the great adventures of a fallen star part iiiii

pig (pg)
n.

1. 
   
1. Any of several mammals of the family Suidae, having short legs, cloven hooves, bristly hair, and a cartilaginous snout used for digging, especially the domesticated hog, Sus scrofa domesticus, when young or of comparatively small size.
2. The edible parts of one of these mammals.
2. Informal. A person regarded as being piglike, greedy, or gross.
3. 
   
1. A crude block of metal, chiefly iron or lead, poured from a smelting furnace.
2. A mold in which such metal is cast.
3. Pig iron.
4. Offensive Slang. Used as a disparaging term for a police officer.
5. Slang. A member of the social or political establishment, especially one holding sexist or racist views.

Red white and blue. Dead in the middle of winter, cold enough that one’s breath is not only visual but frozen. I was coming out of a local McDonald’s, after only eating a fish filet. I started walking towards my car, when I saw a cop. I froze like my brain when I am drinking a slurpee too fast. Ouch. The cop, still in his car, gave me a long, cold hard stare. Not carrying my license on me, I walked past my car, knowing in fact he would pull me over. I had my hands in my pockets to fight the bitter cold. Ignoring the pig, I casually walked past my car and towards the shopping center. Call it intuition, call it the sixth sense, call it raw animal instinct, call it what you want, but I knew that I was in for some trouble.

I was in need of a deck of cards, and determined to buy one. Red white and blue. The bright flashes of sirens are now blinding me. I needed that deck without it I felt powerless; so, I kept walking. The officer jumped out of vehicle and yelled “freeze.” Knowing, in fact, he was talking to me, I kept walking. Now, he jumped in front of me, standing as barrier between me and my deck of cards. “I’m talking to you!” Damn. Meow. I told the officer, “I didn’t kno u were talkin 2 me. I thought u were talking 2 her.” I pointed at an old lady with a cane that reminded me of a grandma.

Let the fun begin.

As a child growing up, I always wanted to be a cop. Honor, glory, a shiny badge, a dark uniform, saving lives and best of all, a gun. I always thought cops were fun, from Axel Foley to Police Academy. I allow television to shape my view on almost every aspect of life. Lo and behold, my perception of cops along with everything else, as always, was wrong.

“What are you doing?”

“Walkin.”

“Where are you going?”

“2 the pharmacy.”

“To buy drugs?”

This cop, I mean pig, somehow felt I committed a crime. He interrogated me for ten minutes straight for whatever reason he had. Cops abuse the precious law that they uphold, enforce and protect. They become power hungry and eventually obese with the amount of power they possess. This is not my first incident with a pig, not even my second. Each incident provides a greater hatred for these public servants.

The pig asked me for my identification. As usual, I did not have it. He got my name and address, and then radioed to confirm it.

“Do you smoke?”

“No.”

“Can I search you?”

“No.”

“Do you have something to hide?”

“No.”

“Then why do you have your hands in your pocket?”

“Cuz it’s cold.”

“Stop getting smart.”

Cops are like dentists. They ask the most ridiculous questions at the most inopportune time. The pig somehow implied that he would not leave me alone until I was searched. I refused at least a half dozen times. How retarded does a person need to be to ask, “Why do you have your hands in your pocket.” Especially, since it was the coldest day of the year.

At this time the relentless pig has gotten me flustered. The hardheaded civil servant was now reminiscent of a nagging mother asking her child for their report card. By his implications, the pig insinuated that I would be free from his grasp if I was searched. So, I let him search me. I took off my jacket and handed it to him.

“What are you doing? Put your jacket back on!”

I did what I was told.

“Put your hands on top of the vehicle.”

I did what I was told.

At this point I felt not only helpless but like a common criminal. He patted me down; first, checking my sweat pants and then my heavy jacket. My cousin, Hassan, would have loved this. I kept a watchful eye on the cop, making sure he was not putting anything that would incriminate me in my pockets or even seizing the twenty dollar bill I had. After a throrough anal cavity- type search, the cop reaches into my packet and finds…

“What the hell is this?!”

