Welcome To The World Of Tomorrrow

The leftists snowflakes at the Ford Motor Company have submitted a patent request for their newest idea: robot police cars. The idea is allegedly a step toward “bias-free” policing.

My Saturn Vue is eleven years old. I think I’ll look elsewhere when it’s time for a replacement.

Unsympathetic to excuses and invulnerable to flirtation, the robot will flash its lights to pull you over. It will scan your driver’s license, decide whether to issue a warning or ticket, and inform you of its decision before letting you drive off.

The concept is outlined in a Ford patent filing for a self-driving cop car capable of using artificial intelligence “to find good hiding spots to catch violators of traffic laws.” An optional human passenger could override settings that prevent the car from breaking traffic laws itself.

Personally, I’m all for this; especially if it can get me to retirement more quickly. Of course, what happens when one of these robots malfunctions and goes all Ed-209 on someone?


True Detective Stories

So yesterday was a rather awful day. The city was cleaning up after the Super Bowl riots celebrations, half my division didn’t bother to show up for work, and the idiots were out in full force.

The first idiot called asking about the status of her theft case. During the brief conversation, the woman kept repeating an odd word choice. For example, the woman’s money was “tooken.” It was “tooken,” you see, by her ex-boyfriend, and she wants to make sure her items are never “tooken” again.

Your Philadelphia public schools at work, folks.

The second idiot called from a Philadelphia public school looking for answers about a job she had. The officer claimed a high schooler brought a cookie to the school, and shared it with his fellow students. The wrapper had a picture of Betty Boop on it, and bragged it has “So much ‘suga,’ it’ll get you high.” And that it did.

Apparently the cookie was chock full of marijuana, and a few students got sick after eating it. The officer wanted to know if the original teen should be arrested for, oh, I don’t know, possession of a narcotic pastry. Or maybe assault with a deadly cookie.

When I asked if the officer was serious, she demanded to speak to a supervisor. I handed that call off.

Below, the obligatory Seinfeld reference…

Continue reading “True Detective Stories”

True Detective Stories

Monday was the first day of a five-day, Monday to Friday day work week – easily the worst combination in recorded history. My shift work schedule hits us with a “normie schedule” once every few months, but working the same hours as regular people is depressing. It is even more depressing when you work with stupid, incompetent people.

The first contestant was a firefighter who claimed his vehicle was stolen. Okay, that’s a nice, run-of-the-mill job. Wait, your uniforms, fire gear, and SCBA tanks were in your vehicle, as well? Awesome! Let’s ignore the fact this is a violation of city policy and address why the f**k you would leave items like those in your car overnight in the hood!

The second contestant was even more “special.” The police officer came to make a report he lost his firearm. Okay, that seems bad on the surface, but it became even more interesting when we were told the officer lost his city-issued firearm. Up twinkles!

The moral of the story? Life is hard, kids. It’s harder when you’re stupid.

Submitted With Little Comment

My last work day of the week was an exciting one, especially toward the end of the day, when we received word one of our officers had been shot.

Before you freak out, the shooter was not your regular, run-of-the-mill thug. Read on…

The officers had responded to a report of a dog attacking an 80-year-old woman inside a rowhouse in the 2900 block of Judson Street around 12:30 p.m. when the shooting took place, Police Commissioner Richard Ross said at a news conference at Temple University Hospital, where the officer and the woman were taken.

One of the officers fired his gun at the dog several times inside the house, and one of the bullets ricocheted, striking the second officer.

The injured officer, Kevin Fay, a four-year veteran of the force assigned to the 39th District, was treated and released. The name of the officer who fired the shot was not released.

The woman, whose identity was withheld, sustained extensive injuries to both legs from the dog, Ross said. She was listed in critical condition.

Since I know the injured officer and this occurred in my division, I’ll refrain from comment.

True Detective Stories

One of the common misconceptions of police work is the notion all police personnel are “the adults in the room.” Naturally, there are jackasses in every profession, but my division needs its own daycare and/or nursery.

Not so in the case of Detective Baldilocks, who I wrote about previously in this post. Baldilocks, in the current vernacular, would be best described as a “pissy little bitch.” He complains when he is assigned a difficult job, he complains when he’s assigned an easy job, and he complains when his television viewing is interrupted.

Such was the case last night, when a robbery report came in. Baldilocks was next up for an investigation, so I sent the officer back to his desk. A moment or two later, he storms to my desk, holds the report in my face, and says, “I shouldn’t be up for a job this soon. I’m not taking this bullshit!”

I glance at my supervisor, who stares blankly back at me, and decide I can do one of two things: I can pistol-whip him until his gray matter seems out of his skull, or I can ignore his pussy rant and take the job myself.

Sadly, I took the job to spare the sergeant the embarrassment of her not doing her job. Baldilocks walked away with a smug grin on his face, and while I was raging internally, I saw the robbery was no more than a glorified retail theft. The entire report took me ten minutes to complete. Baldilocks’ next job, however, took a few hours. Yeah, those complicated narcotics jobs are a bitch, aren’t they, dickweed?

True Detective Stories

Yesterday started out in a grand fashion.

We were scheduled to have nine detectives working, and as I was driving in I received texts from three saying they were sick, one whose wife went into labor, and one who would be two hours late.


