A mate's brother is a policeman
and was once driving around slowly looking for someone who'd been smashing windows on the way home from the pub. He thought he'd 'caught his man' when his headlights lit up a shifty looking character staggering up the hill with one hand covered in blood.

Turns out that he wasn't the phantom window smasher, but was just a drunk guy getting home after a good night out on the town, in which he'd pulled a young lady and had 'manually entertained' her behind a bus stop, unaware that she was menstruating, apparently quite heavily.

My friend's brother still describes the look on the guys face as he looked down to his hand and saw what had been left there, a look of surprise, bewilderment, a hint of disgust....ending with a flash of realisation as he slurred the legendary words 'So THATS why she wouldn't let me fuck her!!'

They never showed stuff like that in The Bill, maybe thats why it got cancelled.
(FartThroughAWalkieTalkie wished you were dead in ditch on, Fri 6 May 2011, 15:31, 1 reply)

Reading festival, 1997
As our mammoth journey to the site involved public transport from the other side of the country, coupled with our teen inability to rise before noon, you can imagine that it took us quite a while to arrive on site. Our tents were duly set up at some far-flung 'as far away as you can get from anything' area of the festy.

On the saturday afternoon we are back at the tents, sipping on brews and cooking up some grub. I'm lying in my tent with my head out the door chatting to mates while nonchalantly making a big fat spleef. The lads went a bit quiet and tried some 'not so shady' attempts to point yonder for me. Me being a bit battered completely misses this and carries on putting in the ganj. I vaguely become aware of some people standing to my right and bounce my head in that direction to see a two pairs of shiney new looking size 12 boots.

"Hello, that looks a bit odd for a festy. Normally boots here are tatty or muddy as fuck" thinks I. In slow motion I start to look upwards - first noticing the neatly pressed trousers, then wondering what the fuck festival goers are doing with radios and other such paraphernalia on their belts. Its at this point, realisation clicks and i turn my head right up and see two of Readings finest plod looking down on me smiling.

"Is that waht I think it is Sir?" asks one of them, motioning towards my king size rizzla (or perhaps at the ganja in my hand)

"Whatsh do you thinks its ish offisha?" slurs I.

"Looks like drugs to me. Is that what it is?" asks the other policeman

"No. Itsh a shiggarette" I blurt out while my mates look on embarrassed at me denying being caught red handed, crumbling my ganja into a spliff.

"Are you sure about that Sir? it certainly doesnt look like it to me" said mr plod #1

"Yes, poshivive. I promise offisha. Were good lads" I slur out, ganja still clearly visible in hand.

At this point is when my mates mouths fell open and I to this day have no idea how it happened, but the reply was pricessless

"thats fine then. Hope you enjoy the festival. Keep yourselves safe"

And off they wandered.
(shamen Geekius Maximus, Fri 6 May 2011, 15:21, 4 replies)

Last week I was driving home from a mates place
Bit of a long journey and I was on the A40 just coming up to Hanger Lane.

I was in the fast lane 10mph over the speed limit and I noticed a car zooming up behind me. Then I noticed the stencil on the front.

"crap" I though, having only recently topped up my herb collection that night. I slowed down and pulled into the 1st lane, the cop car pulled along side me. As I started to slow down even further I found myself unclenching, they'd caught me, nothing else to do now but be searched and arrested. Well, at least I'd won £15 off my mates playing poker.

Just then, I heard a noise, the sound of a tiny engine being gunned for all it's worth. The sound got louder and louder and woosh! Little Boy racer charges past us both doing umpteen miles over the speed limit. They never noticed the police car, until it turned it's blue lights on.
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Fri 6 May 2011, 15:06, 3 replies)

A story told to me by a colleague...
Ok, this isn't entirely on topic, but it does involve the police in some way. Some of you may be aware that there is a rather strange top shelf mag called Bizarre. My colleague's mate spotted a caption competition one week. The picture you had to provide a caption for was of a rather sexy looking lady in a pseudo cop outfit. Her boobs were popping out and she had a short dress and a sheriffs badge. She was also holding a large black police truncheon which she was sucking on seductively. He sent in his caption which I thought was a deserved winner.

