Friday, April 22, 2005

Squeal, piggies.

RSJS writes:

How Rob Robinson’s day is going, according to Granny Herald*:

“Once again - could it get any worse - his force was embroiled in a scandal”.

“No police officers have yet been stood down from duty, pending disciplinary and criminal investigations, but Mr Robinson said yesterday that some might need to consider whether they should stay.”“Mr Robinson said some of the emails had been sent to police from external sources, and criminal inquiries might be extended to other agencies”

“They were glum, disbelieving, eyes cast down, saying nothing as they waited for Mr Robinson and his assistant commissioners to arrive. Standing behind a lectern, he tried to be positive. The police had found the problem, as part of an internal review of police culture, and they were dealing with it. There would be no shirking of individual accountability, and no excuses. The behaviour of those who spread the pornography was abhorrent and some might face charges”

People are bringing out the big guns from their pocket thesauruses to hammer a few coppers having some smut on their PCs. Depending which page you turn to on the Herald, this porn is either videos taking up 20% of the police storage capacity (defined as what we don’t know, but by the sound of things the 10 thousand-odd flatfeet have smaller hard drives than my cellphone) or 5000 images across their vast blue-sparking Robocop system. 200-plus officers are implicated, painted red as sin and in the dock awaiting the Bitchsmeller pursuivant . You know what, in the 3 days I’ve had my iPod its collected over 7000 pornographic images. Digitised filth clings to every computer on the damned planet like toilet-paper to a foreskin, and in the age of smut-spam we sometimes don’t even solicit said gape-flap goodness… This is why after hammering the Pope’s ring and (if you believe the fringe media high on mushrooms and jonesing for a spot of mockery) tapped his egg head with a silver hammer to make sure the gooey caramel centre had finally dribbled into his cassock, they burned his laptop and had altar boys eat the ashes. Now whatever grotty art photography John Paul Ringo George had is filtering through the digestive tracts of angelic wee lambs and will probably end up on Ratzinger’s wrinkled cock. But that is a story for another time.

The point is, people are getting very excite about the copper-top Playboy fun. One dire statement read:

“They were messages opened, stored and sent on for others to look at - more than once. They were of explicit sex acts, and showed genitalia”

I would like to see pornography that lacked nuts and guts myself, maybe some of that spinning-eye of balloon-rubbing stuff. But our boys in blue are a simple lot and presumably like a bit of gash-gazing after a hard night’s graft. Ooer missus, and even a shot of bestiality – I’m guessing dogsex, or maybe a horse? Or even the infamous arse-eels…

The point is, the plod have thus far this year been hammered for photographs of officers in balaclavas, for driving Herr Prime Minister up the country, and for not replying to 111 calls. Too busy looking at porn, ho ho, says the radio this morning. The rock FM, I think. I don’t know, some unfunny satin-jacket clowns I use to motivate me to wake up and get the fuck away from my alarm clock.

So on one hand, we have the minutiae of police life raked over the coals, snapshots of computer systems to troll through all CSI and forensically in search of boobies (hooray!), calculations on whether they’d have to hit 88 miles per hour and travel back in time to get the Big Boss Lady to a rugger bugger match, presumably rummaging through sock-encrusted lockers to find dumb-arse Polaroids of peelers in beanies, and every single thing that is found becomes a NATIONAL SCANDAL and the chief of police must APOLOGISE and the government HARRUMPHS and the public wring their hands and wail like stabbed virgins with SHIVS IN THEIR SPINES and rattle their jewellery in the front rows and are aghast, aghast I say at the deplorable acts of these officers. Said hand-wringers I imagine also lick their dogs and shoot chickens in the eye with bleach-filled Super Soakers as Janola’s cheaper than Viagra to get that much-needed wife-beating wood up. And doubtless cheat on their taxes when they’re not writing letters to the editor. And I’m betting a lot of them wonder why their children look more like Manu the Milkman than their pasty-white father. Fucksticks.

Ironically these point-scoring arse-investigating brown-finger-waving Dudley Do-rights, backed by the more anarchic of the media who didn’t like Officer Friendly’s truncheon tricks at CHOGM when they were doing sociology degrees and those stoned politicos waking and baking and trying to change the world so they can toke deeply from their human-skull bong without fear of cavity searches, have another axe to grind.

