True Detective Stories

This post may be longer than usual, but believe me, it is a necessary action to expose this dumbass and his “I Don’t Give A F**k” attitude.

So Saturday we were cursed with two problems: we were exceedingly busy and there was a gun buy back program in our division. (The gun buy back story will be highlighted in a TDS soon.) Until then, back to the dumbest person on Planet Earth.

Diego the Idiot Detective has this feature where toward the end of the day, he decides he needs to leave the building. He’ll claim he needs to check video surveillance, interview a witness, or some other ridiculous lie. Diego does this because he thinks if he is out on the street, he will be skipped when a job comes in.

Nice try, butt-munch.

Diego decided to flee the building Saturday around 12pm, claiming he was checking for video at one of his crime scenes. He could have done so the two days prior, but because we were busy, he figured it was a great time to get away. About a half hour after he left, Diego received a call from a woman who claimed Diego called her to come in for an interview.

Classic F**king Diego: set up an appointment and make someone else conduct the interview.

After speaking with the witness, we realized this was no ordinary interview. Diego handled an armed robbery of a phone store the day before, and the witness Diego was supposed to be interviewing may also have been the getaway driver. I immediately called the dullard…

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True Detective Stories

I’m just going to come out and say it; I despise Diego the Idiot Detective. He is not just an annoyance anymore. Diego is a virus, and he infects everyone he comes across. The man is a swollen, infected pustule filled with herpes and carbohydrates.

Our first day back to work was Thursday, and we were short on manpower. One detective was sick, and two were downtown for court cases. That left us with three detectives and Diego, who I refuse to acknowledge as a real detective. The overnight shift was busy, so they needed a drone to get a few search warrants.

Enter Diego.

Normally, it would take a real detective an hour and a half to two hours tops to drive downtown, get the warrants signed and returned. For Diego, it took four hours. FOUR HOURS!

While Diego was exploring the city’s vast food eateries, the other three detectives handled two arrests each and a few investigations. Eventually, the supervisor looked at me and asked, “Where is Diego?” I replied, “He’s still downtown with the warrants. It’s been four hours.” I told the supervisor I had to keep skipping Diego because when a job would come in, he was nowhere to be found.

I sent Diego a few texts reminding him we were getting crushed and he needed to return a.s.a.p. Those texts went unanswered. He finally returned at 12:30 – after leaving the office at 8am – and immediately ate his lunch. Remind you, we were still inundated with active jobs.

The supervisor called Diego to the front and told him he had a residential burglary. Amazingly, this douche canoe turns to the supervisor and says, “Well, I have to serve this warrant at the Youth Study Center.”

THE YOUTH STUDY CENTER IS TWO BLOCKS FROM WHERE HE WAS DOWNTOWN!

Already stressed and dealing with my shoulder pain, I let loose. “Then why the f**k didn’t you serve the warrant while you were there?!!!” Diego replied, “Oh, I didn’t think of it.” Angered, I replied, “Yeah, that’s not your strong suit. Before you leave, this is the information on the residential burglary. They are holding the scene, so you’ll have to drive by there, since everyone else has been working all day.”

Diego smirked and walked out the door, and he still had not returned by the time my shift was over.

I hate him. I truly, truly hate him. 1,344 days…

True Detective Stories

Considering his utter and complete idiocy, the above picture of Ralph Wiggum will be Diego’s avatar from here on out. He is quite literally the dumbest person I have ever met.

So yesterday Diego was called downtown by the ADA for one of his court cases. Why anyone would want this dullard to testify in open court is beyond me, but I digress. He left the building at 10:15am – we have to log that – and headed to the Criminal Justice Center. As he walked out, I said, “See ya tomorrow” which I always say when someone leaves the building.

Then I forgot about him, because he is very forgettable, and honestly, the division runs much more smoothly when he’s not around.

At around 1:30pm, Diego called in to the supervisor, saying he just left court. Normally, we’re expected to come back, unless there’s less than an hour in the tour. Dummy called too soon, so the supervisor had to tell him to come back…

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True Detective Stories

So get this. On Monday, Diego the Idiot Detective received a call from a woman claiming she knew the identities of two robbery suspects who have been terrorizing the division for a few weeks. The woman gave Diego their names and addresses, and instead of researching the jobs, or casing the suspects’ residence, he decided to show how wicked smaht he is.

Diego starts suiting up: body armor, extra mags, the works. Worse still, he recruits one of our female detectives – I’ll call her Salma, because she looks like Salma Hayek – to head out with him. When Salma asks where they’re going, he tells her he’s going to go to the residence of the two armed robbery suspects and arrest them.

Diego will be doing this without a supervisor and without the SWAT team. Because wicked smaht.

Salma immediately walks to my desk and asks, “Hey, can I use your body armor when I go out with Diego?” I obviously say yes, and then she asks, “Did you hear what Diego wants to do?” I did not, so she explained this suicidal plan. Salma has a lot of time on the job, and she can certainly handle herself, but she had no desire to go out with Diego on this case…

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True Detective Stories

While I knew it wouldn’t be long before I had an encounter with Diego The Idiot Detective, but I didn’t think it would happen a half hour into my first day back.

Since this dolt was working the front desk while I was on vacation, he was first up for an arrest, and a firearms arrest was waiting as we walked in the door. I may have mentioned this before, but gun arrests now have all new protocols for processing. The gun needs to be swabbed for DNA, as does the offender (after search warrants are obtained), and more forms need to be completed; preferably be someone competent.

The irony of the new protocols is the Soros-appointed D.A. will simply drop the charges anyway.

After processing the arrest and getting the story from the officers, Diego started his White Paper – a document which is sent to bosses city-wide. The WP has specifically defined guidelines, which are identical for every division. The sergeant was patiently waiting for the paper, so he could make the necessary corrections. (Corrections for Diego are a given, despite the fact he claims he’s wicked smaht.)

9am: Diego turns in his first draft. After a cursory inspection, the sergeant rejects the WP for spelling. Oh, Diego also had the wrong defendant’s name on the paper, and had another detective listed as the assigned. The jackass used someone else’s white paper and forgot to change the names…

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True Detective Stories

I have two quick stories today. Both occurred on Sunday, but both were at least semi-interesting enough to post. Of course, your mileage may vary.

So Diego the Idiot Detective screwed up a job – shock, right? – and he had to write another report to supplement the first. He drops the paperwork off at my desk, and says, “Yeah, the district is going to enter this job. Here’s the report number. Just put it into my queue, but don’t give it a control number.”

For the record, most every job which passes through my desk needs a control number for tracking. That said, it was my last day, so I accepted his request with the expectation a supervisor would chastise him sometime later this week. Before he walks away, I ask him to confirm the report number. He gives it to me and I write it down.

About ten minutes later, he waddles back to the desk and asks why the job isn’t in his queue. I tell him the district didn’t enter the job yet, and he stops me, saying, “It’s in the system. I was just looking at it.”

Now I’m annoyed, so I ratchet up the sarcasm. “So do you have a different screen than me, because it’s not here.” Diego takes a breath, and says, “That’s because you put in the wrong report number.”

I’m sorry, WHAT???

“I asked you to repeat the number not once, but twice. I even wrote it down as you read it to me. LOOK!” *points to paper*

“Oh,” Diego replies, “That’s a three at the end, not a two.”

“Dude, you f**King told me it was a two. I wrote it the f**k down!”

“Nah, I told you it was a two.”

Thoroughly beaten, I submitted. “Fine Diego, it’s a two… which is one point above your IQ.”

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True Detective Stories

When it’s my time to leave this mortal coil, I would like you to know Diego the Idiot Detective killed me.

Yes, I could be hit by a bus, killed of cancer, or slaughtered in a blimp attack, but trust me, Diego will be the cause of my eventual death.

Two rookie cops brought in a gun arrest yesterday morning, and sadly, the job was assigned to Diego. I don’t like giving serious jobs to him because they entail a white paper, and Diego can barely spell his name, let alone write a full-page detailed report.

The officers brought up the gun to be processed and took it to Diego’s desk. Diego “took care of things,” then sent him on his way.

About an hour later, Diego submitted his white paper – a document which goes to every detective supervisor from lieutenant and above – and moments later, the sergeant called him to the desk.

Apparently Diego forgot to inform us the following:

1. He never did any checks of this guy’s criminal history, including any open warrants. Kind of a big deal if the offender is released and no one sees, say, a homicide warrant.

2. He never swabbed the pistol for DNA, despite the Directive mandating it. Swabbing for DNA is important since it would eventually identify anyone who was in possession of the weapon.