It was, "mmmm....tastes like Rodney King".
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Fri 6 May 2011, 15:03, 2 replies)

If
it moves, and it shouldn't, use Gaffa tape.

If it doesn't move and it should, use WD40.
(username failed moderation, Fri 6 May 2011, 14:54, 12 replies)

Sleepless in Seattle
'twas the first fine afternoon in April in the fine city of Seattle...

...and a friend and I got absolutely leathered in at the bar Curt Cobain was last seen alive (Linda's). About 7pm we needed food, so ordered, ate and almost immediately started feeling sleepy. The cure of course was Red Bull. Red Bull and vodka seemed a bit passe, and we'd been taking the piss out of lil'John (the OK, YEAH! WHAT? rapper) who liked a bit of the old crunk juice, crunk juice being Red Bull and Hennessey. So we had one, then another, then some doubles before everything went a bit blurry. By this point I believe the soundtrack to the evening had become "God Save The Queen" by the Sex Pistols and "Comfortably Numb" by Pink Floyd. Over and over again. And we made a war vet friend who was depressed as all hell (Zack from Iraq).

Come midnight we left, walked back to my apartment, missed it, and ended up at the end of the street. Now here was something magical! A wobbly stop sign! After a bit more wobbling, it came out of the ground and we waved it about a bit, feeling like champs. Not wanting to really nick it we put it down and walked away. 12 steps later, five police cars appeared. Five. They must have been warming up for something because there was only a pissed English bloke, a drunk Hungarian and a paralytic American girl. They decided to do the whole shebang including some kicking, smacking against the car and the obligatory bump on the head as they shoved us, cuffed, into the cruiser.

So they booked me and the Hungarian and took us to the precinct. The Hungarian chap hates authority, so they imposed a bit more on him. I thought we were heading for the drunk tank, but instead they bundled us back in a cruiser and took us downtown to the county jail, issued us with orange jumpsuits and chucked us in a holding cell.

I was still battered at this point (around 3am), made my first prison trade (my apple for a carton of milk), talked down a rowdy homeless firestarter and made a prison friend - Raul. Then it was off to the cells. Sunday was not good. While throwing up in the toilet, I hear this voice behind me - "Choo ok man? Anyting you choo need man, choo come see me" Thanks Raul! At least I was going to be nobody's bitch with the Mexicans on my side!

In the end my friend got bailed, but couldn't get back in time to bail me so I spent the Sunday chatting to the other inmates about how English I was and how I got locked up for drinking crunk juice. Come Monday morning my friend bailed me after falsifying an email to my boss saying I was ill. Freedom!

The best thing was that six months later, the girl we were with said I had nothing to do with it! I was on the other side of the street trying to sit on a hedge telling them not to do it!

So, I did time for a crime I did not commit.

Which I reckon makes me a bona fide member of the A-Team.
(King Keepo has absolutely no idea what he's doing, Fri 6 May 2011, 14:52, 6 replies)

Question for currently serving / past serving police officers
Did you cook any fools?
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Fri 6 May 2011, 14:22, 1 reply)

Nice to hear all these stories of what great people the police really are.

Tell you what pisses me off about all those times a cop gets caught on film kicking the crap out of some guy. It’s the 10 other members of the force standing around letting it happen, who “saw nothing”.

Out of the 20 or so who saw Tomlinson killed how many came forward. None. Senior officers colluded to produce the story that he’d had ‘no contact’ with the police. It’s not a few bad apples, they’re corrupt from top to bottom. The number one concern of the police is looking after the police. If that means people get beaten, fitted up, killed they’ll let it happen.

Individually some of them are OK. As a group, they’re pretty much all cunts.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Fri 6 May 2011, 14:04, 25 replies)

Doncaster Royal Infirmary A&E. 3am.
The ambulance brought in a family member who was in a bad way and I'd come with him for support. Of course, they checked the patient in and I was just left sitting in A&E and watching all of human life go by as I waited for some news.
We'd arrived at about 10pm, so by 3am I'd seen it all; a well-dressed (for Doncaster) couple wandering round taking photos for a while until they got bored and walked out saying "Well, this is a bit depressing, isn't it?". An immensely fat girl offering to shag people in the toilets. An entire family in their nightwear, none of them wearing shoes.

