn't recognise the woman's name. So he sent a letter back saying "You must have the wrong XXX Getz. If you insist on bringing me to court, you'll all see I'm the wrong guy and I'll sue your asses." He was hoping they'd come and take him away, and then he'd be rich.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 18:10, Reply)

Contemptous hacks
As a group of trainee journalists in Peterborough the early 90s, we spent a lot of time sitting in the magistrates' court practising our legal training.

One day, m'learned friend the prosecution was questioning plod about what happened when he stumbled across a dodgy pair breaking into a warehouse.

Plod gets out his notebook and says, in that deadpan, Mr Cholmondley-Warner voice, "I was proceeding in a westerly direction when I heard the phrase "Stone me, it's the Rozzers".

We never heard the rest of the story. All 11 of us pissed ourselves laughing and were escorted out of the building for being in contempt of court.
( Sausagegirl, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 17:41, Reply)

The heroism of our police!
In the darkened alley I felt quite helpless. I was surrounded by a gang of eight slobbering tramps and they clearly had designs on my fleshy cushion. I was only twelve years old, and my cushion was soft and smooth. There was neither a hair nor a pimple to sully its unblemished surface and I wanted to keep it that way. I breathed in and tightened my belt. The groaning vagrants moved in and I could smell their cheap-whisky breath and trouty hair. The leader of the gang had a face like a sea bream and his left eye wobbled slightly with excitement. They closed in and I felt sure that I was in for one hell of a jimmynudging. I gripped my belt buckle tightly and closed my eyes. I could hear the shallow, frantic breathing of these hobos as I felt the first hand upon my thigh. Then there was the chaotic sound of an untidy scuffle. I opened my eyes to find a blue-suited man of the law flinging my assailants in all directions. The breamish tramp was flung at least ten feet into the air and he landed heavily atop one of his accomplices with a grunt and a honk.

Within seconds the alleyway was silent, save for the groaning of the eight jimmynudgers. The lawman had his back to me. He stood an impressive six feet and seven inches, although his back was hunched over quite noticeably. Was he injured? I felt compelled to offer my assistance.
"Excuse me, officer," I began. "Are you hurt?" I approached the policeman, but he was quick to stop me.
"Advance no further, young man!" he commanded. I stopped immediately. His voice was shrill and cat-like. I tried to peer round to get a glimpse of his face but it was obscured by his hat. "Come no closer," he asserted. "Look upon me not with thine eyes, but look into my soul with thine heart, for my face speaks falsely of my character."

As he said this, one of the tramps attempted to rise to his feet, presumably to stage another attempt at my rear spout. My saviour, wasting no time, swiftly clopped over and forced his mighty hoof through the vagrant's skull, screaming, "Curse thy nudgery!" I was confused and this made my head spin. I dropped to my knees and retched.

"Please sir," I begged, when I had finished retching. "I have looked into your soul. Now let me look upon your face."
The policething thought for a moment, his head bowed. He gave a deep sigh, removed his hat and lifted his head. To my abject disgust he had the face of a tapir, and the elongated, phallic snout moved independently. His eyes were small and sickening, his mouth black and hairy and shadowed by that unsightly proboscis. I retched again while begging him to leave and never show his face again. He replaced his hat, deposited a stool and trotted off merrily.

I felt a great sense of guilt afterwards. My reaction to his hideous visage, though genuine, had been somewhat harsh. Weeping, I collected the stool from the damp floor of the alley. I treasure it to this day.
(stusut79, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 17:34, Reply)

they can be quite classy....
My dad runs a bike shop franchise, anagram of WBM, and as such gets invited on rideouts and testing weekends to try out new models, being the bike mad boy that i am i get to come with him....

now being as that my dad and his mates are all ex racers they are quite good on bikes so cue 5 blokes on the new tourer model up on back wheels trying to out due each other when blue lights flash up behind us, its a bike copper.... shit! so we start to slow down when out of nowhere he passes us and pulls a near vertical wheelie doing about 80!

the worst bit was he flagged us down about 1/4 mile up the road to ask us what we thought....

sheer class

: /
(Four String Demon, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 17:28, Reply)

In the cell
I awoke in the cell, face down on the hard, narrow bed. The room was cold. I couldn't remember what I was in there for, but I somehow knew I deserved it. I wriggled awkwardly over onto my bruised back to get a view of the room. The walls were of bare brick, the ceiling of plaster, and the whole room was harshly lit by the morning sunlight that spewed inconveniently through the small, barred window. The only colour in the room was provided by my raw, red knuckles and the dark-blue steel door in the far wall. I tried to collect my thoughts and remember the previous evening's events.

