Trust in me, just in me... Shut your eyes and trust in me...

Body language is the foundation of interpersonal communications.  As a tail cannot mask the cat’s intent, neither can the facial expressions or physical posturing of a human being.  Words can lie; the eyes cannot.

Researchers have spent decades researching the language of the body.  Magazines such as Cosmopolitan and Men’s Health are inundated with morsels of fact, deduced from the studies, a Rosetta Stone for the underlying intent of the opposite sex; masked by words, decoded via posture and subtle eye movements.  However, a little known fact has long been overlooked.  This gem of knowledge lies within the correlation between: The crack-head, eye movement, and the believability of truth.

Roxie, a 40-something black female who stands 5’8”, and weighs in a hefty 170 Lbs, wanted to report she had been assaulted by her mother, an amputee who is missing her right leg, and ambles about on an Amigo with a nearly dead battery.  Roxie stated her mother had chased her down, through the one bedroom apartment, pinned her near the wall, and threw a brass lamp at her head.  Roxie, realizing might does not make right, knew it was wrong to retaliate, and called 911.

Roxie has abused crack cocaine for the past 20+ years.  She has tried to fight me after stealing a 22 Oz tall-boy of Steel Reserve.  I’ve witnessed her bludgeon a man with a cast iron skillet.  I’ve seen her, looking every bit of Kimbo Slice, dancing in the street, beckoning any sorry motherfucker who wanted a piece; assuming, not of her pie. 

Roxie wanted me to believe her mother had fallen from the Amigo of her own accord.  Roxie had not retaliated.  Her mother was the misfortunate victim of gravity, the dastardly phenomenon which had nearly single handedly cost civilization the mind of Sir Isaac Newton.

As I persisted in the investigation, Roxie knew I was on to her.  Suddenly, without cause or notice, Roxie’s eyes began to move, in a cyclical rhythm.  The more she spoke, the quicker the eyes pulsated, back and forth; drawing… me… i-n-w-a-r-d… m—u—s—t… r---e---s---i---s---t… 

Thankfully, the side pony tail and floral-print leggings helped me regain my focus.  As Kaa had tempted Mogwai in the Jungle Book, Roxie had hypnotized me with the crack-head stare.  Though it is possible the mouth-froth had released some gaseous neuro-toxin, which aided the trance-state; an undeniable possibility which merits additional research. 

As I thought back to other encounters, with others of her kind, I realized it was only when Roxie was lying, when crack-heads lie, that their eyes begin a dance.  This is not unlike the illuminous barbel of a dragon fish, used to lure others in, to their demise.  So too does the crack-head stare lull you a hypnotized state; one which enables you to decipher their language, forcing you to believe their lies.   

-GOAT       

I meant what I said and I said what I meant...

The mentally ill; society’s ‘lil dust-bunnies, a segment of society we sweep under the rug and try to forget about.  Psycho; a label we readily address to those who make us uncomfortable.  The world is full of people who are afflicted with clinical diagnoses from mild depression to absolute psychosis.  But who really understands the illness tormenting the person?  Does anyone realize how widespread the epidemic?  Does anyone really care?

Many of the calls dispatched either originate from, or involve, the mentally ill.  I’ve had many of my most favorite and memorable conversations with those who are less than “normal.”  The following is a list of some of my favorite quotations to date, not in any particular order:

1. I tell a man I don’t like it when people lie to me; his response: “You know what I really hate, thieves and baby rapers.”
2. We were called to an apartment because horde of ninjas was on stand-bye to take out Bin-Laden, who was hiding in a local bar: “Of course I can help you.  All I need is a lever action 30-30, a government issued Colt .45, and a pair of cowboy boots.”
3. We were called to a suicidal subject, because his girlfriend was missing: “Of course this is an emergency.  I’m worried about her.  My daddy got a meat dick.”
4. We were called to identify a man, who had sent threatening letters to the House and Senate: “I really don’t want to kill the President.  I rather like Obama.  It’s just that the FBI, and that Hillary Clinton lady, they won’t stop playing that goddamn music until I do.”
5. A local drunk had called in a report of an Officer being murdered in a parking lot.  This was his only request: “Before you take me in, could you check the bushes for my wife?  She loves lying there with all the other bodies.”
6. A Gay man with club-foot and a host of STD’s called to report a rape: “I woke up, and his dick was in my mouth.  Sure, we fooled around before, but he called me a wiener before we went to bed.  I did not give him permission to do it this time, and I want to press charges.”
7. I responded to a check the well-being, of a man yelling at the sky: “I want to hit you.  I want to punch you right in the face.  No I don’t.  I didn’t mean it. (crying) I really like you.  Why do I always do this?”
8. From the mouth of a black woman with dementia: “That boy, there in the corner; the colored one hiding in the laundry pile.  I don’t like the way he’s smiling at me.  Make him leave.” Then, while pointing directly at me: “And that white-boy can go too.”
9. After taking a suicidal subject into protective custody, his mother felt the need to explain: “Well, my son really isn’t crazy.  It’s the ghosts.  They only talk to him, and they tell him to do bad things, like masturbate and set things on fire.”
10. An alleged government contract-killer called to turn himself in: “You see, my dad was a Hit-Man, and, since he died, I have to finish his contracts in order to keep my mother from being killed.  I’m really tired of going to the bar, every Friday night, and having to kill people in front of the women.” I then ask why the murders have not been published in the local News Paper. “It’s because they control the media.  They’re really good at what they do.”

There are so many more.  I’ll feed you all like baby birds if you eat this up.  Close your eyes, stretch your necks to the sky, and open wide… Hold it… Hold it… Now that’s the ticket!

-GOAT

Is that jump on “3,” or do we say “3,” then jump?

My life to this point has been about as haphazard as the flight path of a Bombus, better known as a bumble bee. My family is full of drug addicts and petty criminals. To my knowledge, on my mother’s side I was only the second or third in history to graduate college with a B.S. degree. On my “father’s” side, well, he’s incarcerated for a host of felonies, thankfully none of which involve a sexual offense.



The only thing that has been certain in my life was my career choice. I’ve always wanted to be a police officer. It started early, probably with episodes of CHiPs, and expounded to an obsession of sorts. The cars and motorcycles, the sweet uniforms, the mirrored (g)Aviator shades, the guns, and the ladies; who wouldn’t want to be a COP?


Thankfully, in the mid-90s, shows like Jerry Springer and Rikki Lake dominated morning and afternoon television. Unprecedented legions of the unemployed and Social Security dependant mouth-breathers feasted on the mindless drivel. The theories of social etiquette and courtesy were thrown to the wolves, and replaced with a belief of “I am the loudest; I win” mentality. This equated to job security for me and my like-minded band of masochists, who dedicate themselves to the service of others; most of the time which is spent serving in vain.


There is an aura of mystery and awe surrounding a police officer. Many people have only experienced the “enforcement” side. These are the people who, when I meet them for the first time in a pub, they inundate me with a never-ending torrent of “what ifs” and “well my brother, this one time” questions. What you’ll see here is what I feed those people, hoping to create an understanding. I don’t need approval, I just hope somebody understands ME for who I am; I am a person, not a badge.


What I’m hoping to accomplish here is to provide a window into the mind of one, not all, officers of the law. You may not like what you see or hear, but it’s the truth; take it or leave it. The stories will be true, with a twist of my own thought, and, obviously from my own perspective. As you are probably reading it alone, it’s ok to laugh out loud. No one else will know our secrets, or share in our guilty pleasures of the misfortunes of others. Enjoy; we’re in for a fun ride.


-GOAT