The Life and Times of Stern Angus, Akron Police Department
Episode Three: When The going gets Tough, The Tough get...
I was going to go on an adventure today, probably save some kittens forced into work at the old sawmill or chastise a group of youngsters going to PG-13 movies without parental permission. But then I remembered that they closed down the old sawmill because some girl got murdered... no, that was Twin Peaks, wasn’t it? Shit. I gotta get my act together.
Things haven’t been so good in Akron lately. I usually go to a place called Hegel’s Bagels—they have the thesis (cream cheese), antithesis (lox and capers), and synthesis (smoked salmon). But they got closed down by the Akron Health Department, a group of blunt-smoking Bolsheviks so intent on dialectical materialism that they drove all the good places out
of town. All that’s left is fucking Arby’s. I have to drive forty-five minutes out of town to the goddamn Fractured Prune to dig their week- old donuts out of the trash because that’s the only thing that gets me going like before. Maybe I should just start doing blow again.
Those were the days, right? Just me and the boys, driving on the sidewalks, making dogsleds with the K9 team, chugging bottles of syrup, making dogsleds with the fourteen- year-old weed dealers in lock-up, bustin’ a big one into the inside of Officer Miller’s riot mask, replacing the rubber bullets with licorice gumballs, getting astronomically high and dicking around outside the Waffle House, frisking the shit out of the community college girls, blasting KRS-ONE and NWA while driving through the high school parking lot, hiding seized fireworks in the cars we sell at auction so that
they go off in case there’s a pileup— shits and giggles kind of stuff.
But times really have changed. I have seven lawsuits filed against me right now. I’ve been on Dateline so many times that Stone Philips is my emergency contact. I’ve gotten fat as shit. I know all the flavors of Doritos. I was thinking about taking a pilates class at the Y, get in shape, maybe even making some friends, but they revoked my membership when I fired a warning shot into the pool because I wanted to cut the line at the diving board. I arrested all of my dealers. Only Insane Clown Posse plays here anymore. I masturbate so much I don’t even notice when I’m doing it anymore— makes it real fucking awkward for the mailman. It’s gotten so bad I even started thinking about getting a library card. I guess the fun times are finally over.
Jesus Christ, I miss my wife.