Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Cop Comes Out of Retirement to Bust Pot Smokers

Yesterday afternoon, Phil Warren, a retired police officer, was grocery shopping with his wife.  Warren had been on the force for nearly 50 years before they forced him to retire because by that point they just couldn't pay for his Ben-Gay addiction anymore.  Warren had been a hero in his prime.  Taking down perps, following leads, and doing other things that movies have told us police officers do.  He is most known for his 1978 Drug Bust that led to the recovery of sixteen tons of stolen Viagra.  That was a hard year for everyone...HEYOOO!

"You have the right to remain erect.  Also, remember what time it is because I've been lugging this thing around for awhile now and I'm starting to get worried about that whole 4-hour boner thing."

As we said earlier, Phil was enjoying a lazy Monday afternoon with his wife.  He didn't have many opportunities to leave the house since he took off his badge, so he had spent the past several weeks becoming the self-proclaimed Bass Fishing Champion of the World in the creek behind his home.

You ever hear a fish scream?  No?  Try to keep it that way because that ain't something you forget.

When his wife ran out of cake mix, she readied herself for a trip to the market to fetch more because if she's not baking cakes, she's bound to get back into the hard shit...like peanut brittle...and Phil hates peanut brittle, so he decided to accompany his wife.  He took the passenger seat because it reminded him of the days when he used to ride with his partner, Schmitty Jones, but more on him later.  Actually, probably not.  

Rest in peace, Schmitty.  We're just kidding.  He's totally still alive.  You think a guy like that is going to die in the line of duty?  No way.  He snorts the line of duty, then fucks its mother.

After a successful trip to the store, the couple pulled out of their handicapped spot and began heading home.  Neither was handicapped, but Phil had confiscated so many counterfeit handicap stickers from the Great Amputee Caper of '86 that he decided to get some use out of them.  As they were about to leave the parking lot, Phil's senses started tingling.  The hairs in his nose sprung to attention and he recognized the odor immediately...motherfuckin' reefer.

AHHH!  FUCK!  KEEP IT AWAY!  DON'T BREATHE IT IN!  YOU'LL GROW HOOVES AND YOUR CHILDREN WILL BE BORN WITH TWO HEADS, EACH UGLIER THAN THE OTHER!

Phil stomped on the brake, but wasn't sitting in the driver's seat, so he really just stomped on the floor really hard in his cliche "old guy sneakers".  His wife stopped the car in a panic because of her husband's sudden outburst.  When she asked what was wrong, Phil simply said, "It's time to take out the trash" (one of his many his signature catchphrases) and exited the vehicle.  He strolled over to a parked sedan near the back of the parking lot.  The windows were tinted and there was a bumper sticker that clearly read "Egalize Shit"...or maybe it said "Legalize It", but Phil had forgotten his glasses.  Well, he didn't really forget them so much as purposely left the house without them to try and prove that he didn't need them.

Cop-Vision:  The Most Directionless Spray Bullets You've Ever Seen

Phil banged on the window with his fist and the window rolled down, unleashing a cloud of marijuana smoke into Phil's face.  He began writhing and shouting and punching at the smoke, for its dark presence was not welcome in his lungs.  Phil stared down at two young Caucasian males sitting in the car.  Strange and alien sounds thumped from the car's crackling speakers.  Phil looked at them as the passed a foreign device between each other, filled with the plant of evil.  Its seeds has been sewn by Satan.  Phil knew what this was.  He had seen it a million times before...terrorists.  These were clearly members of an extremely dangerous and organized organization, hellbent on destroying America and all it stood for.  The funky fresh beats coming out of the sound system must have been from their native land.  This was some sort of pre-suicide bombing ritual, preparing them to enter nirvãna and fuck a dozen virgin goats or something like that.

Strange Times only really fucks farm animals on Christmas and Easter, but that doesn't mean we don't believe.  We're just in between religions right now.  Christianity really wore us out..anally.

Phil told the young terrorists that they were in serious trouble and that they'd never get away with this, not on his watch.  Phil told them to get out of the car, but when they asked to see his badge, he could not produce one.  With this, they laughed and blew a particularly skunky cloud of ghanja into Phil's face, all while chanting "420! Legalize it, bitch!"  Phil defeatedly trudged back to his car, defeated.  He was ashamed that he couldn't stop the illegal activity and he knew that whatever those two little bastards did would fall squarely on his shoulders.  

Medical Illustration

Phil would not speak on the ride home.  When he got home, he watched the episode of Cops that he was on over and over again until the VHS tape melted in the VCR.  Luckily, he also had it on DVD, so he popped that badboy in and began reliving his glory days once again.  In the middle of the night, he finally turned the TV off.  He went to the bathroom and stared himself in the face.  Grizzled, rugged, and beaten down from the years.  Like Rocky and Rambo rolled into one saggy-skinned pile of wrinkled determination.  This wasn't how it was supposed to end.  Phil wasn't about to let himself go out like this.  This was America, dammit.  No, not just America.  This is fucking 'MURICA!