At about 3am a man was brought in and sat behind me on one of the benches by a couple of policemen. You know how they say policemen are getting younger? it was a couple of *those* policemen. Early twenties, young enough to make me feel old and slightly contemptuous. How could they keep the peace? I thought to myself. Kids.

The man they'd brought in was very drunk and covered in blood, much of it his own. Moreover, he had a collossal dent in his skull - an old injury, he was plainly missing a large piece of bone from his head and there's no way he hadn't suffered some form of brain injury when he got it. They sat him down and there followed one of the most remarkable conversations I think I've ever heard. As the drunk, bleeding, probably brain-damaged man ranted and raved and swore, the two young coppers calmed him down and reassured him they'd take his statement and they'd get whoever had attacked him. It took them a long time; they couldn't take a statement right there because he was drunk, but they'd take his statement in the morning. Over the course of maybe half an hour they mollified him, reassured him, and despite his being bitterly rude to them, never once did either of them lose their patience or even raise their voice to him.

I know for a fact I couldn't do that. There's no way I've got the tolerance.

I keep a notebook in which I write down ideas and observations and thoughts, and one entry for the night I brought a family member to hospital simply reads "I fucking love the police". Not something I ever thought I'd write but at 3am in the A&E Department of the DRI, I thought they were awesome.
(davywavy, Fri 6 May 2011, 13:54, 1 reply)

How many Policemen
does it take to tile a bathroom.


Depends how thinly you slice them.
( The Mock Turtle ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Fri 6 May 2011, 13:52, 4 replies)

Would it be considered really bad form to pea some roasts?
So, I was in a car crash. Nothing too strange there, Witnesses pulled over and one even called the police for me (considering the woman who drove into me was showing signs of being worse for wear).
Now, I hadn't long passed my test, and as such, was acting driver for many. On this particular occasion, three stunning girls from work, any one of whom I would have gladly got in the back of the car with.
The police arrived, and questioned/breathalised all and sundry. As one male officer walked to the back of the car to take details, numberplate and such, he happened to glance in the boot. Sitting in plain sight was a three foot by two foot Metropolitan police sign and a number of cones marked up the same. He looked at me, and beckoned me to the side of the road again. Here we go, I thought, this is almost as bad as that time I nearly got caught going through customs. (A whole other story I may find it in myself to regale you with later.)
He paused, and leant forward to speak "quietly" in my ear.
"One thing I don't understand... How come there's one of you and three of them?"
I smiled in that 'I'm wishing' kind of way. He looked at me with a puzzled grimace then walked away from the back of the car, leading his suspicious collegues away from the crime scene.
Treatment from that moment was awesome. Not enough could be done to ensure I was allowed to go on my way (to the pool party I forgot to mention earlier) with everything left intact. The girls were quite impressed with my demeanor. I even managed to cop off with one at the party!
The bint who dented the Purple Pisspot (Mum's car) got done for dangerous driving.

Here's another;

Bike cops rule!
Driving my lovely old green mini (yes, I was a hippy) back from the centre of London, I had a problem. There was no clutch. Thankfully, my dad had taught me to double de-clutch, so changing gear wasn't a problem, either up or down the gears. The only issue was getting it going from a full stop. So every set of lights had me jumping out of the car, pushing it till it was up to speed, then jumping back in and getting it into first.
I made it as far as Putney in this manner, where I was watched, then tugged, by a bike cop. Ignoring the lack of tax disc, he asked me to pop the bonnet. After a minute of having his head under it, he said it was the clutch slave cylinder. He pointed me in the direction of a motor factors, just 30 yards away.
I got the part, while he waited next to my car to make sure it didn't get a ticket! Then he went and fitted it for me in the rain no less. I can only assume he was impressed at my clutchless skills, or just took pity on a barefooted hippy making his way back from Whirlygig (back in the good days).
I'd like to take this opportunity to thank this London bike cop again for his help. (Are bike cops really a different breed?)

