Oh boy, was I dusty at work today! The day seemed to drag on for all of eternity, as I nursed a hangover from the awful bottle of corner-ship red that I bombed before I walked out the door last night.

I saw that the Victorian police shot another bloke today. Apparently one of the officers involved in the incident fell over, and his partner shot the victim/criminal/whatever because he was in close proximity to the fallen officer and was wielding a knife. (I wonder how close is deemed close by a cop?) This shooting is the second in recent times by Victorian police; several days ago they blasted a bloke at Etihad stadium after that bloke pulled a gun on a plain-clothes police officer. The wounded offender’s mates have since been charged with burglary, so they were obviously shifty bastards. One thing’s for sure, these Victorian cops are trigger happy, alright. I can’t blame them either, considering the sorts of reptilian characters they’d have to deal with on a daily basis.

It’s always good to remember incidents like this in the back of your mind so that you remember to act right if you ever find yourself interacting with a Victorian police officer…

Several years ago I was involved in a bar fight at ‘Perseverance’, a truly gaudy bar in Fitzroy. One of my mates was king hit by an absolute bogan for no reason at all, resulting in a number of us rumbling on the dance floor (proper idiot stuff). We were ejected from the bar at the same time as the bogans and, after an idiotic attempt by one of my mates to play peace-maker with them (he got punched in the face for his trouble), I started rumbling blokes on the street. The biggest one of them was wearing a singlet with the Australian flag on the front, so I punched him first. (Nobody wears an Australian flag singlet and gets away with it.)

I was midway through railing the second bloke when I heard the familiar sound of a number of police sirens approaching our location. The next thing I know, a squad car has pulled a hand-brake turn and stopped in the middle of the street, dispersing the brawling crowd, apart from the first guy I’d punched, who was groggily getting back up (big right hook – BAM!) I stood in the middle of the road, watching the cop run up to me.

He pulled a gun on me and yelled, “Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head, now!”

For a split second I thought he’d just pulled a Taser on me, but another glace confirmed it as a pistol. I’ve never complied more quickly to a demand in all of my life. So, there I knelt, t-shirt ripped apart, hands on my head in the middle of Brunswick Street with a gun pointed at my head, my hands speckled with Aussie singlet’s blood.

A tram idled slowly down the road towards us.

“Sir, can I at least get off the road?”

By this stage the officer had realised that we weren’t the offending party.

“Yeah, get up and go and stand against that wall.”

My testicles slowly descended back into my scrotum.

Just another illustration as to why you shouldn’t fuck with Victorian police.

/end communication

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