A “Cool” Ride To The Slammer

If you take a big beer cooler, mount two axles, four wheels, a small engine, drivetrain, steering wheel and lights on it, does that constitute a “motor vehicle” for purposes of requiring a license, registration and insurance?

Those questions were left dangling to be answered later, but one point police and a magistrate in Perth, Australia, could agree on right away is, if you’re drunk, it’s a motor vehicle for purposes of “driving under the influence.”

Officers found a 22-year-old Aussie cruising the streets — not very steadily — in or maybe “on” such a vehicle and popped him for DUI. And yes, the cooler was full of chilled beer.

After they had a chance to inspect his “vehicle,” the police released this statement: “This motor vehicle would only be able to travel at very low speeds, the lighting devices on said vehicle would be negligible and make it very difficult for other motorists to see.” Sounds like a smooth ride, huh?

All said, the man got his moment of fame — and a night spent in another kind of cooler.

What Do A Hickory Stick, Sausages And A Pot Of Water Have In Common?

They’re all improvised weapons in the right hands. When 83-year-old great-grandmother Lillie McClendon stepped out of the bathroom of her little home in Houston, Texas, with a load of laundry, she immediately noticed a quilt on the floor and knew she hadn’t dropped it there — she’s far too neat for that. Her senses tingling, she began cautiously snooping and found a few other items had been moved. At the same instant she saw a window had been opened, the daytime burglar attacked her.

The young man choked her and shouted, “Where that money at? Where that money?” She had a little cash, but she wasn’t going to give it up without a fight. With his hands around her neck, he had no control over her arms and hands. She grabbed her walking stick and commenced threshing him like wheat.

When he broke contact and tried to flee, that wasn’t good enough. Ol’ Lillie was on him like a tiger, whuppin’ him from room to room through the little house. When they passed through the kitchen, she grabbed another impact weapon — a skillet of sausages — and crowned him “King of Breakfast.”

Because that may have been a little too hot for him, she dinged and doused him with a pot of water. She ultimately chased him right out of his fashionably-untied shoes and out of the house, yelling “What kind of momma you got that raised you up like this? You oughta be ashamed!”

Well, if he wasn’t ashamed of trying to rob an 83-year-old great-grandma, he dang sure ought to be ashamed of gettin’ whupped by one. When news reporters interviewed her hours later she was still spittin’ mad and ready to go another round or two. On the other hand, her middle-aged daughter who lives nearby was visibly shaken, saying when she heard about the break-in she’d been so scared for her mother. Hint to daughter: Maybe you should always take your mom along when shopping — as your bodyguard. We think she’s up to the job.


You Can Bet He Lost That Bet

And it was the worst kind of bet to lose. In Jackson, Miss., on a recent Friday morning, police were called to check out a man with a gunshot wound. They found him at an apartment building on Watkins Drive, but the shooting scene was soon revealed as the rear parking lot of a Motel 6 a short distance away, where a man called to report an attempted robbery. Officers soon put the puzzle together.

The unnamed ventilated dude had approached a lone male motel guest in the parking lot and asked if he had any cigarettes. The man replied that he didn’t. The smokes-bummer turned and started to walk away, but then he quickly turned, pulled a pistol on the man and said “I bet you don’t have one of these (either).”

Au contraire, Alphonse — he did. The man pulled his own pistol and planted a round in the betting man, whereupon said attempted robber fled, though not too far and not too well. He soon collapsed.

The intended victim, a contractor from the coast working a job in Jackson, was not charged. The moral of the story: Never make a bet you can’t afford to lose.

Is This Really A “Workplace Violence” Problem?

The seemingly all-powerful Environmental Protection Agency can lock you out of your own property forever, fine you millions of dollars for beavers doing what beavers do — building dams in the stream on your land — and imprison you for catching rainwater in a barrel, but they can’t control one of their own employees pooping in the office hallway?

In the past, EPA employees have displayed some behaviors that fall into the “Mentally Off The Hinges” category, but this one’s different, and if I can use the word, “fresh.” At their regional office in Denver, an employee — or employees — have been leaving piles of poop in the hallways outside a staff bathroom. The Ninja Pooper has left no messages or demands; just more piles of feces. This has continued despite administrators taking the drastic action of asking the employees to please stop poopin’ on the carpet.

Finally, they did what federal agencies do: They called in a consulting expert, in this case renowned workplace violence authority Dr. John Nicolleti. Just don’t ask what we’re paying to have this guy weigh in on the Ninja Pooper. First, they wouldn’t tell you, and second, it would make you sick. Apparently, he has confirmed to EPA that hallway pooping is “a health and safety risk,” and that if the behavior continues, it will “probably escalate.” There was no mention of whether Dr. Nicolleti believes this escalation might involve increased frequency, territorial expansion or sheer size of the piles. That’s probably classified.

Finally, A New Alibi For DUI

When you’ve been a big-city cop longer than your rookies have been alive, one of the most irritating things to deal with is the lack of creativity in coming up with alibis for being drunk in public or driving while plastered. You get so tired of hearing the same old array of excuses slurred time after time. For his unique explanation, Michael Moore, 61, should get some kind of award — after he does his time for driving under the influence, of course.

Michael apparently left his home in Hobe Sound, Fla., when he got tired of hearing his wife telling him he drinks too much, both regularly and right now. So he drove to a bar, where he continued drinking. Then he got back in his car and drove. Officers stopped him and of course popped him for DUI, like, really DUI.

Michael pretty much admitted to police that he knew he was drunk. When asked if he knew that, why was he driving? He told them he wanted to try to “drive it off.”

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

You’ve heard that old saying, right? In this case, I would add, “Especially if that picture is of the muzzle of a 12-gauge shotgun.”

On a sunny July day in Fresno, Calif., two well-groomed young men entered family-owned Marlene’s Jewelry and, for a moment, behaved just like interested customers. The act ended when one pulled a pistol and pointed it at the sales clerk, and the other went to leap over a glass display counter. I think it kinda broke their concentration when that crime-movie counter-vault didn’t quite work out. The guy nearly knocked himself silly and fell back onto the floor.

Meantime the storeowner’s brother, who was taking a break in the back room entertaining his daughter and newborn grandchild, heard the commotion and grabbed his “commotion-crushing device.”

The surveillance video made for pretty good comedy. With the vaulting champ nursing his wounded ego and Pistol-boy trying to confidently demand money and jewels, you can’t see our hero emerging from the back room pointing his shotgun at them — but you can clearly see their faces!

Ego-boy instantly blanches, hits the floor and reverses direction, allegedly telling his partner “Shoot him!” while he scrambles for the door. Pistol-boy’s jaw drops like a drawbridge; he momentarily freezes like a deer caught in the headlights, then his feet take over without any command from the brain and he almost falls trying to make a clumsy high-speed exit.

Apparently the shotgunner didn’t have to say a word. His “picture” was worth a thousand of ’em.
By Commander Gilmore

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