Camping With The Boys

This last weekend was my weekend with the boys. I decided to take a trip out to Thomas Mitchell Park, a little ways outside the Des Moines Metro area. One of my best friends and his wife were completing moving into my building and cleaning up their old place, so I took along their son, one of my pseudo-nephews. It started off as a nice little day trip, to get the boys out of the apartment and out of the city into nature for a few hours.

Josh and Buggy love this kind of stuff, where they get to run around freely without worries of traffic, and do whatever comes to their imaginations. My nephew on the other hand, was mostly confined to the city, and not exposed much to the more natural world. At first he was scared to leave the adult company too far behind while we went along one of the walking trails. It took awhile but soon he found himself confident and comfortable enough to keep up with my boys, playing in the creek and building a rock dam across the waterway along with some other kids who were out there.

At this point in my writing I find myself frustrated. Some of what I intended to write here would make more sense or have some context of hilarity with accompanying pictures. However either my computer or blogger is being stupid and uploading photos seems to be an impossibility. I'm a bit on the special side and need (more than just prefer) visual aids to go along with my writing. Kind of like a kindergartner, I like illustrations to go with the story, whether I'm reading it or being read to.

Anyways, after walking the trails, we came upon the creek that runs through the park, and across the creek is the campgrounds. Kids were in the creek playing, building a dam of rocks across the stream. It took no time or encouragement for my kids to strip their shoes and socks off and join in on the engineering project. My nephew was a little hesitant, and soon came out of the creek saying it was too slippery in the creek bed for his liking. After some coaxing, he went back in and soon found it pleasing to have the sand and mud and rocks under his feet in the water. He and Buggy also discovered natural clay. It didn't take long to have their hands covered in the stuff as they grabbed it up out of the water squished it through their fingers! Josh seemed quite at home moving rocks with the other kids from one part of the creek to the new dam they were building. Although he found that being the biggest kid there (he's 12 years old, almost as tall as me, and wears men's 9 1/2 shoes), he got volunteered to grab some of the bigger rocks to lug over to what would be the rocks new home along with the others that helped block up the waterway. Or rather, created a very short shallow set of rapids as the water rushed in between and over some of the rocks.

After a few hours of romping around in the creek, we headed back to the city, bringing my nephew back home, and had decided, thanks in part to a family friend I had with me, that we would return to the park and camp out over night.

We stopped at the grocery store to pick up some food supplies, and grabbed sleeping bags, blankets, and clothes from home to take with us. Being the manly man that I am, I opted to do the sleeping under the stars version of camping. We're no sissies! We don't need no stinking tents!

I bought some firewood from the camp hosts. (apparently, they pay people to camp out at these parks, and assist the visitors... what a job to have!) They delivered it, and the man asked if we were just sleeping on the ground and no tent. I let him know that yes, in fact we were. He made some reference to me having had to be military in the past. Also true. And they went on their way leaving us to cook our hot dogs and smores over the campfire. Sometime after it got dark, the local park cop, the DNR's version of a rentacop (even the government can't hold such a high standard of rentacoppin like the private industry- and mainly me- can), comes by and asks where our tent is. I inform him of our non-sissy standards, and he informs me that "we don't really permit sleeping under the stars."

REALLY? It's friggin Iowa. It's not like I have to worry about venomous ducks wandering through, or wild dingos coming to eat my children. In which case, a measly tent isn't going to stop either. There is absolutely no rain in the forecast. I paid the $13 for the night's stay. Who cares if I sleep in a sleeping bag only, or inside a sleeping bag located inside a tent? Apparently the county park authorities do. I'm not really sure why, but at after 9pm, I don't see it wise to have a pissing match with the park cop and getting us all kicked out. I would've satisfied my ego having stood up to the park cop, but disappointed the kids when we got banned for life or something. So it didn't really seem worth the hassle.

I decided to drive into town to grab my friend's tent. It is freaking huge and has a lot of parts. Putting that thing together in the dark was not my idea of fun. So on the way, I detoured to Walmart and bought a $60 tent that was big enough to serve our needs, gives me a tent of my own, and best of all, easy to assemble. Even in the dark it was no more than 10 minutes from opening the kit to having the ten up and ready to go.

In the midst of the night, a raccoon invaded our campsite. I was sitting on the picnic table bench with my friend watching the fire when we hear somnething. We both thought I had knocked over my Pepsi. As I shifted, out skitters a raccoon from under the table. The raccoon and I eyeballed each other from a distance of about 5 feet, both quite surprised to see each other. I guess I sat by the fire so still he wandered in not noticing me, and me not noticing him.

Once I get a fire going, I can sit there for hours just watching it. When I go visit my parents, Dad and I can do that in his backyard, and just lose all track of time. And so, here I was doing that very same thing as my boys slept in their new tent. Eventually I let the fire die down and retired to go to sleep.

The next morning was a slow start, but plenty early as most camping trips I always wake up way early for some reason. Josh wandered off to play some basketball with a couple kids he met there, and is now friends with, as they too live in Des Moines. Later on, my two boys and this brother and sister went exploring as much of the trail and the creek as possible. They managed to catch frogs and minnows with their bare hands, and generally just ran around like kids. I spent a little bit of time in the creek, but kept to the dry areas, never removing my socks and shoes. I got to see some frogs and tadpoles, some butterflies and moths...and of course spy on the kids a bit as they waded up and down the creek doing their thing.

As I mentioned, Josh is 12. He isn't quite tot he point of liking girls yet. Although at one point as they all waded through the creek in their swimsuits, I noticed the 13 year old sister and he close together a few times, but as soon as he noticed he was being seen, he made definite separation. Subconciously he likes her, it just hasnt made it to the part of his brain where he actually realizes it yet. As the Mook, I would've teased him for it. However as his father, I left it alone.

This last week I recieve multiple missed calls from strange numbers. On Wednesday I actually answered a call (I almost never answer numbers I dont recognize). It was the 11 year old boy calling to hang out. So I went to pick the boy up, and upon further discovery I found out the other strange but close phone number was his sister... the girl in the story. MULTIPLE missed calls.... I see Josh using his friend to get to the sister some years from now. Kids! sheesh.

Anyways, back to the campsite. At one point, Bug was enjoying himself and was up near me. He made the comment that he wished he lived there. He has said this before about spots where he's had woods to run through and a creek to play in, so it didn't surprise me much. He's only 7 1/2 years old, and as long as he has a fun spot to play in like this, he's more than content, and wouldn't ever miss the conveniences of the city. Personally I don't blame him, but the city is where we live. But it was definitely a fun time getting out in the "sticks" with the boys to run around in more than just a city park. And of course, not having to worry about crossing heavy traffic to go from one place to the next is always nice.

All in all, it was a great time. We already have another trip lined up for our next weekend together.

Terrorists Return!

Stupid bats! They set off an alarm at the Hoyt Sherman for the 2nd shift guy, then an hour later, they did it again, so I, along with supervisor Casey spent the first hour of my shift in that place chasing 1 bat, then 2...

They out flew our artillery, consisting of orange cones and a phone book. They took full advantage of the wide open air in the theater. Eventually they exhausted us and our timeline to be able to complete our other duties for the evening. We had to set the perimeter alarms to avoid being called back and wasting more time. We really should be allowed to use automatic firearms indoors. More accurate at a distance,and easier to propel the bullets than big ass cones and a floppy phonebook!

After an hour of being teased and dive-bombed, we had had enough for the evening. Maybe another night we'll get our shot at eliminating them before they decide to steal the limelight during one of the plays that are put on there.

Bats Attack!!!!

Well, as the single digit temps descended over Iowa, the bat problem is striking again. And again, it is the terrorists' favorite target, the Hoyt Sherman Place. This old mansion seems to be a clearinghouse of nooks and crannies for bats to hide out. And every now and then, they take a few flights in front of the motion detectors, which means I get called to go see what the hell is going on. As usual, I call up my supervisor and make him go there with me. The place is too creepy at night to not have someone there to hold your hand.

