It was one of those nights I had to keep checking the radio in the patrol car to see if it was working.  Nothing had happened for hours and it was beginning to wear on us.  We made our rounds through the neighborhoods and checked the convenience store clerks to make sure they remained unmolested but still, the boredom was a bit much.  We decided to park for a while in case a speeder might zip through the area but after a while, I noticed a buzzard sitting on the hood, looking at me through the windshield.  He was just checking I guess but he had a kind of, "Hello breakfast!" look on his face so I kept the windows rolled up.

     Not long after, I noticed that my partner had dozed off.  Oh, I know we aren't supposed to do that but he was a new father and hadn't been getting a lot of sleep lately so I decided to let him snooze for a few minutes.  I could watch the fort and wake him if the dispatcher called.  He took his job seriously and would have preferred to stay awake but that wouldn't have given me the opportunity to decorate him with little pieces of tin foil and candy wrappers.

     No ma'am, I don't know why I did it.  It's kind of like the time Granny Hawkins stripped down to her bloomers and jumped in a cactus patch.  It just seemed like the thing to do at the time.  Anyway, I eyeballed my work and had to admit that it wasn't what you might call a Thomas Kinkade scene.  He looked more like a demented Mardi Gras float.  I made a point of snapping a picture and of course, the flash woke him up.  He surveyed the damage and laughed but I knew at some point in time, I was going to pay for my foolishness.

     The night was still dragging along like an inchworm on crutches when partner handed me a piece of candy which I plopped in my mouth without thinking.  It was a "Fireball".  Have you ever eaten a fireball?  It's...well...a FIREBALL!  I could feel three or four layers of skin peel off the inside of my mouth and my throat was burning like an Iraqi oil field.  I knew then that it had come.  Payback.

     "I sowwy," I managed to say through the tears.

     As luck would have it, this was the exact time that our long lost dispatcher decided to call.

     "1-2-6," she said.  "Officer needs assistance.  10-18."

     "Men-por," I said painfully.

     I rolled down the window as partner stomped the accelerator.  "Ptoo!"  The devil ball was gone but we almost chocked to death on the tin foil hurricane inside the car.

     As we rolled on scene, I still had tears in my eyes from the fireball incident but was able to make out what appeared to be someone hanging over the front porch railing.  He had managed to get his leg tangled in the rails so he was dangling upside down and looked like he had already barfed up the Suez Canal.  I decided that this was a good job for partner.  Feed me a fireball, will he?

     As he attempted to tiptoe around the muck, I ran to the other side of the porch and saw that the officer who called appeared to be wrestling Nicaragua.  Okay, he wasn't that big but still pretty fearsome for your average run-of-the-mill giant.  I remember grabbing him but suddenly had the sensation of eating a Pepperming Patty.  It was a warm summer night and the wind in my face felt really nice but I looked down to see the ground fast approaching.

     "Boy," I thought.  "This is gonna hurt."

     I landed in a clump near the street but quickly recovered and decided to use the new pressure point tactics we had been taught.  It was genuine Ding-Chow-Goo-Foo (or something like that) and designed to bring even the unruliest of folks under control.  I grabbed him with all the strength I could muster but even to a slow-minded slug like myself, it was pretty obvious that nothing was happening.  I decided then and there that the Ding-Loo-Wow-Ping instructor was going to get a serious piece of my mind if I somehow survived this thing.

     "Boy," I thought.  "This is gonna hurt."

     Ahhh, the wind in my hair.  Ahhh, the dirt in my teeth.  As I got up this time, I recognized my mistake in buying that new, easy-open, quick-draw holster because my handgun was now lying hidden in one of Nic's many shrubs along with my flashlight.  Now, I was REALLY mad and decided that it was time to let loose the dogs of war.  I attacked.

     "Woooong-taaaaaaaaaa-yeeeeeeeeeeeeee-haaaaaaaaaaa!"

     Whack-whack-whack-whack!

     Chop-chop-chop-chop!

     Whack-chop-whack-chop!

     NOTHING!

     I guess the other officer had given up on his Dung-Wa-Ting-Lo and seemed content with hanging on for dear life.  But we were running out of options and I decided that it was time for (dare I say it?) the Death Claw.  Thanks professional wrestling.

     "Aaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

     I wish you could have seen the look on Nic's face.  It was like a disinterested St. Bernard.  No, I think comatose is a better description.  But, after I got up this time, it dawned on me that Nic had never actually thrown a punch.  He could have easily beaten the stuffing out of both of us but we were remarkably unharmed.  I was thinking that maybe, just maybe, he didn't want to go to jail.  Can't say I blame him.  Mostly, he looked tired so I figured that letting him throw me around a few more times might do the trick.  After all, even Nicaragua has its limits.

     So, after a few more rounds of toss the dummy, he was breathing heavily and looked about done in.  I told him that if he wanted to keep throwing me around the yard, that was okay but we weren't going anywhere and more of us were coming.  Sooner or later, he was going to have to cooperate.

     He looked at me for a few seconds while scratching his head.  Then, he said, "Okay, let's go."

     "Okay?" I thought.  "The man says, 'Okay'?"

     Here we have two patrol units and three cops.  One has been transformed into a small peninsula, my long-lost partner will probably never smell the same and as for me, I've got a wind-burned face, skinned elbows and grass-stained teeth.  "Okay?" he says.

     Well.......okay.

     I looked over at partner and he was smiling at me.  He had managed to get the inverted intoxicant upright and I think he was smiling too.  It was hard to tell.

     "One word," I said.  "One happy little peep and I'm telling your mother about that tattoo you got in Phoenix."

     This is a valuable life lesson for us all.  It doesn't matter if a person is full grown and carrying a hand-howitzer.  The word "mother" or any variation thereof will strike fear in this person's heart.  Being the scoundrel I am, I have used this to my advantage many times.

     For more, go to my site, diggerdan.green-teeth-are-better-than-no-teeth.