I have decided to periodically post stories that I find from the Onion, to be just fabulous. Here is the first...
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How are you this evening, ladies? My name's Officer Randy. I'm a hard-bodied beat cop and I'm looking for Elizabeth Bender, please. Ms. Bender? I understand you're getting married tomorrow, but tonight you're in big trouble, ma'am. You see, we've been receiving calls from neighbors that you ladies are getting a little too rowdy in here, so HQ sent me over to take care of you. And that's exactly what I'm about to do.
Just as soon as we go over some of the local ordinances regarding noise levels.
As you may or may not be aware, Middlesex County and the state of New Jersey prohibit any loud disturbance in a residential area between the hours of 10 p.m. and 7 a.m. on weekdays and from 10 p.m. to 9 a.m. on weekends. Not to mention, you're living in an apartment building, and I'm sure your landlord has his own similar set of rules regarding noise. So I'm going to have to ask you to restrict your voices to a more reasonable volume for the remainder of the evening.
If you choose not to comply with these orders, Officer Apollo and I might just have to lock you up in our fuzzy handcuffs, frisk you, and take you all the way downtown.
You may also be subject to fines of no more than $175.
Ma'am, please put your money away—you can't pay the fine here. You have to go down to the main precinct. You can pay in all singles, but it's much easier just to write them a check. That way you'll have a copy for your records.
Ma'am, please—I hope you're not attempting to place bills in the waistband of my regulation hot pants. Bribing an officer is a felony, even if you do it with your teeth. So I suggest you sit down, or else I'll have no choice but to take out my big, hard nightstick. And I would really prefer not to, because it's actually quite difficult to get it back into the holster.
Now, Ms. Bender, before we continue, you're going to have to prove to me that you're the woman you say you are. And I am required to inform you that lying to a police officer is a serious crime, one for which I would be forced to punish you to the fullest extent of the law. So ma'am, I'm going to need to see some ID. A driver's license or some form of state-issued identification. Do you need to get your purse? I can wait.
Hey, is that the song "It's Raining Men"? I should warn you: Whenever this song comes on, I am legally bound to remove my shirt, lather my pecs in baby oil, and thrust my crotch along to the beat. In fact, right now I could tear off these breakaway pants, and gyrate my hips so you can witness the full glory of my bouncing package. If I didn't have all this paperwork to fill out.
So please change the track and turn the stereo down so the heavy bass line doesn't wake the whole neighborhood. I appreciate it. The sooner that's done, the sooner I can get out of your hair, and you ladies can proceed with your party without some pesky police officer with a bronzed chest and a leopard-print G-string getting in your way.
Miss? Please step down from the table, miss. How much have you ladies had to drink tonight? Alcohol can cloud your judgment and lower your inhibitions, you know. Maybe I should make the bride-to-be come over here and blow in my big Breathalyzer. Would you ladies like that? It's bulging in my pocket right now. Uh-oh! Which one of you naughty girls wants to reach in and pull it out?
Thanks. Now, here's how it works: You blow into the front end for two to three seconds, and then your blood-alcohol content appears on this screen a few moments later. In your case, it reads .07, which is below the legal limit for operating motor vehicles, so you're off the hook. Ladies, please pass this around.
So, once again, I ask you to discontinue the music for the remainder of the night, and put away those penis-shaped noisemakers until sometime after 9 a.m., so I don't have to make a trip out here again. I'll let you off with a warning this time, but in the future I ask that you respect your neighbors and limit all noise pursuant to the New Jersey State Noise Control Act of 1971.
Now—who wants to see me take off my pants?