This time, we get there, I turn off the alarm system, and no sooner than I hit the lights in the lobby area, the winged terrorist comes flying at us, unleashing the possibility of a rabies-laden attack upon the Mookist general, and his compadre. It's time to go to work eliminating these terrorist sumbitches. Last night,, we were armed with the most primitive of weaponry, the dreaded orange cones (think traffic cones). We finally convinced this monstrous and EFFING HUGE bat to roost in his normal terrorist-trained upside down position at the top of a door across the room. I wheeled around to the left with my cone and my GI Joe-like ninja skills avoiding the bats detection, while my supervisor Casey held the middle ground to the entry vestibule in check. A quick toss, and BAT DOWN, BAT DOWN!!! We placed the cone over him, and I moved to go write up the alarm response sheet at a nearby desk. The bat was sliding underneath the cone towards the door he had previously hung from, trying to escape underneath the locked door that I did not possess a key for. WE stopped him as he was 3/4 of the way through in his backstroke maneuver to freedom. The next step was to fully retrieve the little rat faced bastard from underneath the door. Ever cautious of possible rabies infections from bites or scratches, we searched for something to get a grip on the terrorist and bring him back into the light and under our guard. (The next moment gets a bit gruesome, so weak stomached people stop reading here, and go to your happy place.)

Casey did NOT hand me his pocketknife, and I did NOT use it to stab the winged terrorist in a pinning hold to drag him out. Right after we did NOT do those things, I hear Casey yell out some unsavory words, and mentioned something about another bat. Apparently our NOT piercing the first terrorists skin did NOT release pheromones and a rescue signal to his terrorist partner, who then began to dive bomb us all over the lobby. We placed a nicely weighted bucket over Bat #1, grabbed our cones, and proceeded to go after the 2nd insurgent. After a few strafing runs, the 2nd bat went up the stairwell to the main theater entry hall, strafed us a couple more times, then went up another level, where we lost him in the dark.

We were both disappointed in that result. 1- We enjoy the bat calls, as they are one of the most exciting, and scary moments on the job. 2- We don't necessarily want to be called back if another bat sets off the alarm system, which takes time away from our other duties. And 3- Losing a live terrorist only serves to degradate our reputation as elite rentacops turned combat commandos.

Surely we will be back again, as these winged marauders will start trouble again, trying to dissuade us of our nightly missions, and cause us to give up and go home, allowing the terrorists to claim victory over rentacops and more notably, the Mookist forces. WE will never EVER give in to these terrorists if it takes our entire lifetime to rid our alarm response accounts of these rabies-harboring little (and sometimes not so little) rat-faced bastards. WE intend to NOT kill them all, because killing them would be considered illegal, depending on the species anyways, and I'm no bat-ologist (yes this is a technical term meaning studier of bats), so I can't tell which ones are fair game or not. All I'm saying is if they just happen to have sudden cardiac arrest at the exact moment they tangle with us, well, that's either God or Darwin speaking.

Rent-A-Cop of the Year Award

Well, it's that time again... time for you to nominate yourself or someone else for Rent-A-Cop of the Year 2010!

Just send a photo -preferably a cheesily posed one- along with your name, rentacop company name, (or whatever company you work for- you dont have to be an actual rentacop, just participated in something or another that made things safer), and brief description of why you should be 2010s Rent-A-Cop of the Year. You can list out your accomplishments, a good funny story, or whatever you want to submit. While we do allow serious embellishments on any of these, they have to be true events. Kind of like how someone writes up their resume for the job hunt.

Unlike most years, I think this year we have a prize for the winner, besides a mention here on this page. A real tangible (that means you can see it and touch it...smelling or licking it might be taking things a bit far) prize just for the eventual winner.

Send all info to my email: mookie369@yahoo.com
be sure to put rentacop2010 in the subject line...and dont forget to send your goofy ass picture

ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT!!

Sunday nights are always the longest (a 12 hour shift instead of an 8) and the slowest as well. So often I am left with plenty of time to get everything done and have some time to kill. However, someone else in the area decided to use their time to kill me!!!

The attempt appeared to most to be random, but after consulting my security counsel, headed by the esteemed Colonel Beauregard Sterling Lovell, it has been determined that this was in fact a very real and present danger aimed at destroying the last hope of the free world by eliminating the head of the Mookist Regime (That'd be me, people, pay attention!).

Of course the attack on me was only another plot in a series of recent events designed to take down the Mookist Regime. First, the fleas were sent in to bring down the Colonel. However, having been on post, I was able to douse, soap, scrub, and re-douse the feline. The Colonel was not happy, and didn't come around me for almost 24 hours for fear of getting it again. I have, over the years of his pitiful life, become almost violently and deadly efficient with my flea bath tactics. Instead of a long drawn out regurgitation of the War On Pests, this battle lasted a matter of minutes before the flea army was vanquished in one fell swoop, and about 25 gallons of water. Not one scout flea has been seen since the initial discovery of the insurgent bastards. Mookist Regime: 1, Enemies: 0

Then last night, at almost the stroke of midnight, a bigger, much more determined enemy decided to take their crack at the Mook, this time in human form. Clearly they knew that I am bulletproof with my soft gelatinous outer crust, and opted not to spray me down in a drive by, or hit me with a rooftop sniper. Nope, they did it the way they like to take out freedom loving Mookamaniacs the world around: Improvised explosive devices, or IED's for short. Most of you have heard of these deadly devices throughout the news as al-Qaeda has been known to use them all over the place to take out American soldiers in their various combat zones.

Well, my friends, it's clear that al-Qaeda has decided to step up their attacks, not overseas, but right here at home, in the good old U.S. of A.

That's right, despite what the White house or the Pentagon may or may not tell you, al-Qaeda has sent operatives right here to the Heartland! They may try to spin this off as just some random act perpetrated by pranksters, or some right-wing nutcase riled up by the likes of Rush, Hannity or Glenn Beck himself, or maybe just some poor soul who lost their house to the evil banks, but I assure you, after much research and maybe some enhanced interrogation techniques (but don't hold us to that, we will deny, deny deny!), that this was an orchestrated attack, hours, maybe even DAYS into the planning stages before they decided to unleash their evil plot.

Clearly they had infiltrated the Rentacop Headquarters, and gotten hold of the scheduling. They saw that I would be working, and that Supervisor Stew would be on duty. Once the suspicious device had been seen being delivered, it would be reported to Supervisor Stew. And Stew, always trusting in the Mook, would call me up to get me involved in the situation. One of the oldest tricks in a terrorists playbook: The Lure. You see, they purposely are seen dropping a package off, in an effort to bring in the command forces (like Stew) and any super duper tactical specialists (like myself). Usually the tactical specialist would go in for a close look and KABOOM, nothing but specialist krispies going snap crackle and pop in a smoldering mess of blood and guts. However, since I'm a SUPER DUPER (that's a technical designation) tactical specialist, I'm not easily fooled like that. Nope, instead we did the smart responsible thing and called in the local authorities bomb squad. It was either that or get into a big hissy fit over who had ultimate authority (clearly me), and that would've just made things a lot more difficult, and of course we're all about action around here. So anyways, the local authorities brings in the big fat bomb squad truck, also known as Natasha. Due to the damp conditions, they did not bring out the cool remote controlled robot, also known as Frank. So, one of the bomb techs suited up in the big EOD blast suit. If you haven't seen the movie The Hurt Locker you may not know what I'm talking about. But basically it turns you into some kind of martian looking guy, only way more bad ass. He has to walk in the x-ray equipment, to get an idea of what is in this small box we have discovered. After getting the pic and taking the equipment back to the truck, they are able to determine that there is "something" in the box, but not likely to be explosive. So the both of them take the long walk back to the box. Just as Tech 1 reaches the box to probe the edge, Tech 2 holds a cover position about 25 yards back. Tech 1 removes the paper cover (adorned with the word surprise,only with letter written backwards on it), and then proceeds to lift the box top off. Then it happened...