Gin. A woman. Aniseed balls. A broken chair. A burning leg.

I could remember aspects of the evening, but I was unable to form them into a singular cohesive memory or sequence of events.

As I lay staring upwards, running these thoughts through my mind and conjuring erotic images from the broken plaster of the ceiling, I heard the steel door being opened. There was a cry from outside the cell as the door burst open with such force that it almost came off its hefty iron hinges. I sat up with a start. It was then that I became aware of the pain that was evidence of my considerable rectal damage. I winced, but my expression soon turned to panic as I saw the beast that had forced its way into my cell. The great behemoth shoehorned its hulking frame through the doorway with some difficulty. Its leg was the first part to enter the room; a great slab of a limb with three fat toes the size and colour of dead puppies. The knee was hideous, with flaps of skin spilling down the shin. The sound of the creature's roar was unbearable. It was the sound of a thousand tractors being hurled against a hotel wall by a great sexual elephant-dog. I thought that my nostrils might over-dilate, such was the volume and timbre.

Next came the giant's head, with a lower jaw that protruded so far in front of the upper part of the bovine skull that it could surely be seen by the yellow, pus-filled eyes that were sunk deep into the blistered face. Its torso, though powerful and bulky, was more slender than one would expect for a beast with such an enormous head. The nipples protruded well, and I admired them for a moment. They drooped slightly on account of recent lactation, the remnants of which were apparent upon the greasy abdomen.

I cowered in the corner, hoping not to be noticed, but this abomination of nature had already seen me. It advanced towards me. It's arousal could not be ignored.

So this was twenty-first century justice, Norfolk-style!
(stusut79, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 17:24, Reply)

Be safe.
I'm not a copper - I'm a paramedic who enjoys b3ta for the good laugh it is and enjoy sharing my own very sick sense of humour.
As for the post below by police impersonater "I have run out of coke" - well, I am going to do the obvious and point out that the police (and paramedics etc) see some truly unimaginable ghoulish stuff that is often the result of driving under the influence or speeding. 10 minutes later they may be pulling over a drink driver/speeder/etc and you expect them to be the model of courtesy?

Nuff said, and of course any unethical power tripping type police can kiss my ass.
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 17:12, Reply)

hmm
..side note.. why have all the scottish types decided to write their stories in 'Irvine Welsh'. Its a pain in the arse to read and verging on the illiterate.

(Might have answered my own question there, but ho hum)

Some of you probably know that I'm a copper and have already had a go at me in a previous QOTW. Whatever, heard it all before, any copper who cant handle a mouthful of crap from the proles doesnt last long.

As someone who has attended many a scene of destruction after a drinks/drugs related incident, I concur wholeheartedly with all those who quite rightly stood up against the arseholes who think its all just a bit of harmless tooling about.

The one memory, that let me assure you will never escape me, is my contribution to this QOTW, was arriving at an RTA on the A50 near Stoke-on-Trent. The small Fiesta at the side of the road was quite unremarkable except for the fact it was upside down. The 17 year old male driver was sat nearby, just sobbing. His three friends were further down the road. One 18 year old male and two 16 year old females. In the first of the evenings two surprise twists, all three were totally or partially decapitated.

His crime? 3 joints of cannabis that evening.

Thats 4 families destroyed. Directly 21 people. Indirectly, add the rest of the family, the schools etc.

The other twist; the scene was almost entirely silent, the road having been closed after the crash. You could quite easily hear the sobbing from the driver. But you could also hear the firemen, ambulance drivers, other coppers and some other accident investigators.

It was truly the most horrific and unsettling night of my life.

If one of you thinks that drink or drug driving is 'harmless' then let me know. I'll bring you down to an accident scene one night and I'll let you decide for yourself.