This is he response-time axe.

For police are like some kind of uniformed orgasm to these people. Perfect at the right moment, but bloody annoying when you’re trying to park your car on yellow lines, or steal a candy bar discretely. Imagine Timmy the Example-boy swiping a Starburst lollipop, grape if he’s smart, and just as he reaches the dairy door WHAM, Officer Cavitysearch appears before him and declares him nicked. Or, same scenario, Timmy at the door and with a shudder and a gasp he’s blissfully coating the inside of his briefs with sticky wallpaper paste and thinking idly about stealing cigarettes. He then curls up and has a flatulent nap while the store-owner beats him for shoplifting and leaking semen on his chequered floor right beside the rack of potato chips. The filthy monkey.

And while for the most part people don’t like the idea of hitting 140kph in their car and shooting a load of spunk into their slacks (okay, some do do that for fun but they’re sick boy-racers in need of a severe head-slappy, little grease-skinned wannabe 2 Fat 2 Furious zombies in love with N2O and man-cock) we love the idea of Constable Jim clapping the handcuffs on some dastardly wallet-swiping villain in a stripey shirt and wee domino mask. Hell, that’s a perfect time for a sigh and a cigarette, n’est-ce pas? Police can be great stress relievers…

But they don’t, like so many of my ex-partners, come on cue. The infamous Piha pretty-girl case with the POSSIBLY NAKED (God the press loved that fact) girly roaming the wilds of Piha before vanishing like Kaiser Sose. Or the families who live atop wind-swept mountains and wonder why the police don’t helicopter in to pat their hands and make them tea. And today, sandwiched between the PORN HORROR SCANDAL SHOCK MINGE POLICE TRUNCHEON SALAMI XXX debacle (which looks like the last Mpeg I dragged off eDonkey, and sadly had too many balloons, not enough genitalia) articles, was a tale of some poor hick in Northland who the police asked for assistance due to them having no manpower in the region.

Said cuntknuckle claimed:

"I didn't want to look like I was knocking the police. "It's a resourcing issue. Policing has to change and that's a management issue." Mr Russell said he had lost about $500,000 worth of stock and property through crime. The Government needed to address rural policing”

Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear. Resourcing, eh? Does oo need a bit of resourcing? Awwwwww…. For the love of the Virgin Mary’s unsullied-but-most-likely-poorly-groomed minge people, who the FUCK is going to join the police force under this regime of PC bullshit and daily carrot-nosed duck-weighing nut-juggling witch hunts? I haven’t got the Tiger-Woods balls to join up, and nowadays anyone thinking of the force will be labelled a misogynistic porn-addicted slacker in an IRA balaclava before they even reach basic training. Why would anyone want the hassle? And if they make it through to join the ranks, they know they’ll be reviled by the same pathetic pernickety grubbers who shuttle between bemoaning these devilish porn-mongers and howling like air-raid banshees when their Volvo is dinged by parties unknown and no-one gets the chair.

We are vilifying our police on the same pages we whinge that there aren’t enough of them. What next, complaining about the ever-broadening legions of crack-brained criminals while also bemoaning their lack as prison warders are being laid off? Waging a media war on the bogeyman of Pee while lamenting its absence when you need to finish an article by the paper’s deadline?

The only thing I wonder is: Is this deliberate? Is it politically-sponsored to engender a complete collapse of our policing system to allow sweeping changes? Or is it corporate, with the intent of ushering in rentacops to replace the government’s toy soldiers, bringing in Coke-sponsored street soldiers gunning for Pepsi drinkers and P Heads with equal vigour and answering to nothing but the mighty dollar? Why the hell is this happening? What utopia do we think we are creating, or is no-one looking past the glee of watching a grand old institution fall apart under the weight of the slings and arrows of those too cowardly to put their arses on the line? HOW DARE you scrutticks make me side with a bunch of Maglite-wielding knobgobblers with blue tits on their heads? You can tell that I hold society in low regard when I’m on the side of the thin blue whine…

God I hate you people. I’m going to go off and hug a detective. Nyah.

*All quotes taken from the NZ Herald website 22/4/05.

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