No one else saw it, but banana shaped missiles came flying out, under the cover of stealth cloak directly towards me. If I hadn't knelt down to light up my cigarette, I surely would've been decapitated. Luckily for the bomb techs it was rigged to go in one precise trajectory instead of full spread, or they would've been dead before they knew what they had found.

What they found instead was really weird. A couple banana peels, rubber banded together, with some crumpled paper inside them and a pen inserted thru the middle. Definitely something done on purpose and not just some random throwing trash out the window, thats for sure. I'm beginning to think al-qaeda must have some issues descrambling their Netflix account to get the MacGuyver episodes to play all the way through. Clearly they missed something, or they watched MacGruber instead of MacGuyver....hard to say, but either way, it was a near miss!


However, it turns out the War Chests are a bit depleted right now. But just think, you can change a life, and maybe even the world, if you adopt a poor little mook like (well, insert whatever picture of a poor starving lil child that makes you want to give money). Remember, 100% of all donations go towards fixing up the mooks, so they can go out and change the world. All for just a few dollars a day (Man, I really wish one of those adopt-a-kid commercials would come on, so I could make this even better!) you can change a lil mook's life, so that he can go arm himself to the hilt heavier than an AC-130 gunship and end all these wars by killing the bad guys, while still winning the hearts and minds of everyone else...even if he has to do a public version of the Carlton Dance to get that done!

The Blessed Curse of Being Unknown

For most of my life I have had a dual mentality. I love to be complimented, and at the exact same time I hate it. I also like being recognized, while also hating that simultaneously as well. Well last night, I hear from my supervisor just how recognized I'm not.

(Now, for full disclosure here, I don't really care in the end. I just don't mind bitching about overall meaningless shit that happens in my life. If you haven't figured that out yet, or don't believe me, ask my wife. She'll confirm it.)

The other night, after coming out of a building downtown, my supervisor and I notice a confrontation taking place a block up between a hotel security guard from another company and a homeless guy. It starts out verbally, and the next thing we know punches are being thrown. I look at my supervisor and ask if he wants to join the party. So we immediately head that way, but after a quick exchange the homeless guy goes taking off around the corner away from us and the hotel. Directly across the street stands a group of cleaners who had to have watched the whole ordeal, but "none of them saw anything." Of course we made sure the security guard was alright, and stood by ready to be his witnesses. Des Moines' finest arrived pretty quickly, got a quick description and direction of travel and went off to find the homeless guy. They swung back around within a couple minutes and picked up the hotel guy to go identify the perp. Solid ID was made and the guy taken to jail. The cops came back with the security guard and took down information from my supervisor and myself. No big deal.

However last night, my supervisor tells me our office received an email from the hotel. They wanted to extend their thanks for our part in as they put it: taking care of one of our own. Apparently all of us rentacops have our own brotherhood that I wasn't aware of until reading this email. In the email it said, and I quote: Two of your officers (Casey & an unknown)were leaving the Hub Tower and noticed the situation getting a little hostile.

Now, I'm the one guy with a name tag pinned on my chest, the police took down my info including name and all that, and it was my suggestion to go get involved in the situation, and I'm an unknown. That's just great! The letter goes on to say: I just wanted to make sure these gentlemen were noted as taking an extra initiative... This speaks highly of yourself and your officers in the eyes of the [Hotel name redacted]

Well now. That's fantastic. My supervisor Casey, and whoever the hell they figure on placing in the Unknown's slot, now have special regard for "their" initiative in assisting a fellow security officer. Damn supervisors hogging all the spotlight while relegating his underling to status of "YOU, whatever your name is...go do this for me!" What a high horse self important bastard, he is! (Casey, I know you're reading this...I still love you! Stew put me up to this...right after I mentioned blogging the crap out of it!)

You know, as much as I may like and hate a compliment or recognition, a backward compliment has got to be, by far, the worst kind of compliment to receive. It's like there's a committee doling out awards.

"And we'd like to confer special recognition, for all his hard work and extra efforts to...NOBODY!" The music plays, the crowd claps, and some putz goes up there that no one has any idea who the hell the guy is. I mean really..what the hell?

A few years back, when I was relatively new on the patrol squad, I caught a guy breaking into a house. I first found a broken out window pane. I searched the house, and after finding nothing out of place or anyone on site, I had my supervisor at the time get hold of the information to get in contact with the residents. While waiting, some dip wad shows up, I confront him, he confronts the floor, and my handcuffs develop a close personal bond with the guys wrists while we wait on the cops to show up and haul the poor dumb bastard off to jail. As much as I'm not a people person nor care to remember many of them, I still remember that poor bastard's name, 5 years later.

Well we have a meeting the next morning for all the people who run my route. I'm sitting next to the sales/service guy in our office, who also happens to be a former sheriffs deputy. He tells me that I did a good job, although I got really lucky with that whole situation. He then tells me that if the guy had been a professional burglar he would've put me on flat on my ass. Yeah, thanks for the backhanded compliment, buddy!

I realize I'm not some universally recognized bad ass or anything, but I can handle my own, and within that meeting room, there were about 2 guys I had any worry of not being able to take physically..and our former sheriff deputy of a sales guy was not one of those two. Former cop or not, I could've run circles around him all day and he would've dropped dead from a heart attack before besting me.

And to top it all off, my good job at breaking up a B&E didn't get me any recognition like "employee of the month". Nope, that went to a guard who stood at a Wells Fargo Bank along Ingersoll directing customer cars out onto the road around the construction the property was undergoing during the daytime. So for that one I get a backhanded compliment, and then essentially a slap in the face. I was Rent-a-Cop two years in a row (2007-8), and now, I can't even be given a name other than "Unknown". Sad Days!

Of course, let me screw something up. Then they got my name all marked down, double confirmed. And not just my name, but my FULL name: first, middle and last, pillorying me for all to know: The Mook has seriously %$#&*! up, people, please take a note of this mistake that he, MOOK, made. They say no news is good news. So maybe no name is good name?

Maybe when I die, I'll be given a tombstone for "Unknown Rentacop", that is watched over 24/7 by only the finest of rentacops (or, as we call them in the security business, 'any old warm body we can schedule for that slot'). I'd prefer a Marine, like the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, but I think that's shooting just a bit too high for a guy like me.

In the end, I suppose it is probably just another ploy by anti-Mookist forces. Conspiratorial bastards!

Rent-a-Cop of the Year Awards

Well, after a long, hard fought competition, the Rent-a-Cop of the Year for 2009 is...... (okay so I haven't learned how to make a drum roll noise happen here, you need to do it yourself):

Colonel Beauregard Sterlng Lovell, Head of security at the Mookified Compound. What he did to earn this illustrious honor: took out Rent-a-Cop Manager of the Year 2008, Stew Holloway, when he came to check on the Colonel. After Manager Holloway stepped on his tail, The Colonel sprung into action with his cat-like reflexes, did a jiu jitsu leg sweep and then sprang at Manager Holloway's head, and biting him on the ear.

Let me be the first one to say, this contest was obviously rigged somewhere along the line, and by rigged, I mean NOT IN MY FAVOR!!! I was one of the 6 judges for the competition. Now before anyone asks how ethical it might be for me to be running for the award while being a judge...I invented the friggin award, so get over it. After hearing the announcement, I found the head judge, Manager Holloway, and asked for the breakdown on the votes. Apparently I was the only one who voted for me. Given my track record of excellent rentacopping, I was rather shocked at this. Apparently I didn't bribe the right people here. (In retrospect, bribing myself, a sure vote, was probably not worth the time, energy or cost that could've been invested in one of the other 5 judges).

Also upon hearing the news, newcomer and runner-up for the award, Trevor "Irish" McCarthy was also not pleased, and recently commented on his facebook about how he would be gracious, yet wished the Colonel harm, in hopes of taking his place. Irish was then informed that unlike other meritorious awards like Miss America (Irish also missed out on winning this one, after disparaging homosexuals rather blatantly when questioned by Perez Hilton- almost to the point of being arrested for his disturbances), there are no duties to the community or anything resembling service requirements associated with this award. Once you win, you win, and all losers (which I guess includes me) will just have to wait for next year in hopes of being bestowed with such high honors as the Rent-a-Cop of the Year Award.