Sorry to get heavy, I know its not the forum. But it *is* a question called 'Police'.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 16:51, Reply)

PC Pervert
A few years after I had left school I was bored and needed a laugh. For some strange reason I thought it would be a great idea to fax lesbian porn to my old school.
So on the 'net I go looking for a suitable picture. I found one I liked, printed it out, stuck it in the fax machine and dialed the number found in the phone book.
Next day I came home from college and found a card that had been put through my letter box from PC so-and-so saying that 'he believed I could help him in his enquiries'. What the feck I thought forgetting what I had done the previous day.
Next morning at about 7 my mum comes bursting in waking me up in almost in histerics saying that the police are here to see me. So I go downstairs and theres a police man in the kitchen who says 'have you a grudge against auchmuty high school?' Well yeah it's a shithole but thinking probably best just say 'no'. He then holds up a piece of paper in an evidence bag containing a black and white print out of 2 lesbians necking and says 'whats this?' I about shat and made up a pathetic excuse of 'oh that, it was supposed to go to my friend as a joke' which he believed! He said he told the lady at the school that it was probably a mistake but she was pretty upset about it and I have to apologise to her. On the way out he asks 'can you tell me where you get those pictures from?' Not that I told him, he could look on the 'net himself, pervert.
It seems I had forgotten that when you send a fax your name and phone number appear in very small print at the top of every page.
I wrote an apology to the lady at the school and faxed it to her just to be wide.
(rosstheboss, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 16:39, Reply)

Church outreach in Southampton
Some of the kids got a bit out of hand. there were a bunch of teenagers involved in the mission, and it was their yoof leaders 21st birthday.

So they bundled him, tied him to a ladder, took his trousers off, shaved one of his legs, stuffed a banana into his shorts, stuck him outside the church we were staying in, and then called the police, saying there was a loonie with no trousers on hanging around outside the church. All without the use of alcohol or drugs.

Thankfully the police were very nice about it, and didn't charge anyone. But it was a bit embarrasing.
(teasus likes tea, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 16:36, Reply)

speaking of competitions
I had a mate who became a cop in my home town, which was ironic because he was a thief when I knew him. Anyway, the coppers there had a competition going on who could travel the furthest on their eight hour shift. They would head out in their chosen direction with lights and sirens and go hard for 4 hours. Then they'd take a photo of where they got to as proof. The pair who won had taken a plane which my mate john considered cheating. He said the big decision of most of his days was whether to have free mcdonalds or free kentucky fried chicken.
the local businesses started paying the police to turn up if their shop windows were broken, A few coppers lost their jobs in the scandal. it turned out that their quick police brains had decided 'why wait for criminals?' and started breaking the windows themselves to claim the money
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 16:33, Reply)

And another one...
My sister once got pulled for doing 98mph in the fast lane of the M1. Not too unusual, but it was 2am and there were no other cars on the road. Mr Policeman saw her from a flyover and thought it was a bit odd for someone to be in the fast lane with no one else on the carriage way and gave chase. My sister thought it was a bit odd that even though she had reduced to 70mph and moved to left hand lane, the police car (complete with blue lights) "couldn't" get by. 4 miles later and the police still hadn't utilsed the extra 2 lanes so it dawned on my sister that pulling up on the hard shoulder might be an option. Cue a bollocking, 3 points, a fine and a police escort up to the next junction so my sister could feel what 70mph felt like!
(The Duke of Pontefract, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 16:33, Reply)

I once heard a rumour...
.. that there are competions between Met piggies to be the first one to get a "customer" in the book on new years day (They start a new one every year apparently). Hence its best to avoid the streets of London just after the stroke of midnight!
(The Duke of Pontefract, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 16:20, Reply)

