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So RI state’s finest decided to have a little check point on Rt. 165 tonight. Funny thing – they didn’t like the 50+ beer bottles that were rolling around loose in the bed of the ol’ Dodge. As a matter of fact, I believe the first thing officer #1 said to me was, “Why are there 50 bottles of Sam Adams rolling around in your bed?” I think the second thing they said was, “Get out of the truck, put your hands on the tailgate and spread your legs. How much have you had to drink tonight?” I said, “More than a few. (which means about a dozen in Jeremy speak)” “Where are you coming from?” I said, “Mark’s.” Which the Man instantly recognized and interestingly enough seemed to approve of. As officer #1 squeezed my gonads, checked my pockets, searched my waist band, and inspected the insides of my shoes (after relieving me of my Benchmade), I explained I was leading a running club tonight that follows a trail, has a “few” beers, then goes to a bar for dinner. The million-dollar question of the night came from officer #2, who was searching my cab as officer #1 played with my balls. “What are you doing with all this flour?” It was all I could do to keep a straight face and explain the truth. I think they actually bought it. They decided to let me go then, but after I drove a mile, I realize officer #1 is still holding my Benchmade knife, which is worth more than his life, so I turn my rig around and go back for more. Upon arrival at the check point, they were more interested in their next victim, and as I approached #1 came towards me, handed my knife over, and then I got the fuck out of there.
On-On!!!
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