So it was me and The Redhead Queen in the office when the first report came in. The complainant’s (bullshit) story went like this: He came home late after a night out. In his rush to get inside, he left his fully loaded Smith & Wesson 9mm semi-auto pistol in his car. Because reasons. The next day, this clown wakes up, goes out to the car, and notices the gun is missing. There are no signs of forced entry, the inside of the vehicle is not disturbed, and nothing else is taken. Just the loaded pistol.

The Queen brings in the “victim,” and goes after him hard. She asks why he would be so stupid to leave his gun in his car, why he has no information on the weapon, and why he hasn’t hanged himself in embarrassment. (Okay, I made up that last part.)

A half hour goes by, and I see the Queen walking the victim out the door and giving him a hearty, “Have a nice day!” Puzzled, I stare at her blankly, and ask what the hell just happened.

“Oh, while I was grilling him, the guy claimed he worked as a Voodoo priest. I have enough problems without some dude sticking pins in his very own Redhead Queen doll.”

True Detective Stories

Sunday night was very slow at our division; an instance as rare as a good Katy Perry song. Heavy rains kept the imbeciles away, so most of us caught up on old jobs (my coworkers) or watched YouTube all night (me). Halfway through the tour, the district brought in a burglary report, and the complainant claimed she had video of the incident.

The assigned detective said he would call the complainant and ask her to send the video via email. He said this in front of me and another detective. I interjected, saying, “You need to ask the complainant to bring the video here personally.” When the assigned asked why, I replied, “Dude, she’s a 25-year old white female. In this division, that’s like finding a unicorn!”

As is usually the case, the assigned detective dismissed me.

An hour later, a female police officer – young, hot, and blonde – came upstairs to tell us there was a woman downstairs with video of a burglary. The woman was asking to come speak to detectives. Ever the helpful soul, I told the officer to send her up.

Shortly thereafter, a woman came to the window. She was white, but not 25 and definitely not hot. In fact, it looked like someone microwaved her face.

How could this be? How could my superior detective instincts be wrong?

The woman was bringing in burglary video, but not from the job we were expecting. The woman asked for the other detective in the previous conversation, and as he was getting ready to walk out to meet her, the female police officer stopped him. She said, “When you meet her, be sure to look at her fingernails.” The officer make a “vomit face” and went back downstairs.

Sure enough, the woman had the nastiest fingernails I have ever seen. I would have guessed she was wearing crap brown fingernail polish, but it was probably more accurate to say she keeps her fingers inside her butthole. *shudder*

True Detective Stories

After twenty-three years of policing, my department has gone through many changes; some good, some not so good. Political correctness has overrun my profession, and with that has come hours and hours of training which has little to nothing to do with trivial subjects like fighting crime.

As you read this post, I will be sitting in a classroom undergoing “customer service training.”

No, that is not a typo. The department, in their infinite wisdom, has decided to send me – ME! America’s most beloved detective! – to be trained in customer service.

First of all, most of the people I deal with on a regular basis are felons – both the criminals and my coworkers – not customers. I am not asking them if they would like fries with that or helping them install a new cell room door. Second, just because I routinely hang up on callers, occasionally “help” a prisoner down a flight or stairs, and have cute young female officers sit on my lap doesn’t mean I need training. It means I need a promotion.

I can’t imagine this training will be productive, but maybe they’ll be serving beer and hot dogs?

True Detective Stories

Thursday was the last day of my first day shift, so by mid-afternoon I was entirely fed up with people. So naturally I answered the worst phone call of the day: a frivolous complaint from the only wealthy section of North Philly.

Snooty Rich Woman: “Hello officer [Yeah, it’s detective, but whatever.], I am calling from the East Mount Airy Neighbors Association [Oh here we go.] and I was looking for some information about the pipe bomb incident yesterday.”
Me: “Yes ma’am, what do you need?”

Snooty Rich Woman: “I saw this story on the news, and I have a beef about it. [Wow, how unexpected.] You see, the news reports stated the incident happened in East Mount Airy, and that is incorrect. I live here, and that incident was a few blocks from our neighborhood border. [Like I 1. have a map of the city’s neighborhoods handy and 2. give a shit.] Personally I think the story slandered our neighborhood. We don’t want people think that kind of think happens here. [It’s Philadelphia, honey, “that kind of thing” happens everywhere.] Does the police department have detailed maps of the neighborhoods and their borders?”
Me: “Um, no ma’am. The police districts may have them, but our detective division covers four districts, so our maps are extensive.”

Snooty Rich Woman: “My feeling is our reputation is being assaulted with these inaccurate news stories. [Don’t care.] I mean, the incident did not occur inside the East Mount Airy border.”
Me: “Ma’am, can I be brutally honest with you? [Here comes the pain.] The pipe bomb story is what President Trump [Who you obviously did not vote for.] would call fake news. Neither the police district nor the detective division puts out the information on these cases, unless it is something sincerely newsworthy, like a homicide. The local news outlets have people listening to police scanners, and when something they deem newsworthy comes out, they take down the information from the radio calls and run with it. The media doesn’t know the neighborhoods, because most of them are transplants, so they guess. That said, if you have a problem with the media misidentifying a crime scene, you may want to take it up with them.”

Snooty Rich Woman: “Okay, thank you. We appreciate what you all do.” [Hangs up.]
Me: [to self.] “Yeah, sure you do.”