Police, they are not gods...
Picture the scene, it's one in the morning and a lone weary figure is blatting back through north London on a 20 year old Honda CB250 after the world's longest day at work.
The only other people on the road are minicabs and the occasional lethally drunk fucktard. So when a rusty, dented, blue Fiesta with smoked glass windows pulls up next to me at a set of lights I'm more than a little wary and pull away pretty sharpish to make sure they're nowhere near me.
Once I'd got some distance I took a peek in my mirrors and was somewhat worried to see the Fiesta barrelling towards me at monstrous speed. So I twist the throttle a little harder and keep a good eye out behind as these guys, instead of pulling a massive hooning drunken overtake, pull up to within inches of my rear wheel and then lean on the horn whilst flashing the full beams like disco was making a comeback.
I daren't slow down, cos these fuckwits are right on my arse, there's no place just here to pull in because of the parked cars but the rest of the road is clear, they could go round me any time they wanted.
They didn't want to go round, they wanted me off the road and as far as I could tell they wanted me off the road in little crispy pieces. So I gave the poor bike all the throttle I had (not a hell of a lot) and prayed they weren't the same drunked fuckwits I'd read about in the MAG newsletter*

So there's this Fiesta, weaving gently back and forth two feet from my back wheel, horn blaring, lights flashing, but sticking neatly into their lane when we come to a bit of a hill. I start to lose speed, and quick as a flash the car pulls out round me, rockets fifty yards down the other side of the hill and slews sideways to a halt right accross my path.
So I brake, harder than I'd like, back end of the bike fishtailing left and right until I come to a stop about ten feet from the drivers door of this Fiesta.
Door opens and a bloke steps out, white shirt, black trousers, crew cut, and holding a long stick down by his side, clearly absolutely fucking livid.
He's stalked about two paces towards him when I clock the uniform on the lass who's just climbed out of the passenger side.
"Oh thank fuck" says I, "You're police..."
"Yes sonny Jim" says he, "We're police. We're police and you're an idiot, aren'cha, the kind of idiot who rides at 60 in a 30 zone. Worse, you're the kind of idiot who rides at 60 in a 30 zone with a fucking POLICE CAR on his tail. We pulled up beside you at the fucking lights. How fucking thick do you have to be not to notice a big white car with the word "POLICE" written on it in easy to read letters... eh ?"
"But you're not driving a police car" says I, clearly confused.
"What the fuck is THAT THEN!" says Mr Angry, turning back to point at the rusty, dented, Ford Fiesta with the smoked glass windows.

At that point the WPC took over and things went a little more smoothly, beginning with the usual "Is this your bike sir" etc...

Eventually once the paperwork was done Mr. Angry got a slapped wrist** and I ended up with no fine and no points.

Still have no idea what two coppers were doing driving such a beaten up old piece of shit.


* the ones who had recently run a biker into a hedge and then, because he hadn't sustained any entertaining injuries from the accident, broke his shins with a tyre iron...

**Engaging in persuit in an unmarked car without lights or siren, accosting a member of the public whilst out of uniform, use of offensive language, and whatever else a rather embarrased police complaints commission bloke decided to throw at him.
( DukeEuphoria Comes highly reccomended, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 16:18, Reply)

FTP is the best protocol
Ive had a fair few run-ins with coppers in various parts of the globe. I once was held at gunpoint in Grand chenier, lousiana, (flattened by the last hurricane) with a van full of drugs for what turned out to be a minor indecent exposure - my mate had been seen pissing on a tree earlier that morning. They never searched the van, thank fuck! Have been pulled over in my uni days with a back seat full of chemistry apparatus Id stolen mainly for use as beer glasses, but unfortunately was sitting with a bong and jar of grass. I was detained by the Swiss Guard for kicking a football(australian) inside the vatican. I even worked for 2 years developing e-learning for UK coppers, coming to work with 1500 cops in uniform everyday took a bit of getting used to. I just rehashed there offline bullshit. eg. in Misuse of Drugs module: "LSD causes drowsiness" (sure...after 8 hours of heavy tripping!).
The funniest cops I saw were the ones when I was working in a remote mining town in Western Australia. Fair play to them there was 3 coppers responsible for an area the size of Spain (but with less people than Kings Lynn). One of them, Macca, used to drive the three hours to drink at the mine, as the the beer was only a dollar a can (about 40p). He tended to drink by himself but sometimes I'd chat with him and he was a good laugh. He'd start at 5 and get gradually wasted. I'd sometimes go down the dirt track he drove in on the next morning, and I'd regularly see his cop car about 100m off the road somewhere along the way, sometimes in ditch or against the trees. He'd pass out at the wheel and the car would just drift of the road until it naturally came to a stop. I went for my licence with him. I failed the eye test and got one question right on the theory. For the test he had me drive him one block to the bottle shop so he could buy a carton of beer. I 'm now licenced to drive anything from buses to 500 ton dump trucks. Look out!
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 16:09, Reply)

