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Saturday, April 30, 2015

1645    While passing through Cordova Road I was frantically flagged down by a female subject who resides in the area. She was claiming two W/M juveniles had just fled from her front yard, one of which had stolen a skateboard valued at $150. The female victim pointed out the two subjects to me and I observed them scurrying N/B at a high rate of speed on Cordova Road towards SE 12 Street. 

 

I was able to apprehend the first of the two 14 year old bandits almost immediately.  Visibly trembling and profusely sweating, he was more than happy to tell me the name of his friend, his address, his age and anything else I asked of him.  I believe he would have told me where I could find Jimmy Hoffa, exposed the Colonel’s Secret Recipe or identified the composition of the meat substitute found in a Hot Pocket had he known. 

 

He also confessed the sins of his partner as the one who stole the skateboard from the victim’s front yard.  He added that he told him not to do it but his criminal counterpart simply did not listen; as of I would be granting him amnesty due to his alleged attempt to be the voice of reason. You’re right I was not overly impressed as too was fleeing the crime scene at the time of his capture.

 

I later apprehended the second subject hiding in the old dirt alley way off of SE 13 Terrace by the lake.  The priceless look on his face indicated he was clearly very disappointed at my discovery of his whereabouts.  I called out to “Edward Sticky Hands” to exit his camouflaged hideout now clearly suffering from an extreme case of sudden amnesia and attempting to present a sincere question to me as to why I could possibly want to talk to him. 

 

I rebuked his pitiful defense of selective forgetfulness, advising he should start remembering details soon or he would be wearing the most fashionable police jewelry he could imagine.  I felt as if I were a miracle worker/faith healer, as I removed my handcuffs from their case; this lad was suddenly healed of all his cerebral inefficiencies.  He began to spew his confession so rapidly it was as if he had been struck by lightening bolts of clarity and cooperation   Behold the power of positive perceptual thinking!!! 

The stolen skateboard was recovered carefully hidden amongst the foliage and later positively identified by the victim; who incidentally preferred not to prosecute these “Lads of Larceny” for their transgressions.  The juvenile offenders were transported by assisting patrol officers to their residences where their parents were presented with the circumstances surrounding the misfortune and poor decision making abilities of their children. 

 

Monday, July 7, 2014

1715 -
Big trash day is here once again, 
Hunting for treasures is a surefire win.
You never know what you may get, 
A rug, a shelf or a TV set.
 
Toys, furniture and tires are nice,
Believe me man you can’t beat the price.
Seek and find to your hearts content, 
Score a garden rake though slightly bent.
 
Hunt though trash bins and the like; 
You may even find an old mountain bike.
All day long they hunt for big prizes,
In anticipation their blood pressure rises.
 
The searches can yield a lot or a little,
One time all that was found was stale peanut brittle.
They come from near and they come from far, 
And load your trash into their overstuffed car.
 
Until next time when they all come to pillage, 
Big trash day in our little village.


 

Monday, March 10, 2014

 

1600    My keen observations skills tell me we are at the eve of the ever popular bulk trash pick up day. The curbside treasure chests are once again overflowing as they are pirated by the usual suspects.  The expression of mirth and merriment on the faces of these American Pickers rivals that of a child on Christmas morning.

 

 

            ‘Twas the night before big pick up and all through the hood,

             Every Scavenger was pillaging and rooting, seeking “the good”.

             Trash cans and bins were placed to the street with great care,

             Knowing assuredly tomorrow none would still be there.

 

            While my neighbors were inside all resting their heads,

            Trash Hunters were filling their cars, wagons and truck beds.

            Momma and I had just settled down to watch a late movie,

            Having cleaned out the garage today this seemed quite groovy.

            When out on the lawn there rose such a clatter,

 

            It had to be those pesky junk pickers but it didn’t matter.

            I ran to the window, threw open the hurricane shutters,

            My curb was now clear; it appears my trash melted like butter.

            Having taken the loot they were on to their next stop,

            Plundering all they could from a television to old mops.

            Away they drove, tail lights disappearing from sight,

            They shouted Happy Trash Day to all and to all a good night.

 

                                                                     With my deepest apologies to Clement Clarke Moore