Word on the street

Word reached us here in our Fortress of Solitude (which we lovingly call our super sweet park model) about a very interesting event which took place last Friday night over by the exclusive gated (gates are in the mail) community know to the locals as "Padlocks" - 'cause if it ain't locked it's free. Now, some would question the validity of our using the term "exclusive" when it comes to talking about Padlocks RV Park, but we just say "fuck you, damn yuppie Callyfornians, go back to Orange County and where's that fucking gate we ordered?" Mofo's always looking down their noses at us locals. Anyway, around here Padlocks RV Park is something of a local legend. One cannot adequately describe the aura surrounding the place, it has to be seen, and smelled, in person for you to truly appreciate the goings on of the residents which inhabit the property.

Anyhoo, getting back to our story, my super-secret sources say there was an encounter just down the road from the luxury haven Padlocks last Friday night (Nov. 9th). Seems that during the evening, a call went into central dispatch that there was a hit and run. Sergeant Flabby Farcia, being the ever vigilant police officer that she is 

(I will wait while you finish laughing. Is ten minutes enough time? OK, good)

is first on the scene. Which was in itself a very unusual event since we all know that sergeants don't take calls according to her Viagra-soaked (I hear he sweats it - maybe that's why Jerry Pukkerson is always licking him) lover boy,  Chief Hef Dilbert.

But, for whatever reason, Farcia shows up to the scene without her lover Hef Dilbert, which was another unusual event because she NEVER is without him by her side unless he's in her side if you know what I mean, and I think that you do. Seeing them constantly together makes one wonder if they shower after their mating rituals.  Otherwise one would assume that their bodily fluids (sorry, just threw up in my mouth a little bit) would be keeping them stuck together like Gorilla Glue. Perhaps Dilbert was putting in his court-ordered community service time, spending an hour a week with his wife, Spandy. I'll have to write a post of Spandy one of these days, it will be a doozy. 

Meanwhile, over by Padlocks, Farcia is clueless what to do. She didn't make sergeant for her police skills, if you catch my drift. Surveying the scene, she notices there is a victim, I'm only going to use her initials because as you'll see at the end of the story, she's been victimized enough. So this victim, MM, is crying in pain after being struck by a maroon colored truck which hauled ass from the scene toot sweet. 

Berry Billcocks, the Lord of Padlock Manor is consoling the victim, MM. Now Berry, being something of an alcohol aficionado, pulls his green Swedish made chariot over to help Ms. MM. Farcia, smelling the fruits of Berry's recent imbibing, tells him to "move along now, nothing to see," and tells Berry to go ahead and drive his drunk-ass self on home. I know, I know, seems too far fetched to believe that a police officer would tell someone who is drunk to go ahead and drive himself home, but once you consider that no real police officers had shown up yet, it starts to make sense. 

Meanwhile, back at the crime scene, Ms. MM is surveying the damage done to her and telling Farcia to "go get that sumbitch what done hit her with his maroon pickemup."  Gathering what information she could fit onto the head of a pin that she calls a brain, MM tells Farcia that the perp - love that, "perp," sounds all "The Shield" and shit - driving the maroon truck is somewhat of a whatcha-call it - transient. He goes by the name of Fuckit.  I ain't even kidding, for real, the guy's called Fuckit.

So while Ms. MM is being taken care of by the paramedics, another officer is nice enough to document her injuries with what is known in the industry as a "camera." Yeah, I know, it seems pretty advanced for a small department like QPD to have such high-tech equipment but perhaps the officer used his personal one, I don't have all the details yet. 

Gratefully fleeing the scene, much like the driver of the maroon truck, Farcia goes off to pursue Fuckit. Perhaps hearing the word Fuckit made her think of Dilbert so she went off to pursue that. Unfortunately, while pursuing her idea of fuck it, she runs across the real Fuckit in his maroon truck! What the fuck is she supposed to do now? She can't ignore that she just found the perp, but the idea of fuck it with Dilbert is clouding what little judgement she has. 

So let us recap where we are at so far. We've got an injured woman, a DUI suspect told to drive himself home, a transient who ran over a woman and fled the scene leaving nothing but the smell of Berry's breath and tire tracks on her skirt behind. Still with me? 