shame
Me and my mother were driving back from the shops when we were pulled over by "The Polis" worrying she had been speeding again we sat tight while the officer (who admittedly looked about 12) cam up and aid "do you know why i pulled you over" Ma replies "no" he then proceeds to go on about how silly she was to be driving when one of the back lights wasnt working and how the hell didnt she know

my ma , instead of being polit eand biting her toungue proceeds to go on a rant about not having eyeballs stuck on the bonnet to see back of car when driving it and did the PC speak to his mother in that sarcastic tone. We then get told to carry home while the 12 year old follows us home and proceeds to at our house further tell off my mum. wouldnt be soo bad by my dad was traffic cop and was pishing himself inside the house at my mum (yet again) being escorted hom

- i f=dont mind the poilce- im lucky being a "piglet" i suppose... they used to find me steaming drunk and give me a lift hom - but dropping me off before my house so my dad wouldnt yell at me- bloody nice guys (apart from Doogie Howser- the 12 year old PC- arse)
(wilma_wonka, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 16:05, Reply)

New York Coppers
When I was a student loads of us went to New York to look at all teh art galleries, some of us weren’t 21 yet so getting a beer was a bit of a hassle. So one of us goes to a "Liquor Store" and buys a load of those huge bottles of beer.

So we all go and sit in the park outside NY University having a cold beer, lovely.

Then along comes a patrol car, copper says " you cant drink in public, you will have to put those beers in paper bags!" fare enough we thought and promptly put are beers in brown paper bags so we now look like a group of alcoholic students (irony).

As the coppers drive off one of my mates stands up and shout "Yeah right, we can’t drink beer in public but I bet its OK to clean your fucking gun init!"

We quickly dispersed in different directions.
(sam miguel @;;;>///@#'#;#;[]['][]', Fri 23 Sep 2005, 15:59, Reply)

Stag Nights are always trouble
It wouldn't have been a proper stag do if the coppers hadn't been involved somehow:


We had been drinking excessively through-out the evening in a new part of old London Town, and decided to move on to a 'gentlemans club' with exotic dancers (well, they were from Romania). Because the walk was around 15-20 mins, we of course needed to have a p:ss half-way through.

Some bright spark heads up an alleyway and starts to p:ss, and about 6 of us do likewise, creating a river of urine to stagnate in the middle of the alley.

A previously unseen door opens in said alleyway, and out pop 4-5 police with shouts of "Hullo Hullo Hullo" *. Cue a Benny Hill style chase around the streets with our cox hanging out, and passed the front of the Police station we'd all being pissing up against.


CCTV - Truly the bane of my life.


* May be sanitised for family viewing. The Met aren't really that polite on Friday nights.
(Flappers, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 15:58, Reply)

"Jury Fuckers"
Reading some of these posts reminds me of a phrase used by the local police to describe the minority of their colleagues that have that by the book, petty minded, book-you-for-anything attitude.
They call them "Jury Fuckers" because of their ability to instantly cause the public to dislike them and so to not then believe police testimony in court.
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 15:49, Reply)

New York City
on a bender. I'm outside of a bar with a friend of mine who's having a smoke. Doorman's not standing right there, so I offer $5 to my friend to card the next person who walks up. He says, "Save your money." Big fella sidles up, friend asks him for ID (quite convincingly). Guy puts his tough-face on, says, "I'd show it to you, but then I'd have to arrest you."