It was however a very successful gala last evening. Lots of cavorting about drunk on jelly donut filling, or glaze, as well as highly intoximacated rentacops loaded with all sorts of liquor, and probably a few other things, like drain cleaner (Irish), windex (Manager Holloway), and the like (Me- not sure what it was...scrubbing bubbles maybe?).

At one point, all human rentacops vowed revenge on the Colonel for having upstaged them, a brawl ensued, we haven't seen the Colonel since, however we have all managed to be coated, inside and out, with his hair.

Three upstanding rentacops made citizen arrests on themselves for drunk and disorderly after having gone, not through the window in the midst of the fight, but managed to take out the wall itself, and land in the parking lot. One, is testifying both for and against himself in a trial set for just after the New Year. We haven't figured that one out yet. But, if you thought lawyers were full of shit, be prepared for this idiot rentacop to make you proud at his ability to upstage even the best of lawyers.

WE haven't seen Irish either. We last saw him bragging about his ability to maintain the fight while imbibing an entire 55-gallon drum full of Irish Whiskey, without being knocked out, or passing out. He's probably still somewhere in the rubble trying to get the last few drops down before the cleanup crew clears all the debris away, finds him, and kicks him out.

In all the drunken madness the Rent-a-Cop Manager of the Year award ended up going to former NPI supervisor Hayley Eash. She was not in attendance at the great gala, but received 5 out of 6 first place votes in the human poll. The Harris interactive computers had her at .945, while the AP computers had her as low as .796. BCS representatives were unable to explain these discrepancies, but did issue a statement to the effect that the system is what it is, and works effectively enough to determine a national championship. Somewhere, Congress is looking to investigate the BCS' role in determining not only college football, but also the Rent-a-Cop of the Year awards as well. Representative Barney Frank was clearly annoyed that after Manager Holloway stole the ladies swimwear event with style yet didn't win.

Either way it was fun, we were all drunk and/or in jail despite our supposing to have been on duty. Irish and the Colonel are AWOL....could be that Irish found the Colonel, and perpetrated that harm he wished and is off burying the body. But until he returns and files an incident report, details are sketchy at best. We're still a bit busy nursing our hangovers and in some cases, consoling their Bubbas as they get bailed out pending their hearings. If we ever recover any photos from the event we'll be sure to update you. If pictures of a few goats surface, don't judge us.

It IS Haunted, I Don't Care What Anyone Says

After having heard some stories about Hoyt Sherman Place here in Des Moines, a few of us thought to look up the "known" haunted locations here in Des Moines, Iowa. When googling "haunted places in des moines" and "haunted places in Iowa" one gets millions of hits because even when using "" (<---these) around a phrase, you still get hits for anything that involves any of these words. I swear people could have told me that googling made research easier, but to me it seems to cloud things up worse than before. Maybe I just havent mastered the art of google. But either way, Hoyt Sherman was not listed. However, while for the purposes of finding a picture of the mansion known as Hoyt Shermna Place, I came across a link to paranormal investigators having done an investigation at this very location. Pretty dry read, adn no good stories or anything that really make fo rgood listening/reading, but here it is:

http://desmoinesparanormal.webs.com/hoytshermanplace.htm

So anyways, you have heard me talk about this place before, if you were reading my blog back during the infamous bat attacks rentacop incidents, earlier this summer. I may have even blogged about the time I was there respnding to an alarm with a fellow patrolman, who lifted the skirt of the stage in the theatre. After having been there 10 minutes already, this simple action suddenly led to very soft playing music, something that sounded like it was out of the 1920s or 30s. Creepy stuff to be sure. I was definitely ready to leave upon that.

Well, last night, or rather this morning at about 4am, things got a whole lot creepier. And by a whole lot, I mean, I'd rather pee my pants in public than step foot in that place after the lights have been turned out, and especially never again while I'm alone.

So, I was chatting with my supervisor, Stew, when I got the call from the alarm company saying they had motion in one of the emergency exit stairwells. My supervisor offered to come along, which was okay by me, I prefer to have company while I'm there anyways. This place is rather big and kind of scary. So we get there, and this particular zone is on the theater side of the building, (there is the house, and then there is the theatre... the alarm system is set up to montior them as separate zones altogether), so we enter in through the theater entrance. We make our way down through the floor level seating, and I notice a stocking cap laying in front of one of the seats. No big deal, they are showcasing The Nutcracker, and someone who watched the show probably lost track of it and left without it. I set it on the front of the stage as we head to check the stairwells, and all the back storage and dressing rooms.

When we come back out, the hat is no longer on the stage. Okay, no need to panic just yet. Maybe the keyholder, who is the maintenance man (I believe) got called as well, like usual when we have an alarm. He must've come through while we were in the other rooms, saw the hat and grabbed it to take to the lost and found depository. Having cleared the theater side, we decide to go into the house to see the keyholder and let him know that nothing is wrong. Well, the door is locked that wil take you into the house side of this monstrous building. Not that unusual, but when I unlock it, the alarm goes off for the house side, which means...noone else is there. However, in that old sitting room that serves as a side lobby, there are some sculpted busts. On top of one particular busts, sits this blue and white stocking cap...just like the one we found in the theater, which I had left on the stage. Now this is just far too creepy for me, and as well for Stew. We quickly took care of the alarm system, rearmed it, locked that place up and got the hell out of dodge.

I think the next time that alarm comes up, I'm either sending someone there and handing them the keys to take care of it, or I'm coming in with full intentions on torching that place. Bats are one thing....hats moving from one side of the place to another, through locked doors and not setting off alarms, and noone else seen on sight...well, that's totally different, and it aint cool at all. I'll be the first one to tell you, that my little macho image is truly stricken dead when this kind of stuff happens!

Quantum Theory Has The Cubs Winning the World Series

Now, maybe I don't have a firm grasp on everything there is to know in this universe of ours. I know what you're thinking. Mookie DOESN'T know everything? Yes, hard t believe but true. And part of that reason is any subject that began with the word "quantum" generally sent me into my own little world to ignore a subject that more theory than possibly conflicting facts.

I now believe in Quantum something or another Theory. I have decided, after working last night, that somewhere in an alternate universe, the Chicago Cubs did in fact win the Wolrd Series. How do I know this. Because Hell Has Frozen Over in Iowa!

Not only did we get more snow in one storm system than we have had since 1996, (we had 16 inches dumped on us), but the temperatures dropped into single digits with windchills WAY below zero. The wind was gusting between 45 and 60 miles per hour, creating white out conditions. And not just regular white out like you use on paper, and can see the mistake...this was Super White Out. It erased the front end of my patrol car from visibility altogether. Recently plowed roads were re-covered by a big blanket of white blown back ontot he roadway by the highg winds...most multilane roads had one driveable path, and if it was a two way road....well let's just say that thanks to a big tractor looking snowplow who refused to hold up until I could get around a big drift that erased part of the road, I became stuck...100 feet from the building my work is located in, and 400 feet from the building that I was responding to an alarm at. Naturally noone was available to help a rentacop out. so, I ran (and by run I mean in slowmo as I bounded through drift after drift like some sort of sled dog with only 2 legs) to the shop grabbed a shovel and proceeded to scoop my patrol car free. In the process I could barely see the car I was scooping free, and simultaneously trying to remain in position to do the job as th wind tried to blow my butt across the road. My already cold legs that had been exposed to lots of snow from earlier events, were now being windburned THROUGH my pants. Already exposed to moisture and frozen half solid, this was not good. I'm pretty sure I died from exposure...twice.