Apologies for the saccharic thanks, Mr bike cop- YOU ROCK.


Sorry to bring 'em up again, I have some other stories I shall try to refine for this question.
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Fri 6 May 2011, 13:35, 2 replies)

ello ello ello
A good friend is a London copper who's not been on the force that long. He and his supervisor were called to a house because of "destructive noises". The made their way inside and found a distraught looking lady in a pile of broken belongings.
Apparently she'd received some "bad news" and in a fit of depression had broken literally anything and everything she owned; clothes, furnature, household appliances, crockery, everything. My mate, looking to impres with his tact, sat down with the lady and calmed her down with , "It's ok" and "look things will work themselves out" and such.
This seemed to work; the lady stopped crying, got herself under control and thanked him for listening and helping. Which is when his supervisor chipped in with , "yeah miss and look it could be worse, you could have just smashed up everything you own!"
I think I can still hear the lady screaming....
(DustyD, Fri 6 May 2011, 13:28, Reply)

Got pulled......
by the Rozzers many many moons ago, in an old and slightly crap Fiat. Said car was actually a great piece of engineering but it looked dreadful.
Big police van, flashing lights, pullover etc...... me and my good mate jump out and are confronted by two policemen, one young and green the other older and savvy. "I've pulled you over because your car is too rusty to have an MOT!" says the young one, I respond "Oh dear, that's very odd, it went through it's MOT 3 days ago! hang on, I've got the MOT certificate... here!" The young coppers expression dropped as I handed him the MOT, just then my mate chimes in..."The police are well known for being Rust-ist aren't they!" Within 0.5 seconds the young policeman looked like Attila the hun on a bad day, and I thought we'd gone too far and were in for it! Except...... the older policeman in thebackground was now creased up with uncontrollable laughter, as were half the others lurking in the van! After a very short examination of the MOT we were on our way :-)
(verynaughtyboy, Fri 6 May 2011, 13:25, 1 reply)

phone the non-emergency number
A little while ago I wasn't sure which emergency service I needed so I phoned the non-emergency police number and explained the problem and they said they'd sort it out.

Three minutes later we had eight pc's, one fat sergeant and two paramedics in attendance and enough emergency vehicles outside to block a very large junction.

My call to the non-emergency line ?

"Erm, my neighbour has gone a bit potty taken all her clothes off and is trying to have sex with everyone, who should I call ?"
(moments, Fri 6 May 2011, 12:35, 9 replies)

Mistaken identity
Visiting an area out of town, a close mate and my good self were waiting outside a bar for a couple of mates, before heading off out of town for a bit of a weekend escape.

Not long after we were joined by our buds, a couple of rozzers turned up out of the blue and started giving me and my mate proper evils, thinking we were a couple of local hoodlums. Just then my other mate starts to sweet talk the cops, pointing out the blindingly obvious.

We weren’t the droids they were looking for.
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Fri 6 May 2011, 12:35, Reply)

A couple of years ago, I was subject to a situation in which the police were called.
A very drunk, very large Aussie banker had followed me down the street in the middle of the afternoon, continually trying to swing punches at me for being an English baaaastard.

Thankfully he was so pissed he'd missed every time, and the one time he'd got hold of me by the shirt, I forcibly removed his hand, which hadn't really helped the situation.

Now - I've heard so many people say "Policewomen, eh? Eh? Phwooooar! Eh?" but until then I'd only ever seen the fake-lesbian ones that generally look like they could eat an apple through a letter box and then bust the door down to get the rest.

But a squad car pulled up, having been called by passers-by, and the cutest, tiniest, slip of a girl got out of the driver's seat, put her hat on, and, welcomely, offered me a cigarette while er - taking down my particulars.

Out of the other side unfolded the longest guy I think I've ever seen - I'm sure he was over 7 feet tall, thin as string, and camper than Elton John's dog.

He almost exageratedly minced up to the police woman and me, and said in a voice that made John Inman sound like Mariella Frostrup, "Right then - I'll just go and deal with the perp - you ok here, PC Daws?"