Cunt.
(ZugZwang refuses to update his profile., Fri 23 Sep 2005, 15:46, Reply)

me and a mate were off to a party
and I was carrying his didgeridoo (obviously we were aiming to impress ze ladies with our esoteric talents)

copper pulls up, gets out and asks me what exactly it is that I'm holding. I look at him, slightly incredulous, and say "a didgeridoo".

the copper then asks what it is, so I tell him it's a musical instrument. at this point he's looking more and more suspicious so he asks me to play it.
I give him a lengthy parp, to which he replies, "ah sorry mate, I thought it was a traffic cone."

it was made of wood, five feet long and not in any way cone-shaped. I can only surmise that he was on crack
( gravytrain, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 15:29, Reply)

Pie Officer?
After drinking at home all day I decided to go to the Gabba greyhounds to drink more. I met a friend Justin, a chronic desperate gambler. He borrowed some money and said he would bring me something back from the bar. Good I thought, an ice cold can of beer for each hand. Not exactly. He bought me a pie. This was unacceptable the pie was red hot. I could not hold it so I threw it over my shoulder, unleashing a barrage of abuse as I did so. Said red hot pie landed on the neck and shoulder of one of the biggest, meanest Queensland coppers I had seen. he flicked it off, grabbed me and led me away. Back at the Woolloongabba station he punched me in the guts, the hardest shot I have ever received, just about through to my spine. I deserved it. I was released 3 hours later.
(rodgerroop, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 15:28, Reply)

Police
One night, around 11:30, I went to my place of employment (where my boyfriend works too) to give him something he had left at my place the previous day. We ended up completely making out in my car.

Around three in the morning, three policemen pull up alongside my car. It was typical, I suppose, the whole flashlight-shining-in-your-face business, interrogation, etc. Then they turned into assholes.

My policeman was a total cunt, He made me get out of the car (while it was pouring rain, I might add) and stand barefoot on the pavement for at least twenty mintues while the cops did background checks on the two of us. They were asking the most stupid, irrelevant questions, like what are my siblings' names, where my street was, why do I go to this school if I live in a different town, etc. He even had the balls to say "What would your parents think about you in the backseat with some boy with your bra off and his pants undone?"

I was scared, cos I didn't know whether they were going to call our parents or our boss (as we were technically trespassing on his property). It probably didn't help that my boyfriend was notorious in this town for, well, lots of things, and was known by all the policemen.

In the end they let us go, with a severe scolding and a "Just so you know, your headlights have been on for the past few hours. Turn the car off next time."

First I felt kind of stupid, becuse I had forgotten about the lights. Then I realized the cunts had been sitting in the parking lot across the street, watching us snog the entire time!

Pervy bastards.
(Sudo-Nim, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 15:26, Reply)

Bridge
Don't know the whole truth behind this one as the details were filled in by a mate of a mate of a mate etc. down the pub.

Apparently some bloke gets his very large truck wedged under a low bridge somewhere out in the Yorkshire Dales (close enough to home to know which bridge and recalling small artical in local newspaper about it).

Policeman pulls up in his little Pada car, gets out, puts on helmet, walks slowly to drivers side of cab, signals the the bloke to wind his window down and proceeds to ask (as only a copper can)

"And what do you think you are doing?"

"Delivering this fucking bridge!"
(Tim K, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 15:24, Reply)

2AM after a gig at TJ's in lovely Newport
seven of us in the band's mobile skip, and our drummer Tom is ( as usual ) utterly wankered. Skip has a blowout on the approach road to the Severn bridge, we make it to the hard shoulder safely. As Alan ( teetotal singer, driver and named owner of skip ) checks the state of the spare and remembers leaving the jack in his flat Tom staggers to the nearest emergency phone, slurs something and weaves back to the skip. Ten minutes later the filth appear, and give Tom the third degree before Alan is able to persuade them that he is the driver and owner with the aid of his documents and a puppet show*. We then have to wait a further 50 minutes for an AA van to arrive and get the spare fitted before the scowling coppers let us return to Bristle. Not a comment on the police per se, but our drummer is a fucking cock and remains so.

*(there may not have been puppets)
( uncle bastard is twanging a dan moi, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 15:18, Reply)

No C*nts on me Drugstable
Whilst at Uni I was pulled over by the law who seemed eager to try out their new stop and search powers granted them in the Criminal Justice Act, and as I was sashaying down the street fresh from the house of one of the best known dealers in town, they thought they had a ripe suspect - they did.

They searched me on the street and took me in with a quarter of squidge as their prize - I sucked it up and got a lecture and a caution for possession, with a warning that they'd press charges if there was a next time. I doffed my cap and promised to toe the line, and left the Police Station still carrying a dozen pills, 5 grams of coke and a rack of Purple Ohms, maybe 150 tabs.

