Officer P. Keer

You know what never ceases to amaze me?

The kind of gigantically dumb questions cops ask.

Like the one time I got pulled over by a Vermont State Trooper because my truck was too loud after the muffler fell off. He had me in the front seat of his cruiser. I wasn’t under arrest. But it’s State Police policy to be forced to search you for weapons & contraband for their own protection before they seat you next to them while they radio in to see if your papers are in order.

It takes a few minutes of course. Which gives them plenty of time to think of some gigantically dumb question to ask.

The cop glared at me as if to say:
Alright kid.

Then he asked “When was the last time you smoked any pot?”

Yeah…Like 3 to 5 minutes ago, officer – thanks for asking!

Rolled me up big old honker joint. I did. A fatty. Man, that joint was fatter than Jerry Garcia’s coffin. Fatter than the ugly little pecker that grows straight out of a certain someone’s forehead.

Mr. Vermont State Police man, sir.

Fatter than yo’ momma! That’s right. And yo’mommaz so fat her ass fell off.

Fatty Fatty. Yeah. The mother of all joints! I sparked her up. Got so stoned I fell flat on my ass.
So it seemed.

Turns out I just thought I got so baked that I fell on my ass. In actuality I got so cooked that I fell flat on my elbow. A honest mistake; my brain was all fucked up from the doobage. That, plus my fastastic & chronic lifelong disdain for reality.

Ass? Elbow? For all I knew I’d just rocketed wildly around the cosmos with the convertable top dropped down in a stolen & souped up flying pinball machine. Open container of XXXmake-believe in one hand; the mother of all fat joints in my other. Both corners of my lips jolted toward heaven & rolled around my perpetually lit American Spirit menthol cigarrette & curled into an unlawfully wild grin. I steered with one knee.


Like a streaming red-scarf Snoopy flying on his dog house. Homer Simpson on peyote. Hunter E Vonnegut, Jrr. gone mad on make believe.

I ground my right heel into the pinball machine’s speed pedal & skillfully piloted my new ride toward a fancy hotel swimming pool in what appeared to be Atlantic City.

A parking ticket flapped beneath the driver-side windshield wiper but I was too cool for it. It bored me. Why bother with tickets when we can take the ride for free?

It’s amazing how much easier it is taking private planes. Just avoiding the bullshit of the airport and all that. Airports are such an amazing burnout for some reason: really just the effort it takes to be around Straight People. You know I swear to God, man – the amount of effort you have to have just to keep yourself Controlled…
>>Jerry Garcia, 1981

How long ‘till we’re cleared for landing? The Captain has turned off the No Money light. You are now free to win the Kentucky Derby.

Yeah. So FICA – whoever you are: you can kiss my motherfucking ass!

As long as I stay unemployed you can’t have my money.


*shakes fist at sky*

I have no idea what I just said dudes – but Right On.

A roll of spring mudwater splashed in through a cracked-open side window and skipped & tickled across my cheek. My eyes sprung open. I felt freshly awakened from one niftily concocted torpedo of a dream. Though I deemed it equally likely that I’d just now fallen to sleep.

Either way the surety that my red Nissan pickup truck was in actuality a rocket-propelled pinball machine remained intact.


Still I couldn’t help but wonder: Was I going around in circles? Ah. Yes. Naturally.

In a busy-sky holding pattern above Atlantic City.

That explains my sense that I’d gone around the exact same circle – circumferentially & by appearance quite like a traffic circle – for an indeterminate length of time. A nice long spin around a make-believe cul de sac from which all exits lead to reality.

Can anyone tell me how to get to the dark side of Titan?

I need directions! Maybe…ah? Nope. Of course not.

There’s never a cop around when you need one.

Just then I heard I siren. Pulled over. The cop walked to my window. I rolled the window the rest of the way down. The cop looked like he wanted to ask me something.

“Dude!” I exclaimed before he got a chance. “Are you from Titan? That is so excellent.”

“Step out of the vehicle.” He answered – I thought a touch indirectly. “And empty your pockets. Do you have any guns, knives or contraband?”

I got his meaning. Not from Titan?


While we walked to his cruiser the state cop informed that he pulled me over because my muffler was too loud. We sat in his car. He radioed my identity in for verification.

“So.” The cop asked in a smugly rhetorical tone while we waited. “Why did I just watch you drive around that traffic circle eleven times?”

“Dunno.” I conjectured. “Maybe because my truck looked groovy with your blue lights on while you followed me?”

The ugly little pecker that grew from the State Cop’s forehead wiggled. It was for me a moment of gargantuan unpleasantry. My skin crawled & blood screeched like rusty wheels on a second-hand rollercoaster with Fear.

The cop eyed me rudely; the pecker on his forehead was getting a boner because it thought he would take me to jail.

My muscles tensed.

He asked when was the last time I smoked any pot.

I wondered what that had to do with my loud muffler. Got confused. Until I realied that’s just what happens when you try to answer some of the gigantically dumb questions cops ask.

That’s how they try to get you; ask really dumb question and hope you trip over one.