“What?” I innocently inquired.

“This?!”

“Gum wrapper.”

“Gum wrappers?” the pig repeated

“I don’t believe in litterin.”

“There are trash cans everywhere.” He said while pointing at a trash can.

“I was on my way there, until u stopped me.” I said with a hint of sarcasm.

Sometimes I never know when to shut up. I keep talking and ranting on and on. I doubt people even pay attention to what I say. Half the time I say nothing of importance. The other half, is when I talk out of my butt. And, let the record show that talking out of one’s butt is never beneficial. The pig was not humored by my comments and proceeded to call for back up.

The back up cop was even worse. Nothing like a normal pig, his resemblance was that of a wild boar. Disgusting. Since boars don’t have any sweat glands, they must wallow in the mud to cool off. That explains the nasty smell. Wallowing may also help get rid of fleas and ticks. During the rest of the year, boars eat roots, grass, fruits, mushrooms, bugs, eggs, and even dead animals. I think they tend to eat their own feces. Boars have tough noses, or snouts, which help them dig. They have an excellent sense of smell and can sniff out underground foods. Their eyesight is not very good, but they hear very well. In other words, he was no different then the rest of his primitive species.

Once he arrived the two pigs had a dialogue.

“Oink oink oink. Oink.”

“Oink?”

“Oink. Oink, oink oink oink. Oink”

“Oink, oink, oink”

I am not fluent in pig, but after being pulled over at least a dozen time and a few other altercations with cops; I have been able to pick a few things up.

Translation:

“This is kid I told you about.”

“I’m hungry.”

“He’s the one getting smart.”

“Do you have a donut?”

“Oink”

Now this cop came at me with a different approach. He must have wanted to be a psychologist and obviously failed. He came at me trying to be my friend. As if being my friend, I would answer all his stupid and pointless questions. I don’t even know the answers for pointful questions. What makes him think I can answer all that?

“Hey, if you don’t smoke, then do you have friends who smoke?” He asked convincingly

“No.” I answered.

“C’mon now, u can tell me, buddy,” he said convincingly.

I seriously started to ponder about his question. Maybe, if I dealt with this situation with the most adult like manner then my little pig problem would just disappear. So, I started thinking, then recollecting. Hmmmmmmmmm. Well, to my knowledge, I do not have any friends who do drugs and only a few who actually smoke cigarettes. My answer would have to be a resounding “no.”

“Liar!” The pig exclaimed, “Your eyes rolled to the left; classic sign of lying.”

Oh my lord. Cops are retarded. This incident truly answered my question if cops have to take an intelligence test to get a badge. Any idiot can be a cop. If their brains were J-ello it wouldn’t jiggle. Basically, this cop watches too much CSI. He figured out suburban life is not that exciting so divulges in primetime television to escape from reality and creates a fantasy where he plays a Dennis Franz type bad boy type character. The world has become a cesspool infested with parasites who have become deluded by cable television and TV land reruns of CHiPs.

Now, for one second, you (the reader) think of the last time you or someone you know smoked? Think, long and hard. You got your answer? LIAR! Your eyes rolled to your left. You can’t pull a fast one on me.

The cops finally promised to let me free, but under one condition. Their condition was to have my picture taken. If I refused he would have taken me to the station and have my picture taken there, all because I failed to present any identification. I think it is for some convict dating service the sate of Maryland is trying prescribe for all those murders and rapists who are getting out of jail. The first picture he took, I blinked. The second picture, I looked pretty damn gangsta, if I don’t say so myself. After taking my picture, making me feel like a criminal, wasting my time and harassing me they let me free. Before they let me go. The pig shouted barbarically, “thank you for wasting my time.”

Walking towards my car, a kid approached me. He was about 18 or 19, and witnessed the whole scene. He sympathized my ordeal and I thanked him for kindliness. Thereafter, he cordially offered me some “green.” Word.