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)