Although somewhat discombobulated by the whole scenario, I swear to god I was expecting Jeremy Beadle's rotting corpse to jump out from behind a post box and tell me I was on Candid Camera.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 6 May 2011, 11:53, 3 replies)

I was at reading with some dicks
There were sirens going past in the distance, within the site, quite near some sort of argriculturey-looking building, I dunno.

The people I'm with start shouting "fucking pigs", making oink noises and shouting wanker across the mass of campsite separating us from the emergency vehicle - far enough away that they would never be heard, so I guess they were doing it for each other's benefit.

I didn't join in - I reckon a lot of people working for the police are wankers, but you should wait for the individual to show what they are like before you jump to conclusions. Driving with the sirens on isn't proof that someone is dick, so it seemed best to reserve judgement.

Also: the people I was with were oinking at a fire engine.
(teebie jeebie, Fri 6 May 2011, 11:52, 4 replies)

Glastonbury moments
Three stories of Avon and Somerset's finest

… before …

A friend and an acquaintance of mine decide to take the backroads route to the festival, and avoid the M4 traffic. Somewhere on the A303, they hit a tailback. Police are pulling over likely looking cars. Since they have a car full of camping gear, and a festival parking sticker already in the window, the chances of not being searched seem to be nil. This proves correct; they get directed into a lay-by, and a copper walks up to the drivers window. At this point, my friend who was driving starts to get concerned. Not for his own contraband, which is well enough hidden in the car that it would require a pack of sniffer dogs and the facilities of a small garage to locate. No, the acquaintance is a clueless muppet, and true to form has a bag of pills sat right in his jacket pocket.

The policemen starts to speak. "Hello boys. I can see you are off to Glastonbury. As you might be aware, there is a significant problem with drugs at the festival. Now, in order to make the festival a safer place, and to reduce administration time for the force, we are offering an drugs amnesty service before you arrive. If you have anything about your person that you shouldn't, you can just put it in that bin over there, no questions asked, no consequences. However, if we subsequently decide to search you, and find anything, then things may go a lot worse for you". My driving friend has one of those moments where the world just stops. He doesn't even get a chance to glance at the acquaintance to get a reaction, and decide whether to confess to the stash. Before he can speak, the policeman continues "But I can see from your reaction sir, that this doesn't apply to you. Be on your way, have a safe weekend!".

… during …

Geordie Dave is sitting in the Greenfields, contemplating life, and starting work on the umpteenth spliff of the weekend. Suddenly, two boys in blue walk up. "Excuse me sir, what precisely are you doing?"
"Errr .. what it looks like, I suppose. Skinning up. Sorry officers!"
"Well, we will have to ask you to accompany us to the site police station, sir". Dave is somewhat incredulous at this point, and thinks "Surely they aren't going to bust me for one little spliff? At Glasto for fucks sake". But the coppers insist.
"That's an illegal substance. Glastonbury Festival or not, we have to arrest you". Dave stands up, shrugs, and does the "clap the handcuffs on me" motion. "Unless you can help us with something, sir … You have to … tell us a joke!". Dave obliges (the exact gag is lost in the marijuana haze of time); the coppers laugh and walk off.

… after …

After Radiohead's 2003 set had melted my mind somewhat, I was foolish enough (ok, wasted enough) to put my bag down behind me while sitting at the Tiny Tea Tent. This was far too tempting for some reprobate to ignore, and not surprisingly it wasn't there next time I looked. Bugger. Cash, cards, phone, camera all gone. Not so disastrous in the grand scheme of things, but a bit of a downer.

Two weeks later, my dad gets a call from the Glastonbury lost property office. They have my phone and camera, which were found on the floor and handed in. When they turn up in the post, the camera has several pics of the inside of a police van, complete with a bunch of grinning coppers, who seemed to be enjoying their weekend very much indeed.