To back up a bit....I got up in plenty of time to go to work, but i spent ten minutes getting unstuck from my parking spot here at home. I make it to the shop..well the south entrance to the parking lot, and spend 20 minutes digging my way out of that with an ice scraper of all things. I go to the north entry, get stuck there, and it was an hour after I originally got on scene before my car was rescued and allowed to be parked in the lot behind our work garage. I braved the treacherous roads, and was forced to do more drive-by checks than actual lot patrols at many of my accounts as there was NO way to access the property without getting stuck again, and I'll be damned if they pay me enough to bound through nut-high snow drifts in single digit temperatures just to walk around a building while I risk my patrol car getting bashed up or buried by the DOT snow plows going up and down the mai roads in fruitless efforts to keep them open even a little bit.

I made a few extra efforts to make a more complete job at properties, btu most of it was simply driving the roads around them and making sure there was nothing visibly wrong with the places. Then at about 4am, I get a call to go to a residential house buried deep in the heart of residential development and about 6 or 7 blocks from any main road. I made it down the side street that intersected the street I was looking for. Then I humped it the 75 yards through snow and high winds blasting my face just to walk around a house that has been drifted shut, and showed no signs of entry. the alarm were interior motion alarms, no perimeters. I leave, I manage to get back to the main road and on my way....20 minutes later, I get teh call for the same place, same alarm. The homeowner is in Denver, and insists we re-check the place. All I have to say is the only way someone was going to burgle that house was to come up from underground and drill through the slab underneath. So back I go down the side road that hasn't seen a plow in probably 8 hours or more, hike through the snow to their house where I could hike through more snow and find out that there still was nothing wrong with their place. I told the alarm dispatch compnay representative that the resident owes me a christmas present for that kind of service...with a tow ban in effect, had I gotten stuck down in that neighborhood, well, lets just say it would be tomorrow or the next day before they would be allowed to come rescue me.

After that all was well...for awhile. I ate breakfast INSIDE the Mcdonald's where they had a cleared out parking lot. I needed to warm up and relax for a bit. Then I got called for 2 different alarms.....on the way to the second one was when I got stuck, as described above, by the shop. Then, my relief got his personal car stuck outside his driveway. I had to go pick him up. I got the patrol car stuck around the corner and a half block down from his place....more shoveling. I will be the first guy who dies of a hernia and a heart attack at the age of 30, along with hypothermia and some frostbite. This is honestly what I was thinking during this shoveling incident. But, we got out, got him to work. I shoveled my personal car out of its spot behind the shop so I could come home. I get on the road out to the main artery, where I got stuck again in the plow slushed mess. I used my cold wet booted feet as the shovel to kick everything out of the way, so my little car could actually get moving. Didn't matter at that point, I was ready to amputate with or without anesthesia anytime. My feet felt like blocks of ice, or frozen clubfoot.

The low fuel light was on. So I had to baby the car to the nearest accessible gas station. As I pull in, I see two guys stalking me. One with a camera, the other with a microphone. Having been, what I can assume was fully rested over the night while I worked, they came up and asked to interview me about my night and the weather.

You see, I really am that important. The local metro news needs MY opinion. However, I do have a face built for radio, and a voice for silent movies. I suspect any mention of me might be my name, and a recapping of my comments by the reporter with his pretty little made-for-tv face.

But now, it is time to warm my innards with coffee, and my feet somehow. In the army, they always taught us to put our cold hands either in our armpits or crotch to avoid frostbite and exposure issues, since those two areas are teh warmest on our bodies. I contemplated this with my feet, then realized I'm not that flexible to begin with, and there is no way that could be comfortable even if I did manage to cram my feet into my armpits or crotch like some advanced yoga pose.

I expect better working conditions tonight, or I just may quit. Should've listened to my wife and just stayed home from work last night. I blame my dad for instilling such a sense of responsibility in me...damn him anyways!

The End Is Near!!!!

No, not the apocalyptic end, or anything like that..at least I don't think so anyways.

Nope what I'm talking about is the end of the year, which also means the highly anticipated Rent-a-Cop of the Year Awards Ceremony. If you haven't been awarded a VIP ticket, just drop me a note, and we'll get you a seat reserved.

For those of you still wishing to contend for this prestigious award, there is still time. If you want to make a nomination, pass on this notice on. ALL NOMINATION FORMS MUST BE RECEIVED NO LATER THAN MIDNIGHT CENTRAL STANDARD TIME ON SUNDAY DECEMBER 6, 2009. Late entries will not be accepted.

The requirements are first to have worked a security gig of any kind DURING 2009...yes even those of you who acted as protective big brothers over your 4 yr old sister's birthday party at the Chuck E Cheese's will be accepted.

Secondly, you must submit a picture of you in your security uniform, even if its a stupid shirt that just says 'security' on it. All poses are accepted, be it a simple head shot, a mug shot (for those of you who went to jail for beating down some poor bum for rooting through one of your clients' trash bins), an action pose, etc. NOTE: We do NOT accept racy photos. Should you submit one, even as a jokey extra photo, to the committee, you will find yourself the subject of many blogs, web pages, maybe an ad in the paper or with online advertisers..but you will be given exposure of the negative type. We will also subject your email inbox with more spam than you thought could possibly fit. If you have limited space email accounts, we will crash them. Oh, and you will be docked points that go toward determining the winner of this award. All of these proposed consequences are not to be considered a threat, a promise, or any other like word. Merely a fact.

Thirdly, you must submit your accomplishments as to why you should be considered for Rent-a-Cop of the Year. This can be done in essay form, or merely enumerating your vast accomplishments. These must be actual events; you can't go making up fictitious events like saying you were responsible for stopping terrorist-hijacked planes from crashing into your beloved lego tower. And the language must be clean. In other words, if any word you use would get a 10 year old kid's mouth washed out with soap, I'd suggest you replace it with a different word of synonymous meaning. This is a disqualifying offense.

Fourthly, This year we have eliminated the talent contest as well as the swimsuit competitions. You can thank last years contestants for taking things a bit too far. I still shudder at the big hairy guy in the speedo. Trust me, this is for the well-being of all involved.

To submit your info, merely send all requirements to my email: mookie369@yahoo.com with 'RENTACOP 2009' in the subject header. This will be a BYOB event. Hey, we're rentacops, which can also be read as 'poor broke bastards'.

TO ANSWER A FEW QUESTIONS POSED TO THE COMMITTEE:
1. To those wondering why I, Mookie, can be in contention for the award, while being on the judges' committee as well....hey, I invented this award, therefore I make the rules...get over it, or don't participate.

2. No, we will not divulge the contestants to the others involved until the day of the award. You can thank a couple guys who tried to mace and tase the competition a few days prior to the 2007 awards ceremony. We do not condone skewing the results through premeditated assaults. Which leads us to the next question...

3. YES, you do have to be present at the Awards Ceremony to win. If you aren't there, you can guarantee you lost.

4. NO, we do NOT pass out little awards for participating. This is America, and we believe in true competition. There is only one winner, and one winner only. The losers just have to suck it up and hope for next year.

5. Yes, contestants complaining about the judges, the outcome, or any other process associated with the competition have the right to be shot without prior warning. In other words, no bitching allowed. Before, during or after does not matter. We will have you shot in cold blood. We allow gloating by the winner no matter how horrible it is, but no sore losers.

6. This is a Badge and Tie affair for the contestants. Be sure to adhere to the rules, or you will be docked for it. For spouses, significant others, civil partners, or mere spectator attendees...you can wear whatever you want. but since sometimes things get a bit too celebratory in nature at these awards shows, you know with crowd control lacking since the Rent-a-Cops will all be at VIP tables on stage and off-duty (meaning we don't friggin work that night for anything), I'd wear something you don't mind getting dirty...or wet.

7. This Judge can be bribed with a new pair of regulation black combat boots (size 8 1/2W)

That is all. Remember...all nominee forms need to be completed and turned in to my email box by midnight of Sunday, December 6th, 2009.

