Incest is the best!

I step out of my car into the sun-bleached summer of July. My left boot finds itself grinding hard into the loose stone-covered driveway of an old tire and auto-repair shop that sits just off the highway. The door to my police car swings slow and heavy, echoing into the still breeze as it slams. Sweat builds on my brow and my gunbelt clinks with every step I take towards a leather-skinned figure standing in the purple tinted shade of the garage. My eyes struggle to adjust. With a forced smile his voice, thick with Texas, cracks. His words are carried to my ears on a breath of Copenhagen, "They're over there in them apartments cussin' and fightin'," he spits a long string of burnt-orange onto the cool shop floor, "and scarin' my customers."

I breathe deep, "Where are they, and who are they, sir?"

He tongues the wad of chew in his cheek and motions towards a cracked and leaning building that sits amidst overgrown dandelions and waist-high grass. "They're two boys in their twenties, I think."

"I'll go take a look," I say as my boots scrape across the pavement, through the underbrush of a front yard before making their way to a white paint-chipped door. I wipe the sweat from my face, draw my baton and bang it hard against the wood frame. I swear I can feel the house tremble and groan as the door swings open revealing a single room with nothing more than a hotplate, bed and television nestled carefully among balls of tinfoil and empty Dr. Pepper cans.

A figure comes bounding out of the bathroom as I shout "Police Department!" into the tiny room.

He is a white male, about twenty years old, wearing a softball uniform complete with red-striped knee high socks and cleats. His hair is in shambles, obviously a home cut, and a bad one at that. "Yesth, Offither?"

Oh, God, He's retarded. I think.

I focus and ask, "Have you been arguing with someone?"

"Yeah, me and my brother had a dithagreement," he stammers.

"Where is he?"

"John, ith the poleeth!" He shouts back over his shoulder.

John comes jogging out of the bathroom, yes the same bathroom the man I'm talking to just came out of.

"Yesth?" John lisp.

Another retard! "Is there a problem I need to know about, guys?"

John starts, "N-no thir, w-we were juth having a dithcuthin about football, a-and got a little angry, b-but ith okay now."

"Alright", I wipe my face again, "Y'all keep it down, okay?"

They answer in unison, "Yesth, thir."

A hot summer wind bows the dandelions as I trace my steps back through the front yard. I'm nearly to the yards edge when I hear "Thath, bullthit!" scream out from the backyard.

I walk up slowly, and stop just behind the corner of the house. The two men have no idea I'm there, and I hear:

"Theeth eighteen, that meanth that thee can do whatever thee wanth, and we can have a relathonthip!"

"But, John, y'all are firth cuthinth, thee, and that makth it intheth! Juth cuth y'all are over eighteen dothent make it right, ith illegal you retard! And I thood know! My parenth are cuthinth too!"

The door to my police car swings slow and heavy, echoing into the still breeze as it slams.

Should I...

One of the more common questions I get when I'm out in and about is, "Should I buy a gun, and if so, what kind do you recommend?"

While this may sound like a simple yes, or no, followed by a recommendation for what kind of firearm to buy, it's not. There are many things one should consider before purchasing a firearm. The first question should be; what is the intended purpose of the weapon? Is this going to be a new hobby/sport, or a personal protection device? Because most see a firearm as means to ward off potential attackers and criminals, I will address the latter and focus on handguns. The following questions should be thoroughly evaluated before you ever set foot in a gun shop.

What's your motivation?
So you've decided that you're going to buy a handgun for personal protection. Now you need to assess why you feel like you need a gun in the first place. Is it because you're afraid of criminals, society or the government, or because you feel like owning and carrying a handgun will enhance your ability to protect yourself and others? While those two questions may sound identical, they are not. If your primary motivation for carrying a gun is fear, then you need to stop now and seek professional help for an array of social disorders. However, if a handgun is seen as simply another tool you can use to protect yourself then you're okay.

Can you defend yourself without a gun?
I would like to place special emphasis on the phrase another tool. No profession that requires the carrying of a firearm for defense relies strictly on said firearm for total defense. Military and Law Enforcement teach that a firearm is part of a weapons system that makes a combatant successful. Relying on a single facet of a weapons system limits the combatant’s ability to adapt to a given situation and greatly hinders the effectiveness of the system. Truth is, a firearm may not always be the answer to a given threat, even if that threat is firing a weapon at you. Before spending thousands of dollars on a firearm and the training which accompanies it; you need to ask yourself if you would still be able to defend yourself without your firearm. In its most basic form a gun is simply a machine with many moving parts. If you're unable to function in the event of a catastrophic failure of those parts, you simply become a liability to yourself, those you are trying to protect, and a potential casualty.

Do you have the time and money to spend?
Owning a firearm is one thing, but being able to safely employ it in a highly stressful, life threatening event is something completely different and requires a great deal of preparation beyond that of a basic concealed carry licensure course. Training is time consuming and ammunition is expensive, but they are a necessity. Unfortunately it's impossible to know how much time you will have to devote to gaining proficiency as each person has different strengths and weaknesses, and training time is required just to discover those strengths and weaknesses, let alone address them. If you are unable to devote the time and money to honing your firearms proficiency, you may want to reconsider purchasing a weapon all together.

