Cop Compares Breastfeeding Mom To A Terrorist

[Headline in the Huffington Post]

I’m here to protect and serve. That’s my job. That’s my duty.

Actually, I was off duty on the day in question. I was in civilian clothes, but armed, sitting in our local Starbucks with my girlfriend Kristin. Kristin was drinking a Shaken Iced Peach Green Tea Lemonade and I had an Orange Spiced Iced Coffee in front of me, fortified with some special sauce from my pocket flask . Note that unlike another person in the shop, I wasn’t drinking milk from its source, which in my case would have been my girlfriend.

This is America. We have laws. For example, you can’t run around naked in public, unless you happen to live in San Francisco or a place like that. I would never be a cop in San Francisco. Where would I pin my badge ha ha. But seriously, you’ve got the inmates running the city up there. How would I know who to arrest? Or is it “whom”?

Anyway, we’ve got laws, such as if you are a woman, keep yourself decent in public. If you want to feed your baby at home, go right ahead. But you don’t go to the bathroom in public, and certainly not sitting in a Starbucks, so why would you expose yourself in front of the rest of us in terms of your bosoms? (Which by the way have got nothing on Kristin’s!)

Some perps break the law to get money. They steal and so forth. Others commit violence in the name of revenge or due to anger-management problems, or because they are a bully or a malcontent.

Love and money. The roots of crime. They teach us that at the academy.

But then there are the political criminals – the communists and anarchists and civil-rights crazies. They break the law to further their own twisted ends. These are those who would commit acts of violence solely to instigate terror and civil discord. These are those who have no good reason for breaking the law – no reason we can understand – such as love or money.

This woman in Starbucks, who oh-so-innocently draped a baby blanket over her baby’s head, to “hide” the fact that under that blanket she was unbuttoning her shirt, dropping the flap on her nursing bra, and suckling the child – or the child was suckling her, I forget how you say that – this woman wasn’t doing this for love or money – not the kind of love where you shoot somebody, I mean. She was just doing it to spread unrest among the other customers, including me and Kristin. Or me, at least. Kristin had her back to the woman. So, yeah, I’d call that terrorism, sort of.

Did I draw my weapon and escort the woman from the store? Yes. I did it to reassure the other customers that there is still law and order in America.

Did I get a round of applause? No. Evidently, most of those present knew that the woman was Mary Kelly, our district’s representative on the Board of Supervisors. They had the sense to keep their heads down.

Ms Kelly, continuing her terrorist activities, has me walking a beat – for the next ten years, according to her – around the county sewage plant.

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A Story on Mad Swirl

Coming This September

Dog’s Butt Looks Like Jesus (Huffington Post)

Many thanks to The Huffington Post for the publicity. Praise Jesus.

If you find yourself passing through Backtoe, Georgia, do stop by our Jesus Museum. Bring this article with you for 10% off your ticket price. Glory to God.

When you enter the museum, you will find the mongrel Bubba chained to a post next to the front door. If he’s sleeping, press the button on the wall next to him to activate the air horn. At the blat, Bubba will jump up and run in circles around the post, yapping in fear. We’ve docked his tail so you can get a great view of our Savior every time Bubba runs past. Hallelujah.

Other museum highlights:

– A devil’s root in the shape of the male member.

– A set of Farmer’s Chew Jesus collectible cards (missing #18, Spear in the Side,  and #24, Vinegar Sponge to the Mouth).

– A small piece of the True Cross (Georgia white pine).

– Your future, as forecast by the suspected witch Mabelly Roosevelt Lincoln ($5.00)

Our most precious item is located at the back of the museum just before you exit. Stop to meditate upon the embalmed remains of my Aunt Flora. She was a mannish woman and I always thought she looked like Jesus.

Ya’ll come back, hear?

6 Unusual Ways To Clean Your Toilet

I don’t have even one unusual way to clean your toilet, but I will by the end of this article.

We’re not talking about the toilet in Trainspotting here. Just a normal day-to-day toilet, like the one(s) in your house.

By a “clean” toilet, I mean one that you look at and don’t see anything adhering to its interior porcelain. Enough said.

Why would you want an unusual way to clean your toilet? I don’t know and I don’t want to know. I’m getting a nickel a word and syndication in the Far East, where toilets are different than in the U.S.

Having said that, I’m giving myself sixty seconds – no, two minutes – to think of unusual ways to clean your commode. Six of them, or more, or less.

Setting the timer… and I’m off:

1. Hire a weird guy.

2. Use your toilet as an aquarium.

3. Eat no solid food.

4. Poop directly into your compost pile.

5. Hire one of those guys on the corner down by Home Depot to clean it.

6. Use baking soda. Or baking powder. Isn’t that usually the ticket for chores in the kitchen and bathroom?

7. Visit your neighbor every morning, “for coffee.”

8. Clean your toilet once and for all, and henceforth do your business at work. You’ll get points for coming in every weekend.

Ding.

Why British Women Are Insecure About Their Nipples

First, a salute to the Oxford team that has performed this valuable study. I have been interested in nipples for years. It’s more than a hobby for me. Some might say I’m obsessed.

Whatever the case, at last we have some fresh, new, hard-won data.

The research team investigated the nipples of ten thousand women, with a few cross-dressers thrown in. This was not some casual study. There were metrics.