Random Observations of Localized Events

First off, Ninja Kitties. Might be an even bigger threat to us than headless chickens. Not sure, but President Obama has personally assured me that he will have a team of researchers look into this. Now I know what you're thinking. President Obama and I don't exactly mesh politically, so why would he have personal conversations with me? Well, there is one really good explanation for that. I am a really really important person. My self-importance was so overflowing that it seeped out into the real world. President Obama realizes this, and has determined, through the use of well placed mobile teleprompters that my input is actually valuable on a global level to the point of conducting useless threat assessments of unverifiable and illusory entities. Anyways, back to ninja kitties...

While on the job, I pulled around to the back of the parking lot at St Luke's, to scan my babysitter strip, which can verify that I actually went to this place instead of just saying I did. I pull up about 5 to 6 feet away from the light pole that the strip is on. As I open the door, a flat-faced, fat but mean looking kitty backs away from the pole itself by about 5 to 6 feet. It stares at me, just licking its chops repeatedly. I approach the pole to scan the strip and I look down and see a lifeless squirrel laying in a depression behind the pole. Neither the evil ninja kitty or the squirrel were there on my previous stop almost 2 hours prior. The ninja kitty gave me my room, but showed no signs of fear. He just stared me down, still licking away at his chops in some sort of OCD-like manner.

Now, being in full Rent-a-Cop battle rattle, I had no fear of this kitty, ninja or not. I turned away and walked the 5 or 6 feet back to my car. I closed the door, and I looked back towards the cat. But Ninja Kitty was GONE!! I walk back to the pole and the squirrel...ALSO GONE. This was by no means a small squirrel, He had been plenty healthy in the girth department, and quite long. I wouldn't call the squirrel fat, but he was definitely husky, maybe big boned. Removing him from sight with no sound or sign of removal is quite a task. Either Ninja Kitty is one helluva ninja, OR....there was an entire squad of ninja kitties waiting in the tree branches above and in the treeline at the edge of the lot. All I know, is I saw a squirrel, and then I didn't see a squirrel. Spooky stuff, those ninja kitties!

THE TALK READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED HERE for mature material and sexual undertones

So my wife has been busy all year bullying me. She wants me to give "the talk" to my 10 year old son. There are a few problems with this. A- My mom of all people attempted to give me the talk. I ignored it in favor of the current sitcom on TV at the moment. Gave her a few "yeah yeah"s and "I know"s. B- I don't have clue one how to give 'the talk', and C- its my son:

God love the boy, but he is definitely still in the "girls have cooties" stage, and he pretty much doesn't notice girls unless they are playing in the game of tag with him. And he definitely doesn't notice girls as anything other than "not boys". but either way, they are going to have the "health class" sometime this school year where they tell boys about the changes and stuff. The girls get their own. I personally back in my day, would have preferred to pay the admission to that show. It has to be clearly more interesting than speaking about my stuff in medical terms. Besides, I had already seen my own stuff. Not much interest in staring at it.

So, my wife takes the youngest to the grocery store and suggests that TODAY WILL BE THE DAY YOU TALK TO THE BOY!...I had very adeptly pushed this talk off since she learned the class was coming and didn't want the school to be the one to introduce him to the subject.

So the talk was pretty bland. "Look, you are gonna get hair in your armpits at some point," I tell him. I am informed he knows that already. Fantastic, one idea down. Tackle the easy stuff first, then move on to the more delicate stuff. "And your stuff," I continue, "You're gonna get hair down there too" His response is "EEEWWWWW". I comforted him in the knowledge that none of us are pleased with that development, but that in fairness, women get hair down there too. Again with the "EWWWW" followed by a bit of cackling. As with most things, it seems the idea of bad stuff happening to other people is funny. Even if it sucks when its you as the victim, you'll still laugh at other people's expenses. Just the way our hideous minds work. I informed him, that as a blond it may not be so bad for him as it is for say, me, a darker haired individual Then I informed him that his stuff would also get a bit bigger. Again with the cackling. Clearly this is still beyond his maturity in comprehension. Hell its well beyond MY maturity in delivering the information. we weren't going into the sex talk yet...thank god...I may have had a stroke and died if I had to go there with a 10 year old. But, I still had to go way further than I wanted to. I had to explain that he will be going through hormone changes...he will begin to get funny feelings about girls where he actually starts to like them. I was greeted with a confused look, another "EWW" and a bit of nervous cackling to boot. Well, I think to myself...at least he isn't asking technical in depth questions that will task my abilities here. I would honestly rather be caught in the middle of a gunfight than deal with this. Hell I'd rather explain the technical details of what's going on with a newly lobotomized-by-gunfire brain laying in the street next to us in the middle of said firefight. I proceeded to explain the developing nature that kids his age only know as "the pre-morning pee" phenomenon, and how it would happen randomly from time to time, and not just for peeing. I explained that this is normal, and not to worry about it. He laughs some more.

If I were being graded on my ability to give this lecture, I assure you, not only would I get an "F", but I would be permanently banned from applying for any instructional position again. WOOF! was I glad to get that over with. Anyone want to volunteer to take the BIG talk with the kid for me?

So, on a related note, Buggy, our youngest clearly gets crushes on the pretty women. I'm pretty sure his teacher falls in that category. So, somehow or another, the nature of the conversation gets focused onto the oldest one, you know, "giggle at hair on YOUR private parts, but disgusted by it on his own" boy. Somehow his mom asks him if he likes any girls in his class, or any other class or whatever. He continues to look down and deny things. Oh, we grilled him for the better part of 15minutes as he attempted to deflect the conversation away from him with the ever clever "What question?" when asked to answer a question. It has been determined as I mentioned above, that he barely recognizes a girl as anything other than "not a boy". It turns out, none of he and his other guy friends even talk about the local chicks in the school yard. these kids these days....they are either smarter than we were, or not as mature in the ways of adult life at that age as we were in my generation.

Hell, I had a girlfriend when I was in the 2nd grade. She didn't know it, but yeah, she was my girlfriend. I walked her home from school once in awhile since she was going my way. I of course had to deny liking her when the older boys come around. Don't want to let her think she's got me locked down. I was 8 and a happening dude, gotta keep my options open, ya know. When her family moved away, I was heartbroken. Probably the most devastated guy I knew. Even made me cry in front of my mom. That only made things worse. Heartbroken and humiliated. As a man, crying in front of women, mom or not, was just unacceptable. I'm sure I had to change into superhero underwear to console my manhood after that moment. Either way I survived. And of course, all us guys were talking smack about who we liked, and what we'd do with those girls. Yeah, we really were studs. Strip down to our unds, turn on the 70s porn music and watch a kid who had no idea what to even do if he got there, try to put the sexy moves on some chick.

When I was 6 I had the biggest crush on this lady named Marlee. She was a friend of my aunt and mom. Ran into her at some party or get together or something at my aunt's house while we were out in California. I found Marlee, and then I was just talking my head off, finding ways to impress this older woman. She didn't know it, but she was my girlfriend at that point. She had replaced the babysitter who lived at the end of the block, I had left back in Iowa for a couple weeks. Yeah, I was quite the little Casanova. So good at my game, that I could occupy her time all afternoon and keep her from the rest of the adults...she was enamored with me, I know it, but in the end, I had to tell her t let me go. I had to go back to Iowa and elementary school and stuff. It was definitely better for her that we end it there, and let her find a man 'more deserving' than me. Yeah, I know, who is more deserving than me, but I know how to let a chick down gently. You have to, their gentle hearted creatures, and you never know what kind of psychological things might go on in their head if you mess them up too bad!

Then there was Junior high. I was informing my son, who didn't like any girls in his grade, (after asking him if he liked the 6th graders instead) informing him that its okay to go after the older chicks. Mentioned how I had a junior high English teacher, Ms. Forbes. She was beautiful, and I almost mentioned a highly touted and admired portion of her female anatomy, before I cut myself off realizing I was still talking to my 10 yr old son. My wife was just about ready to cold cock me to keep me from continuing on down the path of THAT story. But yeah, ALL the guys thought she was the hottest teacher we'd ever met. And of course, more stories about how we'd do things to her, and she'd be all flattered by us. Yeah, we were clearly trying to bat way out of our league. Not that it mattered. She was an old fashioned teacher. You know, one that doesn't go around sleeping with her students, like all these young ones do today that keep showing up in the news and on courtroom dockets across the country. Damn shame too. I would've wooed her with perfect grammar, and then well...you know, be a stud and all that stuff....just as soon as I found my superhero underwear.