Do you know your City, County, State, and Federal Laws?
The most important consideration for carrying a handgun is the law. There are very specific laws for who can carry a handgun, how a handgun should be carried, and when and where one can carry a handgun. These laws can vary greatly by city, county and state, but should always be researched and followed. The last thing anyone wants is to end up with a felony charge due to ignorance of the law.

You may have noticed that I didn't make a recommendation for what to carry. The selection of handguns available on the market is staggering, and making a single recommendation would be irresponsible. Finding a firearm is like finding a pair of shoes, and finding the proper fit for you is of the utmost importance. To find the gun that is right for you, seek the advice of several licensed firearms dealers, and fire as many different kinds of handguns as you can before making a purchase. If you're curious, I carry the H&K P2000, V2, Law Enforcement Modifcation (LEM) .40 S&W, for no particular reason other than I like it.

Owning a firearm is more than a right, it's a privilege. Making an informed purchase, developing and maintaining proficiency, and obeying the law will not only make you effective should you have to use your weapon of choice, but help keep you and others safe when you're not using it.

Find a Concealed Handgun Class! Links in the side bar.

Call the Judge

One of the more grisly parts of being a Police Officer is dealing with death, and I deal with it a lot. Fortunately, every dead body I've come to know has become deceased due to natural causes.

The first deceased person I had the pleasure of meeting was a 50-year-old man who suffered from emphysema, was on oxygen, and still smoked almost a two packs of cigarettes a day. I found him completely naked on the side of his bed with his face planted in the ashtray he was apparently attempting to use when he died. I'll spare you all the details about how I had to roll his body back, photograph it, and listen to the slow hiss of a still functioning oxygen tank while I circled the bed where he lay, sifting through trash, and body fluids, looking for signs of struggle.

Instead, I'll tell you about the family members that showed while I was in the bedroom filled with the warm, humid ambiance of death. These family members all but broke down the bedroom door, not to see the body or mourn the passing of a soul, but to pillage and plunder. I had to stop them from pulling a simple silver cross from the neck of the dead man, whose body was stiff with rigor mortis, and whose face was beginning to cave. While I was gathering a list of his medications and talking to the Justice of the Peace, two individuals walked by carrying a safe. When asked where they were going they simply replied, "Outside to crack it."

I'd had enough and finally banned all family and friends from the property until I left the scene. It's not all fun or glamorous, this cop life. Sometimes it's tragic, not because I have to deal with death, but because I have to deal with the people that have no reason to show any courtesy to the dead. After all, who are they really going to disappoint when their only measure of conscience is lying face up on an old mattress...dead?

The Bearded Lady

"Whoa! That one's doin' 70 in a 45! You gonna stop them?"

I hit the lights, slam on the breaks and roll in behind a tattered, gold sedan. The car rattles and rolls to a stop in front of me as my Field Training Officer (FTO) activates the body mic and hands it to me from the passenger seat. I step out of my patrol car and saunter up to the driver's window.

What the hell? I think to myself as I stutter through my greeting.

"Hello, I'm Officer...umm do you have a driver's license and insurance, si...ma'am!?" Her driver's license verifies she's a woman.

It's a woman?! I think as I stare at the blonde, wiry skirt of hair running wild and free down the cheeks and jaw of this five-foot-three inches tall, 200 pound speciman.

"I'm late for my hysterectomy!" Her passenger, which I'm just now noticing, shouts.

"Do you have I.D., ma'am? Thank you I'll be right back."

I back away slowly, watching the driver as I trace my way back down the white line marking the shoulder of the roadway.

"Check Complete" I say into my radio while I begin to scribble out a ticket for speeding.

Just as I'm finished with my ticket the dispatchers voice crackles through the air, "Warrant Confirmation in hand on that subject." she says.

I gather myself and walk back to the driver's side window. "Ma'am I gonna need you to step out of your vehicle." I say to the woman in the driver's seat. She clenches her jaw tight, reaches beneath her seat..."PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!" I yell and step back starting to draw my handgun. "No, my door doesn't work, I'm going to have to move the seat back and climb out the window." She explains, as she slides herself back to give her sweat-stained, yellowed white t-shirt some room to move. She grips the door and begins to hoist her hairy frame from her seat. Her left leg, then her fur lined butt-crack, followed by her right leg squeeze out the window and spill onto the pavement.

"Umm, do you have any shoes?" I ask in a confused chuckle.

"Yep, they're in the back seat."

"Ok, I'll have your passenger bring them to the back of the car."

Suddenly the passenger door swings open and a thick Texas accent jumps out screaming. "You've got to be #$@! KIDDIN' ME! I've got a hysterectomy in twenty-#@$!-minutes!" She shouts.

"Take my car!" My ewokish captive shouts back as I struggle to force her giant wrists into handcuffs on the roadside before stuffing her into the back of my car.

As I watch the hysterectomy bound woman Dukes of Hazzard her way into the driver's seat and ease the vehicle back onto the roadway I hear a rough voice eek out from behind me, "Officer, she's got my shoes still."

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