3. He never told us the idiot cops brought in a loaded gun

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True Detective Stories

So Wednesday was a rather easy day for me at work. My supervisors decided they wanted me to be the administrative assistant for the tour – I was effectively Toby from The Office – so instead of entering jobs, I ran errands and made my coworkers sign for things.

The downside to all this is someone had to cover my position. In this case, it was Diego the Idiot Detective.

The bulk of my time was spent either inside or just outside the supervisor’s office; filing reports, doling out Chinese Wuhan Virus masks, and making sure Diego did not f**k things up. Unfortunately, I could not babysit this slack-jawed yokel every minute of the tour, so occasionally I missed something.

From what I heard, I missed something… significant.

Diego handled a shooting incident the other day, and while no one was hit, he did recover twenty-plus shell casings. Since he is not a conscientious detective, Diego took three days to process the scene, and was still working on the job. (A job like this takes an hour, tops, but hey, Dummy gonna Dummy.)

Anyway, Diego was apparently working at my desk while also trying to finish the shooting job. At one point, he took out the bag of spent shell casings and lined them up on the desk. Diego cannot multitask, so while he was entering jobs into the computer, he was also fondling the casings.

THE. CASINGS. ARE. EVIDENCE.

As a result, most evidence custodians, district attorneys, defense attorneys, judges, and juries usually frown upon fondling evidence and spreading your fingerprints/DNA all over shell casings! The supervisor saw this, and asked, “Diego, what the hell are you doing?”

Diego responded, “What do you mean?”

The supervisor replied, “You’re picking up and touching the casings with you bare hands!”

Diego, in typical fashion, laughs and says, “Oh yeah, you’re right.”

Welcome to my nightmare.

True Detective Stories

It’s been a while since I regaled you with stories from Diego the Idiot Detective. Luckily for you, this has already been a banner week for Fredo Corleone. Let’s begin, shall we?

Monday: Diego’s first job of the day was a probation violation arrest, which is literally the easiest paperwork to complete. If it takes you more than ten minutes to process a probation violation, you should probably wear a helmet at all times. It took Diego about forty-five minutes, partly because “he couldn’t read” the report – or he simply never learned to read – and partly because he was too busy flapping his gums instead of doing his job.

Diego’s second job was a gun confiscation. All he had to do was complete a gun trace, which is on the computer, and it is a fill-in-the-blank format. It took him twenty minutes to complete.

Diego’s final assignment was a shooting incident. Some thug fired shots outside a residence, no one was hit, but Diego had to recover twenty spent shell casings. It took him nearly an hour and a half. The crime scene was less than five minutes away…

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True Detective Stories

Saturday – mercifully – ended my day work tour. I had been waking up at 5am every morning so I could stretch out my wretched back for a half hour. It’s the only way I could put on my clothes without help.

Mere minutes after I sat down at my desk, Diego the Idiot Detective waddled in, carrying a covered bowl. He announced, “Hey guys, if you’re hungry, I brought in a bowl of brisket!”

The time was 7am. Who. The. F**k. Is. Eating. Brisket. At. Seven. AM?

Since none of us are unemployable alcoholics or stayed awake the entire evening, we all declined.

The tour was rather uneventful: no shootings, no robberies, and it rained most of the day. (The thugs don’t like the rain.) I was able to catch up on my work, relax a bit, and watch some college football.

At about noon, Diego walked into the kitchen, brought out the bowl, and placed it on his desk. He opened the lid and told everyone they can dig in. When he said this, I was walking to the kitchen to grab something to drink. I wish I hadn’t.

Diego walked down the aisle toward me, holding a large piece of brisket in his chubby hand, and chewing on it as he walked. He looked like Dan Aykroyd in Trading Places eating the stolen salmon while riding the bus…

As he passed me, I said, “Diego what the F**K are you doing?” He replied, “I’m eating brisket. Want some?”

In twenty-six years of policing, I have seen almost every type of violent, stomach-churning incidents you can imagine: homicides, suicides, hangings, decapitations, and people struck by Acela trains. None of those were more sickening than seeing Diego gnaw on a giant piece of brisket.

No plate, no utensils, just one dullard harkening back to his Neanderthal roots.

The good news is everyone on the floor shared my assessment, and no one wanted to be anywhere near Diego and his chew toy. I don’t remember ever trying brisket, but now, I can assure you, I never will