Each set of nipples was measured and graded according to four separate attributes: size, three-dimensional shape, colour, and aspect. A scale from one to ten was used to supply a value for each attribute. No specific meaning was assigned to any particular nipple code, although on my visit to the university, I did hear 3-1-2-10 referred to as “angelic” once or twice, and 8-6-9-2 as “befitting a chimp.” Just normal, casual, ongoing theorizing.

The researchers did not want the women to catch any vagrant expressions on their faces as they took the measurements. For this reason they all wore identical rubber pullover masks in the shape of the current Prime Minister.

With a  woman’s nipples coded, the researcher would remove the mask and ask the woman to please make herself decent.

“I’ve seen your nipples,” the researcher would say.

“Oh, yes?” was the typical response.

“You may say that I’ve graded them,” the researcher would say.

“Have you then?” the woman would say.

“I have indeed. Do you know what I think?”

“Why, no. I haven’t a clue.”

“You haven’t a clue? You know your own nipples, I suppose?”

“Of course I do. I’ve had four children and two husbands.”

“How would you describe them, in so many words?”

“Well, my youngest has red hair…”

“Your nipples, I mean. How would you describe your nipples? I’ve coded them here in my notebook,  you know, but now I want to know what you think of them. Are you proud of your nipples? Have you named them? Do they reflect your personality? Do they have a mind of their own?”

“My word!”

“You seem unsure of yourself. Are you insecure when the conversation turns to your nipples?”

“What’s that?”

“Just my phone. Would you unbutton again for a moment, please.”

“It has a camera, your phone?”

“It does indeed. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get a quick shot of your breasts. Just for our clinical debriefing in the pub tonight… Hey! Don’t do that. Insecure, that’s what you are, all right. What a pity.”

Nine of My Fifty-Word Stories

Fifty-word stories.

8 Arrested at Kindergarten Graduation

Jimmy Wu was named valedictorian of Young Angels Kindergarten by Miss Thustle. Why? Because Mr. Wu bought her off. Can you believe that? I don’t know what it cost him. Earlier I had mentioned a hundred bucks to Thustle and she turned up her nose at me.

Little Butch didn’t care. Heck, he couldn’t get farther than one syllable  into “valedictorian” when he tried to say it. The decision bothered me and the missus, though.

“That’s all it’s worth to you for our son to be the best?” she said to me.”You’re imperiling our boy’s academic future because you’re a skinflint? I suppose you want him to go to State, not to a good university? Tightwad.”

“Honey,” I said. “I should have named a bigger number. I admit it. Everybody knows how serious the Chinese are about education. I guess I thought Miss Thustle might want to support the white race in a situation like this, even if it cost her a few shekels.”

“Fix it,” the missus said. She had that dark look she gets. The one where she calls her father.

My problem was, Thustle didn’t like me ever since I accidentally made contact with her a couple of times in the bust and buttocks regions. She’s a babe. Wasted on five-year-olds, if you know what I mean.

Then the missus told me that her dad was actually coming to the graduation ceremony. There was no way in heaven he was going to sit still and watch a ch… a Chinese boy win the big prize. Not with Butch sitting up there on the stage with the rest of his class.

So on the night, I went to Miss Thustle right away.

“Butch’s grandpa is going to be in the audience tonight,” I said to her. “Believe me, you don’t want to give the Wong kid the valedictorian Mr. Professor teddy bear with Wong watching. Two hundred bucks to change your mind.”

“Do you know who Mr. Wong is?” Thustle said.

“Don’t tell me he’s in the rackets.”

“Look. He just came in. See that guy beside him? The big one?”

“Butch’s grandpa just came in too. See that big guy beside him?”

Thustle turned and headed for the stage. I took my seat next to the missus and her dad and his goon. Wong and his wife and his goon were off to our right. The kids assembled on the stage.

The lights went down and the ceremony began with the little angels singing a song. Thustle said a few words. Then she apologized for feeling faint and told us that her assistant would direct the rest of the ceremony. She exited stage right. I could see where this was going and told the missus that I was having stomach cramps and needed to visit the little boys room.

I didn’t want to use my cell phone to make the call, but fortunately the lobby had an old pay phone that still worked. I traded a dollar for a quarter from the woman in the box office and dialed 911. Told the operator that there was going to be trouble.

Then I did use the bathroom. I was nervous because with these guys, you never knew when the guns were going to come out. When I got back to the auditorium door and opened it a crack and peeked in, I saw that Mr. Wong and Butch’s grandpa and both their goons and the missus and some other twerpy dad who imagined his son was the best and brightest, were all up on the stage with the teacher’s assistant, whose eyes were bugging out of her head. She had the Mr. Professor teddy bear clutched to her chest and Butch and Jimmy Wong were trying to pull it away from her. The twerpy dad’s kid ran and hid.

The goons began throwing punches. That’s what goons do; that’s what they were there for. The missus pulled her hand out of her purse with a .32 in it. I heard sirens.

At this point I left the building, meaning to stop by Podesta’s Bail Bonds on my way home to a TV dinner and ballgame. In the parking lot I saw Thustle stepping into her Prius.

“You’re a dirtbag,” she said. “but compared to the rest of them, you’re Saint Francis.”

I took that as a compliment.