Well, Farcia, not being with her mentor Dilbert, has to rely on what little police training she retains in her mostly empty head (we suspect that when she and Dilbert are together their combined IQ is right around Forest Gump level. When they stand side by side they create a wind tunnel). She decides to make contact with Mr., or perhaps Dr., Fuckit. What do all her years of "experience" lead her to do next? Well, she decides to cite and release him. You know, like they do when someone is going a bit to fast down Main Street, etc.  In other words, she lets this guy go.

So whipping out her dusty (and possibly crusty from the combined fluids she and Dilbert - ugh, can't continue) ticket book (remember, she doesn't take calls or do traffic, unless you count the traffic in Dilbert's pants) she writes up Mr. Fuckit for disorderly conduct and some other minor nonsense. Mr. Fuckit, having no actual address, semi-permanent refrigerator box residence, place of employment or the sort of moral compass that tells normal folks to see if the person they just ran down is OK, which would compel him to show up in court on the date Farcia wrote on the citation, says "suuuure I will show up on the court date! Yeah, that's the ticket!" - literally. So off drives Mr. Fuckit into the dark desert night, probably thanking his lucky stars he didn't get stopped by a real police officer (and that Farcia didn't take out the horniness his name was causing her on his leg like a rabid Rottweiler).

But you see, there is a fundamental problem with Farcia's logic (yes, an oxymoron, we know). When someone hits something like, for example, a mailbox (for lifelong Quartzsiters, there are places where the Postal Service lets you put a box in front of your house and leaves your mail there), and leaves the scene, well that's a tragedy for the mailbox but in the great scheme of things, not the crime of the century. But the case we have here, there is a victim. One who has tire tracks on her legs. This changes things dramatically. Like changing from a misdemeanor to a felony. And, Ms. MM and Berry unfortunately for Farcia, have a mouths and they aren't usually occupied by Dilbert's tiny crank like Farcia's.

Ms. MM, and the Lord of Padlock Manor, Berry Billcocks, are indignant, outraged and highly urinated at the shoddy police work done by Farcia. What do Ms. MM and Master Billcocks (and we) think should have happened to Mr. Fuckit? Mr. Fuckit should have been placed under arrest and taken into custody, probably tested for alcohol and/or drugs, charged with felony aggravated assault, felony leaving the scene of an accident with injuries, among other things, had his vehicle impounded as evidence, then three hots and a cot at the La Paz County Jail. 

But, in the continuing tradition of ineptitude, Farcia thinks to herself "he seemed nice, I'm glad I let a transient who just ran over a woman go" and proceeds to head back to her trailer. Maybe to get a "debriefing" from Chief Dilbert, she's hoping. "How long is that court ordered conjugal visit with Spandy anyway? He should be done by now. After all, he never lasts that long with me. Damn heart condition, glad he doesn't read the warning label on that bottle of Mexican Viagra."

Well, unfortunately for Farcia and Dilbert, he's not going to be able to cover her wide ass this time. Ms. MM and Master Billcocks are livid! Even though Farcia let Billcocks get out of yet another DUI (how many is this now? Geez, he's not even done with court on the last one!) for which he should be grateful, they are going around town screaming high and low about Farcia's incompetence and this miscarriage of justice. 

Fortunately for us, Ms. MM is willing to talk to anyone and everyone who wants to listen about what happened. Master Billcocks, too. Another thing that Ms. MM has going for her, is that she has some contacts at the County Attorney's office (having been the victim of a previous non-Farcia related incident) and has made an appointment to share her tragic story with them. She's still waiting on a callback from Inside Edition and Fox Business News.

Doubt any of this is real? Well go by the PD (if they are even open anymore) and do a public records request for the report. Make sure to ask for the pictures of the tire tracks across Ms. MM's legs that the other cop took as well. You'll have to do some digging to find the real names of the parties involved so you know what to fill out on the request form. But since this story is getting retold around town with more frequency than the retelling of Jesus (the real one, not Dilbert who just thinks he is Jesus) walking on water, it won't be that difficult. 

The story you have just read is true.  Alllegedly.  The names have been changed to protect me, I don't give a rat's ass about the innocent.