Phuckin idiots :-D
(Jay Tea, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 15:16, Reply)

I blame Wodehouse.
Where to begin... Well I've got a collection of about 9 'tits' (the big tall bobby hats) but since my usual pc and webcam are in exeter awaiting my arrival for uni i cant show a picture. Ive had a caution for indecent exposure; me and a few friends got stupidly drunk and thought itd be fun to flash cars. we did so, i flashed a white car. it flashed back. they lined us up, asked our names (all fake) then escorted us home with a warning. the best was Jo (a chinese friend of mine) answered his name as 'Thai Mai Shoo' when the police asked what his real name was he played the racist card! classic.
Length and girth = superiority
(Grizzly, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 15:11, Reply)

Running away from home
Don't even ask - possibly the least well planned "She's Leaving Home" exercise ever (even though I actually planned it for ages). I was fourteen and I left my house, with a packed bag, at about midnight-2am (can't remember - it was pretty sucky, after all). After roaming around my shitty country town waiting for the buses to start, a cop car pulled up beside me and started asking questions. Stupid me pretended to be my only friend, upon which the cops promptly phoned her home and woke her mum, who panicked, checked and found said friend safe and sound in bed. (I got a hiding for that later.) Cops chucked my bag in the back of the divvy van - I went to follow it but they grabbed me and put me in the front of the vehicle over the gearstick. I got dragged home and the shit hit the fan rather severely, although ultimately with a good outcome, sort of.

Actually there's no funny story here, I just wanted to post a link to my blog - jovialfellow.blogspot.com/
(Emily Bruce-Dickinson http://jovialfellow.blogspot.com/, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 15:03, Reply)

Now the police near me are useless.
In St Ives (Cambs) they police station is in Pig Lane. No honest, it is. To get over the embarrasment, they actually have had their driveway given a name by the council, so they don't have to use the old one.

Now some years ago, I was out with my little girl at the playground. Sitting on the roundabout, going round very slowly was a dirty perv having a wank in full view. I whisked my daughter away and called the police. They finally arrived at my house 3pm the following afternoon. I was less than polite and sugested that maybe, just maybe he may have actually gone by now. He turned away to leave and came back to issue me with a ticket for no tax disk on an old car I had just pushed out of the drive to be taken to the scrap yard. Cunts cunts cunts cunts CUNTS!! Then a couple on months ago, I had a minor bump where someone hit me up the arse. The police turned out and when they ask for my documents, I didn't have them. They issued me with a production of documents ticket and asked me where I would like to present them. "Pig Lane, St Ives" I answered. He kept me there for another 25 mins while they searched my car. Cunts.
(Fucking bastard maggot wanking cunts.)
( Captn Hood-Butter is not dead yet., Fri 23 Sep 2005, 14:59, Reply)

Once when I was 14
I was stopped for going for a walk at 4 am. How dare I?
(matthyaouw, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 14:44, Reply)

I've been pulled over 3 times
4 if you include when I was coming out of a multi story car park and was told to turn my lights on.
A couple of months ago I was driving about my town, taking the long, rather random route home, just because I like to drive. There is a road that used to be a 50 or 60 speed limit but they cut it down to 40. I still drive about 50 on this road, because it really should be a 50. I see blue lights behind me. I pull into the left lane (dual carriageway) to let him overtake. He pulls in the left lane. Oh dear, I'm going to get a ticket. I pull over, sit in the car and wait or the fuzzman.

"Do you know what the limit is on this road?"
"umm...50?"
"No, it's 40" *sniff sniff* "what's that i can smell?"

At this point I realise the man is actually not a man, but a cunt. I am 19, I drive a metro, I am into rock music and as such dress like a rocker, complete with Metallica tshirt and long hair. The thing about rockers is people think they are all on drugs and this fucker is trying to make me confess to having drugs in the car. Honestly, I know full well that he can't smell a thing on account of there being nothing to smell. Except my air freshener. So I sarcasticly point at the air freshener. He didn't look pleased and asked if I had anything else in the car I shouldn't have. I answered "Nope, you can check if you like". He proceeded to let me go, and I drove away at 50.
( Styxx hates when people talk in the third person, Fri 23 Sep 2005, 14:40, Reply)