Well. One dumb question deserves another. Why not?

“When was the last time you smoked any pot??” I incredulously asked right back.

“Don’t get smart with me.” He snarled. “Now. I’m going to search your vehicle. So why don’t you just tell me where to look for your pot?”

“I wish I knew!” I forlornly confessed. “It was stashed in my muffler – and I plumb can’t remember where it fell off. ”

The cop laughed.

The veins in his forehead riled blood-full with anger. But the pecker flopped down & bounced between VT State Trooper P. Keer’s eyes.

“Get out of my face.” He ordered limply.

Ordered me? Don’t know.

I was too guilty to bother to ask.



10 Responses to “Officer P. Keer”

  1. 1 mg'z in the trunk April 29, 2007 at 4:05 pm

    bumper cars? Whats the big whoop about bumper cars? I got a bumper car that pops the top off of your unopened container and then drives itself straight into the swimming pool at the nearest Holiday Inn. Now if thats not cool shit then I dont know what is. Still got a problem with bumper cars?

  2. 2 Mike E April 29, 2007 at 7:55 pm

    My pinball machine can kick your bumper car’s ass.

    No problemo.

  3. 3 Xela back from the dead April 30, 2007 at 2:55 am

    Duh. Lame asses that try to bring their bumper cars on the speedway are inconsiderate to all the professionals that have been refining their swerve. At best, they are an irritation and at worst, a straight up hazard. Not everyone can cruise with Finesse. And it is certainly impossible in a bumper car. Then you take your slow, safe little bumper car and find yourself on the Speedway. Next thing you know you caused an accident. Chances are you caused it but don’t even know it! CLUELESS. That’s what bumper cars on the speedway means. It’s really about how your mind works. or how it doesn’t.
    And what so cool about a car in the bottom of a pool, anyway? Sounds like someones bumper car went and endangered a bunch of hapless bathers.

    Wanna hear a joke…
    Mike e doesn’t know his ASS from his ELBOW. The Preparation H on his sleeve is a dead give away.

  4. 4 Sporz April 30, 2007 at 3:02 am

    Holding pattern over Atlantic city. Yes, those cop lights are so fuckin trickey. One minute it’s times square, next second it (jooop!) crystalizes into a not so friendly version of christmas. I think it is somthing about the red and the blue. They should change them to red and green. And change the pork-grooming guidelines from nazi moustache to St. Nick blowout beard. Then it wouldn’t be as scary while they were askin us dumb questions. Fuck it, why not put the cops into fuzzy jumperoos with suspenders, and put big ass red noses on the grills of the cars. Then pimp trim the exterior of the car with white fluff. Then u could just laugh at them and kick em in da nuts, an be out. But alas, I think u handeled the real situation wiotth the greatest weapon of all: intelegence. Intelegence is a sexy bitch, she just wants to make ya smack dat ass, (paap!) and raise a some rasperry. Yessir, I like watchin her switch back and forth through the kingdom, fuckin dudes up at every turn.

  5. 5 Mike E April 30, 2007 at 4:03 pm


    Swim At Your Own Risk.

  6. 6 Leighton Cooke May 1, 2007 at 7:41 am

    Haha! Great story. I once got busted for ganja in Germany and had to go to be interviewed by this awesomely beautiful woman cop in a miniskirt. She was all dressed up to go undercover out on the street. She asked me why I smoke pot. I said as medicine for my hayfever. She told me she had hayfever too and asked if marijuana really helped. I said yes. Two weeks later they dropped all the charges.

  7. 7 Bradford May 1, 2007 at 4:42 pm

    …..Que lights and siren….. Dec 10 , 2 thou and channge.. . 9 degeees inside the V dub Camper, dressed to swill. Hey , licence bullshit, papers please… ” Here ya go man ” huff pant. “yopu OK in there? “Its 9 degrees an dropping”… ” How do you keep your windows defrizzled?” “Its as cold in here as it is outside….” Weelll, yer backup lights are on, looked like yer coming right at us, apostrophe. ” “{You mind If I fix that now?” Naw….stay warm , good luck , see ya…

    Dumb questions are easily nullified by conciuos thought. Why a

  8. 8 AuntJackie May 3, 2007 at 4:18 pm

    Ooh great story! Maybe sometime I’ll tell about the time that I was flying down the interstate on numerous hits of acid while about 6 cop cars flew up behind me with their blue lights on, which of course looked like a million lights and I thought I was dead! Just then they stopped the person directly in front of me…

    Talk about a heart attack!

  9. 9 Bradford May 6, 2007 at 4:00 am

    Mike e, yippee yo. Take the A train to Baltimore on the 18th. This is the only way I can contact you right now. You’l have lodging and transport andiron if you call heads. Get my # from Josh, Ana or Lydon. I’m dressing the stage. Back on the Island for GFE next day. Peas.

  10. 10 Mike E May 9, 2007 at 4:27 pm

    Jackie: Ah yes — the ultimate Natural High!

    Bradford: Sounds like a plan — I’ll be in touch…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: