How to make a cop insist that you get out of his car

First of all, let me say happy Monday!

A new week! New possibilities! New challenges! New clothes, maybe, if you went out and bought some recently. I dunno. I haven’t bought any new clothes since last time I had a normal job, which was … um … gosh, when I worked in law offices about twenty thousand years ago.

Seriously. That’s how long ago it was.

Not many people realize that Neanderthals had lawyers. And, same as today, those lawyers needed assistants. I worked for the firm Oog, Og, Urg, and Spiegelman. We specialized in cave evictions, fire rights, and libel. It was a pretty good job. I made three meat bones a week. But back then everyone worked seven days a week. We had to. After all, the average life expectancy in those days was about six weeks. No time to waste. Our firm had a good retirement plan, too. They put you on a nice big piece of ice before pushing you out onto the lake. So many companies used ice barely big enough to stand on. We always made sure our retirees had enough room to sit as they waved and disappeared into the midst. Because we cared.

Anyway, back to you and your Monday.

Did you make sure to have a healthy breakfast today? Was it awful? Don’t you hate health food? Wouldn’t you rather have an unhealthy breakfast of waffles, bacon, sausage, eggs, Frosted Flakes, beer, and a big bowl of warm lard? Me, too!

But, alas, my doctor has let me know, in no uncertain terms, that I should leave him alone.

“You don’t have insurance!” he said, swatting me away as he climbed into his car. “Go away! Stop it! I’ll call the police!”

Don’t you just always assume that when people say they’re going to call the police, they’re bluffing? Me, too! In this case, however, Dr. “Leggo my briefcase!” wasn’t.

“Could you just look at this squishy bump behind my ear?” I said to the policeman. “C’mon. It won’t take you a minute.”

Sure, when you don’t want a cop to touch you, they prod you like you’re the Pillsbury Dough Boy at a proctologists’ convention. But you have one stupid lump behind your ear you’d like them to at least rub a little, and they barely hold the top of your head while pushing you into the back of their police car.

Speaking of which, did you know the seat in the back of a cop car is solid plastic? At first I couldn’t figure out why that would be: it’s so uncomfortable to sit on! Then suddenly I understood: there’s nothing like a hard, flat surface to make your farts resonate like a machine gun.

“Jesus Christ,” said the cop as he climbed back into his car. “Did somebody die in here?”

“No,” I said as we pulled out of the parking lot. “But listen to this!”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I discovered an extremely efficacious way to get a police officer to pull over and insist you get out of his car.

Anyway, I hope your Monday is fun, healthy, productive, and doesn’t in any way involve police officers.

And maybe even has a little humor in it.

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The fundamentally toxic Christianity
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  • Note to self…never find myself in a position to test out the police car plastic seat vs. intestinal gases theory.

  • Hysterical! 🙂 Thanks.

  • theresa

    Thank you for making me giggle first thing in the morning. The day already looks better.

  • Dave McGee via Facebook


  • Thanks for sharing!

  • Rebecca

    it’s my birthday…and you gave me laughter :)))

  • I think I know what constituted your “healthy” breakfast…

    COFFEE! Lots and lots of coffee! Triple shots of expresso! And beans! Didja know that coffee’s made of beans?

  • Ha! Your column frightens and confuses me. I’m not sure what sort of devilry is behind this magic glowing box I sit at, but that’s just the way things are! That is how I think. I can’t help it. After-all, I’m but a poor partially educated law firm lackey. Lacking the full sophistication of actual law school graduates. But I’ll tell you what a DO know. What anyone with eyes can see: It’s clear you’ve been taking your gas enhancer.

    FYI this comment is brought to you by Cubic Foot of Earthworms — what you do with it is your own business.

  • Allie

    I missed Pastor Bob yesterday!

    Thanks, needed a laugh. Most of mine right now are the not-funny kind of laughs. My dad is still very much not recovering from the disorientation following his stroke; day before yesterday he explained to my husband that he was a Texas Ranger and the marks on his wrists were where he was injured fighting rustlers. However, he caught two rustlers, so, it’s all good. And then yesterday he told my mom to hurry up and find his ticket because his friends were waiting for him at the landing platform at Neptune. “The planet?” my mom asked. “Yes,” he said, as if pointing out something obvious to a small, dull child. I have to say it’s an interesting mix of emotions these conversations cause in me. On the one hand, it’s horrible and frightening, but on the other, it sure sounds fun where he is! I had no idea my very literal engineer/soldier father had such an imagination.

  • Ironically I can think of a lot of things to do with Cubic Foot of Earthworms,only some of which involved dirt.

  • n.

    Sounds like Tom Ballard. ( ) he was a regular DonQuijote… but we never see what he was like before.

  • n.

    and we know what happens to beans…

  • You might have missed the notification, but Pastor Bob is off on sabbatical for a bit.

  • Amy

    Oh my gosh, is that Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer??? I haven’t seen that in so long! I miss Phil Hartman. “Sometimes the honking horns of your traffic make me want to get out of my BMW.. and run off into the hills, or wherever.. Sometimes when I get a message on my fax machine, I wonder: ‘Did little demons get inside and type it?'”

  • Allie

    I vaguely remember that now 🙂 My brain is toast at the moment.

    N, love “Waiting for God.” I’m just hoping my dad stays in a cheerful place, as some of his real-life past experiences are pretty dark. But weirdly enough he seems to be inhabiting entirely fictional scenarios at the moment. Today he was fed up with not being allowed to leave and go home, so he decided he was in a prison in East Germany, having been captured as a spy. At one point he was in Waikiki and it was 1957, once it was a submarine off the coast of Italy during ww2, and the other day he was “40 miles outside of Woomara” at some sort of air force base. He’s very consistent for the whole day, and then the next day it just swaps and you have no idea what’s going to come next. Usually he recognizes me, sometimes he thinks I’m my sister, but he almost always recognizes my husband and he does always know my mom. My mom is coming unglued. You have to realize that two months ago the docs ran tests on this guy to compare to benchmark and see if he had any cognitive decline, and he had a 160 IQ. And now he can’t read, can barely identify flashcards, and can’t (or won’t) follow simple instructions. Plus he punched a nurse. Which I can’t help finding strangely hilarious, it’s so him. But I feel sorry for the nurses! Especially now that he’s decided he’s being held prisoner by East Germans.

    Sorry for hijacking, I have no one to vent to as everyone around is venting about this to ME. I need some friends who don’t also love my father.

  • Wow, I’m sorry. Praying for you and your family. I hope your dad comes out of it, or at least has some pleasant delusions, preferably ones that don’t lead to punching nurses.