... length? the collapsible baton extends to about 26 inches ...
(Simian Typewriter Supplies Pty. Ltd. is house hunting in the neighborhood of infinity, Fri 6 May 2011, 11:31, 4 replies)

About 3 years ago...
...we had a near-riot where I live. Normally, it's a sleepy middle-class suburb, but the working men's club nearby had been hosting a 21-year old's birthday party (in contravention of their license, natch) and a gang of rival yoof had turned up and it all kicked off as eveyone came out of the club at midnight.

Now, the first police car to turn up had in it a female officer and a male officer. As the female officer tended to the wounded, the male officer, single-handed, attempted to calm down a couple of hundred drunken idiots.

And he actually did a pretty good job of it, in the 10 minutes it took for backup to arrive. Serious kudos to that man.

Final count - two hours of disturbance, 10 police vehicles, one dog unit, one helicopter, one ambulance, one injured (superficially, luckily), 4 convictions for affray.
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Fri 6 May 2011, 11:16, 5 replies)

Coulda gone to jail for my dog a couple of years ago.
Anyway, so the neighbour who badly neglected his dog got pissed with me for taking the dog when I moved interstate. Pissed enough to press charges, for which 'Theft of a Domestic Animal' is a warrantable offense. Thought about going to jail if I didn't answer the charges, but instead I fronted up, put my case and won. Great that I won, sad I can't put dognapper on my CV.

Still got the summons on my fridge, but my dog died happy and loved a year ago.
(boozehound is drinking your bar dry, Fri 6 May 2011, 11:14, 3 replies)

It appears I've posted this once before, but you can have it again...
My maternal grandfather was a policeman. Having joined the force at the earliest possible age - he left school at 14, I think - he worked his way up the ranks until, by the 1960s, he was superintendant, chief inspector or something. High-ranking enough to be in charge of the local force, anyway.

One perk he allowed himself was a personalised registration plate featuring the digits "999" on the family car, and it was on one of these 999 cars that my mother learned to drive. Licence acquired, she would borrow the car now and again.

The advantage of borrowing this car was demonstrated on one occasion at a speed-trap. Happily whizzing along way over the limit one day, Mum saw a traffic cop step out from behind a bush. Her heart sank as he raised his arm to indicate that she should pull over... and then was lifted again. The officer had noticed the licence plate and gracefully transformed his gesture into a salute as she passed.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 6 May 2011, 10:55, 5 replies)

Tunnel Racers
I used to hang out with a gang of bikers. Real ones, not the comedy versions you see on TV; a house full of hairy blokes whose lives revolved entirely around their old British bikes, but who were otherwise perfectly normal. They'd liked to have formed a chapter of the Hell's Angels, but as they put it themselves, they could barely have formed an opening paragraph.

Anyway, they lived right next to a road tunnel which had recently been dug through the hills, to allow traffic to avoid the centre of their town. One night they were fiddling with a video camera they'd borrowed - this was the 1980s when such things were rare - and around 3am it was decided that it would be a laugh to film themselves riding up and down the tunnel, revelling in the way the roar from their engines reverberated around the enclosed space.

After about 20 minutes, predictably enough, a police car rolled up and the officer got out and approached them. He wanted to know what they were doing, and of course whether the bikes and camera belonged to them. No problems there, everything was above board.

"OK lads," he said, "Here's what I'm going to do. Give me the camera, and I'll stand in the middle of the road as you all go past; we'll get a much better shot that way."

So for the rest of the night they had an official police cameraman, and got some great shots.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Fri 6 May 2011, 10:39, Reply)

Pube shaving
Another corker courtesy of my mate - we'll give him the name Lee as he deserves the credit for these great tales. He spent two years in the force, but had also come through the police cadets as a 16-year-old.

One of the exercises the cadets undertook was to go hiking round Dartmoor - they would all sleep in a big barn over the course of the weekend. A new recruit had joined Lee's group just prior to the trek, and was (as to be expected) the butt of a million and one practical jokes.

However, the sergeant looking after the group took pity on this new guy and gave him a heads-up on the final practical joke - and a chance to steal a march on his piss-taking colleagues. Taking him to one side before the last night of the exercise, the sergeant told him what the cadets did to new recruits on their first hike.

'They'll wait till you are asleep tonight, then surround you and hold you down. They'll pull your pants down and shave your pubes off. It'll itch like buggery on the hike tomorrow, but it's what they do to all new recruits. But I like you, and they've been giving you shit all weekend, so I figured I'd give you the heads up. Would be fucking hilarious if they pull your pants down and you've ALREADY shaved your pubes off...' whispered the sergeant into the n00b's ear.

'Brilliant', thought the lad, before toddling off into the shower with his Gillette Mach 4 and 6 gallons of shaving foam. 'This'll show the bastards!'

The next morning, over the breakfast table, the new boy was a bit puzzled after his night's sleep had gone undisturbed. He spotted the sergeant nipping outside so followed him and asked 'when are they planning to grab me and shave my pubes off, sir?'

'Silly twat, do you think we'd let anyone get away with that level of bullying? That's never happened in the history of the cadets, boy. I was winding you up and you fell for it hook, line and sinker.'

The poor lad slunk back to the breakfast table as word quickly spread he had shaved off his own pubes for no fucking reason whatsoever. At the end of that day's hike, his bollocks were itching and on fire, and at roll call he asked the sergeant for permission to call him a cunt. It was denied.
(Bappage, Fri 6 May 2011, 10:18, 1 reply)

What they never show you on TV...
You know the Enforcer the cops have for smashing people's doors in? How they always show the door being smashed in in one go? It's not always like that in real life as my brother-in-law (does he count as one if he's married to my sister?) once told me.

Picture the scene. It is early morning, and a bunch of coppers are on a drug bust, bright and early. The newest guy, fresh out of training and still weedy as buggery, is volunteered to smash the door down by his kindly senior officer, so he accepts the challenge with glee, as who hasn't wanted to smash stuff for a living at one point or another?

He steps up to the door, and looks back at his mates (my bro-in-law included), and takes a massive swing...

...And cocks up...

...By managing to put a hole in the middle of the door, thus ensuring that the door still remains upright and mostly undamaged. The other coppers start laughing at this, so he does what any self-respecting man would do.

So he takes another swing.

The door remains resolutely upright, albeit with an additional air hole that wasn't there ten seconds ago. Much laughter is heard at this point.

He takes a final swing, and the door decides that it isn't going down, and instead, remains resolutely upright. At this point, every other copper is rolling on the floor laughing, and my bro-in-law regains enough composure first to take the Enforcer and smash the door in himself and carry out the raid.

Good times.
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Fri 6 May 2011, 10:14, 4 replies)

Every word....true.
Last night, following a 15 hour, Tequila binge-drinking session, I met Kylie Minogue in Spearmint Rhino where she was with a lesbian girlfriend.

After flirting with them for a few minutes, I took them both back to a hotel, 5***** naturally, and we had a threesome in the steam room until they begged me to stop. I then took massive drugs and nailed Kylie again in the Presidential Suite for another seven hours.

I got bored after she'd fainted for the third time, so I went out, off my face, and stole a Bugatti Veyron from the hotel car park. Whilst trying to confirm its top speed, I lost control (It doesn't handle as well as my Accord), and crashed it through the window of a Rolex jewellers.

Before legging it, I grabbed a selection of items from the wrecked display cases. I thought I should make a quick getaway seeing as I was probably in the wrong so I hijacked a taxi, holding the driver at gun-point (I always carry a firearm on a night out, on the off-chance I may bump into Michael Winner), and instructed him to take me to the airport.

Once there, I climbed over the fence and ran across the runway. Luckily, the airforce had been performing a display earlier in the day, and somebody had left a helicopter gun-ship unattended with the keys in the ignition so I made my getaway.

I landed on my private island around 4pm this afternoon. An hour or so later, the police smashed down my door and arrested me. Luckily, as a police inspector I have certain 'privileges' so they let me go.

Tonight I'll probably stay in and watch the complete first series of 'Two Point Four Children' on dvd.

I may have a cheese omelette for my supper.

With a milky tea.
(Mao's stepson is doing his bit for East/West relation's, Fri 6 May 2011, 10:13, 7 replies)

It was an accident! Honest!
or How To Fuck Up Your Career.

CaptainCrackerJack's post reminds me of the early days of my brother's career in the police. We're going back a bit to the eighties where he was doing his 1 years probation, in Gloucestershire, after completing training. And this is total damage he managed in that year....

1. Wrote off 3 (yes 3!!!) police cars, one was even driven at speed over a roundabout.
2. Set fire to the Police Station's kitchen as he left a chip pan on the stove and went for a poo.
3. Was typing up a report (probably the forms for the 3 mangled police cars and a kitchen reduced to cinders) on a typewriter he did a carriage return and in true comedy style it flew off and hit his sergeant's foot.

And finally... now this is one where he nearly lost his career as his sergeant went a bit mental, but that might have something to with the cumlative damage and the sergeant had developed something of a twitch by this point.

He broke his sergeant's Rubik's Cube.
(SpangoTheWonderBadger is brewing beer, Fri 6 May 2011, 10:04, Reply)

I shot the sheriff.

(boozehound is drinking your bar dry, Fri 6 May 2011, 10:02, 5 replies)

While beeing stopped and searched one day in a bus stop, the copper pulled someone off the street.
"What's your name, mate? Where are you from, where are you going? OK - well - you matched the description of someone we're looking for - on your way."

He then turned to me, and said all pally-pally, "'Ee was takin' the piss out of you being searched, so I fort I'd inconvenience him hur hur hur"
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 6 May 2011, 9:48, 5 replies)

Ooh...terrifying...
Not long after I'd past my driving test and was still a nervous 17 year old novice, I was pulled over by a police car for 'driving erratically' (I had a bloody police car following me, I was nervous!). The male and female police came up to me and got me out of the car, demanding to know if it was my car (no, it was my Mum's) if I'd been drinking (no, it was 11.30AM and I hadn't reached that point in my life yet) and if I had any drugs in the vehicle (again, no).

I gave my honest answers and assumed that would be that. But it didn't seem to satisfy the very young, even to my 17 year old eyes, looking male officer, because he leant in close, stared me down and whispered menacingly...'you better not be lying to me, because if you have any drugs...' then suddenly shouting 'I'LL RIP THIS GODDAM CAR APART UNTIL I FIND THEM'.

It may have been more effective if his older female colleague hadn't then burst out laughing at him. She didn't even try to hide it, just started laughing long and hard and staring at him.

He went red faced, muttered something like 'very well, you can be on your way this time' and as he skulked back to the car staring at the floor and, I swear, I am sure I heard her say 'God, you're a prick'.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 6 May 2011, 9:47, 4 replies)

Not me but a mate
My best mate is ex-Old Bill - he left after a couple of years as he was fed up with the red tape and politics. However, during his time working as a copper, he was strolling through the square in Bournemouth when he witnessed a handbag snatch (no, not a massive gaping fanny, a theft).

Obviously he immediately gave chase, as the bespectacled youth fled with the handbag into Bournemouth gardens. for those that don't know Bournemouth, there's an outdoor exhibition space where they have art exhibitions and whatnot during the summer, so there's a simple, semi-permanent set of metal frames and poles that they cover over and use to hang their paintings etc.

As the thief pumped his arms and legs to try and increase his speed (my mate was catching him up comfortably), he hooked his thumb into the arm of his specs accidentally and sent them flying.

Unfortunately, our hero would appear to have been blind as a bat. He carried on running for about 20 yards, but in his blinded state could not see that he was running headlong into a metal pole. With about 6 inches to go before impact, the guy realised he was about to spang himself in the face and tried to put the brakes on - too late. As he tried to perform the impossible and decelerate to a standstill in one step, his feet slipped from under him and - you guessed it - went one either side of the aforementioned pole. It left my mate with the easiest arrest of his career.

Apparently the audio tape had to be stopped several times during the interview because my mate and his partner were pissing themselves laughing throughout the questioning, and completely lost it when it came to describing the arrest itself - including the line 'can you confirm that your first words when being apprehended were 'Ooooh, fucking hell, me nuts, I think I've split my ball bag'?'
(Bappage, Fri 6 May 2011, 9:46, 3 replies)