But yeah, back to the conversation at the table with the boy. I tried all kinds of ways to trip him up in his own words. Now I have broken this boy before, and made him admit to his lying ways. He hates being grilled. I even told him about how we 'tortured' Noriega in Panama before him surrendering to U.S. forces, and how I could adapt that here until he gave up the girl's name that he likes. But he held strong. One of two things is going on here. He is either learning how to use the force properly and withstand my interrogations (not likely) or he really has a bona fide non-interest in the women folk at this point. And as far as I'm concerned, as his dad, I'm okay with that. Let the boy wait longer than I did, and I'll be happy.

High Crime Apartments!!!

And by apartments, I don't mean some projects development in a bad neighborhood, or even an entire building. Just mine. Despite a heavy security presence on site (i.e.- me, super rentacop guy), it turns out I've got hoodlums living right here in my 700+ square foot domain. Right here in beautiful suburbia, a mere 2 minute walk from the local police station even!!!

I'm on to these guys now though, despite their picturesque image of innocence found in the photo shown here.

Oh no, despite them seeming to be cute and charming root beer float eating kids, I have uncovered a sinister plot. It could be mere localized crime, but I'm betting on gang affiliations, or even ties to the mob (the mob does NOT exist, buddy..GOT IT?).

The way I see it, there's definitely a criminal enterprise going on, but I just haven't put all the pieces together...YET! Hey, I may be a Super Rentacop, but these investigations take time. I want to make sure we got all the loose ends tied up before we take out this organization.

You see the one on the left...Age 10, Josh "The Marshmallow Man" Lovell. Last week, I was heating up some hot chocolate for myself, and I was out of whip cream. My wife had bought a bag of mini-marshmallows, but it seemed we were out. There was no sign of the bag, but I just had to assume it went out with the trash at a previous point.

Then just the other day, Marshmallow Man himself comes out with a bag. Not just any bag, but THE marshmallow bag. Now this boy is an even bigger King of Stashing things away than I ever was. First it was dirty socks between his bed and the wall. Now I'm finding dozens upon dozens of candy wrappers in the same spot. Sand is in his bed, don't ask me what the boy is doing, but I'm not ruling out trying to dig an oil well in the sandpit at the park. But the last thing I suspected was that the boy had stolen the marshmallows. I'm not against consuming naked hot cocoa, but I prefer a little something on the top. Lucky for him, his mother found him. she was able to scold him and protect the boy from the long arm of the Rent-a-Law, who was forced to drink naked hot cocoa because of his chicanery! She did explain to him the old mideastern custom of chopping the hands off a thief, though, and I think, rather I HOPE, he has learned the lesson here. At only the tender age of 10, I doubt it. I'm sure I'm in for at least another 8 years of stunts, pranks, lies, and outright criminality, mostly against me of course.

The boy on the left... Age 5 1/2, Corwyn "You want I should break your legs?" Lovell aka BUGGY. Known associate of his brother, the Marshmallow Man, and also the apparent enforcer of the bunch. Yesterday the boys arrive home from school. I am informed by Marshmallow Man that Buggy had hit another kid on the bus a few times. The bus driver had told Marshmallow Man to make sure that us parental units were duly informed. While close associates, Marshmallow Man is also known to throw his partner under the bus from time to time. You want information, he's the one who will roll over for you.

What's scary about the violence is not the violence itself. Had there been a good reason, like when he switched seats on the bus to avoid a beating from some other kid a few days into school, and got in trouble for moving while the bus was travelling, I would've been fine with it. I thought, maybe the boy is defending himself. No, the boy wasn't hitting him, or even calling him a bunch of dirty names, which has been known to set off many a schoolyard fight in my day. So I thought, Maybe he's shaking the kid down for lunch money or even owed protection money that wasn't being paid up in a timely fashion. Oh no, nothing that easy, or even admirable in a weird crime syndicate kind of way. Nope, Buggy's explanation for hitting the kid:

"He was just acting crazy."

I had to take a deep breath and try not to chuckle at this one. For those of you who know Buggy, you understand this very statement is the perfect example of the "pot calling the kettle black." And whats worse, his actions only furthered this idea. I don't have my kid beating up someone for a real reason or principle, nope, he's basically committing violent acts for their own sake. He's craaaaaaaazyyyyyyyy...sorry. Now, the real topper of it is this. He didn't punch the kid. No, he went for the real demoralizing move.
He slapped the kid.
Open handed.
Now that's disrespect.
In front of the other kids.
That is as demoralizing as it comes.

If they were 8 or 9 years older, that kid would be toast for the rest of his school life. Luckily their only 5 year olds. That kid has a chance to outlive this one. Now, lets hope that it doesn't come back on Buggy, no matter how much he might deserve it, when they get older and can do some real damage.

Either way, I now realize I have a couple of little hoodlums on my hands. Do you have ANY idea how this is going to affect my chances at being named Rent-a-Cop of the Year for 2009?? Horrible! Some dumb rookie punk kid will end up getting it by default! I may have to kill my kids before they get much older and find a way to root my wife and I out of the high society circles we've become accustomed to enjoying.

Idiot Flips His Lid, I Lose A Day Off!

I have recently begun receiving Saturday and Sunday Nights off. While we have almost completely lost overtime in the Patrol Division of my security company, it is nice to at least get to be home on those days when my wife and kids are home for full days. Saturdays, like any first day off for a 3rd shifter, are long. I get home at 8am, and rarely bother with a nap, so that I might be able to do something here at home, and then go to bed that night like a regular person.

This last weekend was no different. I did catch a short nap, sort of, as I went in and out of consciousness with a football game playing on the TV. No big deal. Sunday I got up, went to church, came home, watched football and was hanging out while waiting for my wife to make supper for the family. At about 6pm, the phone rings, and my caller ID says its my boss. Part of me holds out hope that he's just calling me to tell me some really great story, or ask me some dumb question that even someone of my diminished mental capacity can answer.

"What're you doing tonight?" is the first question. This very question almost verbatim every time he calls me, is code for "I have work for you tonight."

So he offers me 3 options. Option #1 is to tell him to take a flying leap, I'm staying home tonight. Option #2 is to work 8pm to 6am patrolling Wells Fargo Properties. Option #3 is to do my normal patrol route on the 8pm-8am shift, and the guy who would have worked it, will do the WF patrols. Naturally, knowing the pecking order around here, I tell my wife what my boss is telling me. She immediately authorizes the 8p-8a shift. It was almost too quick. I suspect she holds weekend keggars after the kids go to bed whenever I have to work. Her new promotion has had her dealing with a few stressful situations (which cause amusing snafus with the voicemail setup at her work!!), so maybe she really is going to blow some of that steam off...right after I get my butt to work.

So, I agree to work, as a good husband who listens to his wife would do. Then I think to ask, what's up with the Overtime I'm being offered here. I would've said no, but with the Holidays coming up we need the money (read: my wife needs the money to go buy the gifts, and attach my name to them later).

From what I understand, (and mind you I only have half a story, as a lowly little peon in the company) is that some guy calls up on a blocked number to Wells Fargo, on the same line for local area customers, as opposed to a general national number, and starts wigging out. Apparently Wells Fargo appraised his property and he didn't like the figures. And I guess this warrants telling them essentially to "eat shit and die" (or something similar), and "they're gonna pay for this", along with, "this will be the kind of shit that you'll see on CNN" (again paraphrasing similarly aligned comments).