Prepare for a fistful of freedom right up the whazoo.

It was settled, Phil Warren was coming out of retirement.  In order to do so, he made a special appeal to the Chief.  Even though what Warren wanted to do went against all protocol, the Chief made an exception because he had always wanted to be the Chief in a cheesy cop movie and he figured this was as close as he was ever going to get.  Also, it would give him a chance to say something cool like, "If you don't make it out of this..." or "No more of this flying solo stuff..."

Suddenly, the Chief gained 200 pounds and grew a mustache because nothing says "I don't take shit" like a wildly wobbling second chin.

Phil had to also go through the police academy again.  It took 3 months because Phil was, for lack of a better term, old as fuck and couldn't get his old fucking ass over the fucking climbing wall.  Actually, that describes it pretty well.  Finally, Phil completed the obstacle course in a near record breaking time.  By record breaking, we mean he was almost the slowest cadet ever, besides that one guy that tried to be a cop that turned out to just be a pile of pillows with clothes on.


"Even though that boy was pillows, he was still the best damn partner I ever had," said Officer Bedsheet.

With that, Phil was reinstated.  His first order of business: clean up the muddah fackin' streetz.  He went to the very same parking lot where this wacky adventure had started.  It seemed like it was only yesterday, but it wasn't.  It was a bunch of handfuls of tomorrows ago.  Phil needed to get himself into the mindset of one of these unstable individuals he wanted so desperately to slap some cuffs on.  So he faced his fear.  Phil asked his nephew to roll him a joint.  At first, his nephew denied ever smoking weed, but after awhile, he just wanted to get this decrepit old man out of his room because he was "harshin' my buzz, bro."  So with that, he rolled him a joint.  Phil's fate was sealed.

The Controller of Destiny.

Phil sat in his cruiser in the parking lot, waiting for the guilty party.  He lit up the joint and inhaled slowly.  He did not cough.  Why, he didn't even sputter.  Almost immediately, Phil felt atop the world.  He chowed down on a tray of brownies he had apprehended from a crime scene a few days prior, but being "special brownies", they only made Phil even more high as fuck than he already was.  

Special Brownies: Getting Ex-Cops That Come Out Of Retirement Super Baked Since 2011.

Then, after a full ten minutes of staring at his handcuffs, a car parked on the opposite end of the lot.  Phil looked up through the haze that had formed in his car.  It was his white whale.  He could almost hear the electronic death music surging across the wind into his ear canals.  Phil grew a hefty Justice-Chub just thinking about the Law-Abiding Smackdown he was about to lay on these fools.  This was the moment he had been waiting for.  

Next time you think about running that red light, think about this picture.  That's Law up there, ramming its cock in your face in front of your friends and family.  Don't let that be you.

Phil strapped on his seatbelt, started up his car, and began cruising carefully towards his target.  He zeroed in on two figures seated in the front of the car.  "Time to take out the tr-" said Phil, but before he could finish, he slumped over on his staring wheel, asleep.  As did his foot...onto the gas pedal.  The supercharged police cruiser lurched forward and began darting across the parking lot in a collision course with the two unsuspecting terrorists.  Within moments, Phil was upon them.  We mean this literally as he ramped up the back of their car and did a barrel roll worthy to be called Badass Stunt of the Week.

This guy is his only competition.

The two stoner kids began screaming.  Phil shot awake and began screaming.  Some guy came out of the store, saw what was happening, and began screaming.  Some lady 3,000 miles away got her foot caught in a bear trap, so she started screaming.

It's the Circle of Life, kids.  The Circle of Life.

After the dust had cleared, Phil was alive.  He climbed out of the wreckage and started stumbling over the the demolished car that once housed Anti-American activities.  He withdrew his pistol and held it shakily in front of him.  The blood pouring from the gash on his forehead flowed into his eyes, but he remained more vigilant than ever.  The car doors opened and the madmen got out of their car.  They were both on futuristic looking versions of phones.  There were no buttons, but merely a screen that appeared to be malleable by their fingers.  Phil knew what they were doing.  They were calling their headquarters for backup.  Within minutes, this whole place would be swarming with terrorists.  America would be doomed.  It's not often that a man is presented with a do-or-die situation, but let us tell you something, Phil truly thought that this was one...so he began firing.  He ejaculated round after round from his gun until his clip was empty.  Each bullet hit its mark...stoner chests.

"Aim for the lungs, Johnny!  AIM FOR THE LUNGS!"

It was over.  It almost seemed too easy.  Phil looked at the two fresh kills before him.  He wishes he had been able to speak with them about the dangers of Mary Jane and the beauties of patriotism, but he knew that this was how it was meant to be.  The last thing either of them said was "Weed made us do it!'...at least that's what Phil would go on to write in the police report.  Before emergency vehicles arrived on the scene, Phil took one final stroll around the car, spotted a sandwich bag full of oregano, and pocketed it.  Tonight was Chicken Marinara Night at his house and his wife had mentioned she needed some.

Your chest on pot...after someone shoots it 6 or 7 times with a high-powered handgun.

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