Some companies just dismiss anything and everything coming from the outside world (read: customers), and other companies hear a few keywords and freak out. I guess, and this is my opinion, that Wells Fargo deemed this as a threat along the lines of a big shootout or a bombing of buildings or something. So they call up our company, who does their security around these parts, and ask for extra protection at all their buildings in the metro area. We have guards in all these buildings, buildings that have cameras all over the place, and many have roving patrol presence anyways, but we have now stepped it up. More patrolmen, including patrols from our esteemed manager on duty, are there to save Wells Fargo from any doomsday prophecies being carried out by an irate customer over a phone line.

So naturally, my boss knows I like to have a little overtime, and he knows that whatever role I'm in, I'll do a good job. (Proof is that I was Rentacop of the Year, 2 years in a row....a made up award upon which I'm one of the few permanent voting committee members!) I enjoyed the opportunity to make some more money and see my paycheck almost approach the point where the boss actually pays me, instead of me giving him $15.47 contributions for the pleasure of laboring for him. But at the same time, I kind of hated to give my day off up, especially since I had gotten up before 9am, and wouldn't see any chance for sleep until after 8am the following morning.

So Black Sentinel since you requested it, that's my story. You may have some idiot readers at your blog, but I have to put up with the potential for idiots who honestly think they have time for shenanigans in the real world (which make me actually have to work and pay attention at the same time, which is blasphemous thinking in my book!), when they should be busy reading and leaving stupid comments on OUR blogs!!!

I Looooove Local Cops!

Random Event #1 that inspires my loving the Des Moines Police Department

I get a call from my supervisor asking me if I am at a certain apartment complex I do patrol duties at. I tell him I left the place 10 minutes prior and am 2 blocks away. He informs me that the dispatcher with DMPD called him saying they received a call that I was getting the crap kicked out of me by a group of people at the aforementioned apartment building. And in the confusion, the call to them was made by me. Three things here. One, if I'm going to call the cops, I'd either do it prior to a situation escalating to a fight, or after myself or the other parties had finished the fight. In the midst of the fight, I'm not exactly going to have the ability to pul out my cell phone and make a call as I am having my head kicked in. Secondly, I would have radioed or called the supervisor alerting him to the situation. And lastly, and most importantly, I'm not about to pick a fight I don't think I can win. I'm sort of partial to living a pain free life.
I look around myself, and notice that outside of the cleaners inside the university, I'm free and clear of any other people by about 2 blocks. Its nice to be getting beat up by people 2 blocks away from where I'm at. All that action and none of the pain. It's kind of like acting tough on the internet. I don't have to prove myself to be a badass around here! Now you're asking yourself, why does this make me love the DMPD? It is because once they were alerted to this Super Rentacop getting beat up, 4, count em FOUR, squad cars made it to my supposed location in record time. Yep, I hold sway with the DMPD. They hear about me getting myself in trouble, and they are right there to rescue my butt from any danger. My supervisor pulled up and said that all the cops had their night sticks out ready to beat up some stupid morons who were daring to harm their precious local security guard.

Random Event #2 that inspires my loving the Des Moines Police Department

2 days after event number 1, I am called to an alarm at a local Midas car repair shop. I arrive to find a rock had been thrown through the glass front door. A small tv was discovered to have been stolen, but beyond that nothing. My supervisor showed up to inspect the damage, and during that time, 2 squad cars showed up and the police entered this building, much of which could be entirely viewed from the outside, with .40 caliber glocks drawn and ready to put down another possible criminal who might have tried to hurt this Super Rentacop. According to my supervisor, the lead officer there was one of those who showed up at Event #1.

I'm beginning to suspect a man-crush is developing between the esteemed officer and this local security guard. I'm not sure how to break that kind of news to my wife, but if there really is a man crush going on, I may be, out of professional courtesy, obligated to return the affection. Now, you might ask, just how I can help protect the fully armed and trained police officer who comes to my rescue regularly? Well, I'll tell you. First of all, I'm highly trained. I watched something like 8 hours of instructional videos before being put out into the field. Second point is, I have a 3 cell maglite. You can blind someone, or mess them up with that kind of armament. While the cop may be in a standoff with an armed criminal, I can easily put myself between the cop and sure mortal danger by flipping my tie and whistle chain at the bad guy, and shining my flashlight on him. And of course, threaten to write up a report. Pretty much upon my arrival, I can send the officer off to other more important tasks for the night, like protecting the local convenience store coffee and donuts. After all, I'm not there, so someone needs to make sure precious such commodities need qualified supervision. And also, my presence alone assures the officer he is safe to "move along, there is nothing to see here."

Surely, no criminal is safe from such harsh tactics brought on by a pretty rentacop like myself. I suspect he'd gladly give himself up to me almost immediately. At 5'8" tall and 175 pounds of rock solid jello-like mass, I am an intimidating S.O.B. I drive a car with a big old lightbar that only half lights up, all white lights, and I can stick my head out the window and make siren noises while flying down the city streets. I yell out "WOOP WOOP, RENTACOPS", and all dangerous situations quickly end! People respect that kind of crazy!

Update on the Man Eating Bat Terrorist

Dateline Des Moines, IA
13August2009

In an unprecedented move, Rentacop forces moved in on the Hoyt Sherman Place Wednesday evening. Recently becoming a stronghold for Terrorist Bats (undoubtedly trained in Al Qaeda camps), the first real offensive has been considered a victory for Rentacop forces.

After disturbances last weekend, and early Wednesday morning, recon forces were sent in to assess the situation.

"Upon entering the facility all was quiet," Mike Lovell said. "And after a recon of the upper levels was almost complete, all hell broke loose." Mike was commenting anonymously, as he isn't cleared as a spokesman for his particular not-to-be-named security company, NPI Security.

"Complacency almost got us killed. We were wrapping up the mission, and had let our guard down when it all happened. But we were determined to not let such an incident occur again."

Wednesday evening, more disturbances rocked the Hoyt Sherman place. In an effort to quell further terrorist activities and to keep unrest from spreading through the community, the Rentacop Special Strike Forces were dispatched to bring the situation under control.

"I wasn't able to be there for the operation," Lovell commented, still maintaining his anonymity. "I was scheduled for bed rest until midnight. I left it to my Operations commander and patrol leader to perform the snatch and grab, which eventually led to the death of the terrorist bat."

The following is the anonymous Lovell's expert take on the events of the operation, based on 2nd hand information from the participants:

Entry was made at the rear of the compound. After clearing the main level, Rentacop officers proceeded upstairs. In a location code named the "Mirror Room", the bat terrorist made his presence known. A mime-like firefight broke out, as the bat strafed the officers, and they swung flashlights and flailed arms at it, while ducking and dodging the repeated swoops.

The Rentacops retreated back downstairs to regroup. These were obviously high level Bat Terorrists, given their ability to strike fear almost instantly into such hardened Rentacops. Definitely not your run of the mill bats. Maneaters for sure. After a few moments, channeling Lovell's strategically superior mind (WWMD is always the question to ask yourself when in the fight of your life)while he slept, a plan was hatched.

Tablecloths were procured by each officer, and one by one, rooms that had been re-cleared were closed off. Soon the Rentacops found themselves staring pure hell-born terror in its beady little blind eyes in the last room. This would be the final battle to wrest control of Hoyt Sherman Place, helping to secure the secret rumors of Chicken Boy from possible internet notoriety.

With enhanced aerial sonar capabilities and a 10-12 inch wingspan, the Bat Terrorist attempted to navigate the room and confuse the strike force, but within moments found its technology foiled by the radar mixing surface of stealth tablecloths. One stealth tablecloth was deployed, taking the terrorist out of the air. The second one was deployed, creating a blanketing effect on the terrorist bat for easy capture. A ground fight ensued, and finally in perfect Rentacop fashion, Commander Cook laid down the rules with a well placed heal.

We're not saying that the terrorist died for his cause, and we're not saying he was or was not captured. Spokespersons at GITMO have refused all comment. The Obama Administration has also been eerily quiet on the matter. We're still further investigating this manner through other named anonymous sources, but have yet to confirm this story. As a quality news organization, we wanted to make sure you heard it here first. We'll sort the facts from the fiction later, as the story develops, most likely into a really big whopper of a tale.