We got home in the wee hours Sunday morning after a night of pint after perfect pint with some of my mostest favoritest people in B’more. I didn’t think the night could get much better, especially since I had homemade chocolate chip cookies and a bottle of Boone’s Farms Mountain Berry “wine” for the ride home, but it did.
When Lady Friend and I pulled up to the Pigtown Palace, there was an idling car parked behind LF’s car with (of course) some sketchy people sitting in it. Just about the same time we pulled up and got out of my car, a middle-aged white guy pulled up in a work van/stabbin’ cabin and started staring at us like he was waiting for us to give him the “open for business” signal. Unfortunately for that limp-dicked loser, he eye-fucked the wrong White bitches. When we got inside the Pigtown Palace, LF called 911, embellished a bit, and then we cracked open the blinds and waited.
Much to our surprise, a police cruiser arrived in less than two minutes. He came down the block with his spotlight on and parked in the middle of the street so no one could pass his car on either side. Two more police cruisers pulled up behind him with their spotlights on and blocked in the idling car and the work van/stabbin’ cabin. I wish I had a camcorder so you could have seen the look on the work van guy’s face when lady cops got out of both cruisers! Just minutes before, this john had been cruising us and now he looked like a person who had just shit his pants and could do nothing about it but sit in it.
The male police officer had his spotlight in the work van/stabbin’ cabin guy’s face and made the guy open the doors so the cop could check the inside. The lady cops took their sweet time with the occupants of both vehicles, taking their IDs and registrations, walking all around their vehicles, writing stuff down, talking on their radios, chatting amongst themselves at their squad cars, etc. We really appreciated how these lady cops were making the johns sweat. They spent close to fifteen minutes checking the vehicles and asking lots questions. Both drivers were handed citations or maybe just warnings. Not sure. We couldn’t hear what the police were saying from where we were. I don’t really care though because whenever johns get stopped by the police or beat up by the locals, we never see them again on this block.
Birthday wishes really do come true!
Monday, February 4, 2008 at 11: 53 pm |
Glad to hear your birthday was a bust. Happy Birthday!
Tuesday, February 5, 2008 at 10: 58 am |
wow, it is heart warming to hear that cops actually show up when they are called…
Tuesday, February 5, 2008 at 11: 07 am |
Birthday magic never fails!
Tuesday, February 5, 2008 at 1: 57 pm |
I bet you made the lady cops nights, too, AH.
So good to see you
Boone’s Farm always hits the spot, don’t it?
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AH: The lady cops didn’t see me. I’m shy.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008 at 4: 59 pm |
I miss all the fun.
Okay, WTF is up with “stabbin cabin”? I almost peed from laughing so hard.
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AH: You have different fun on your end of Wash Blvd. Come on over one night and watch the action down here!
You’ve never heard those creepy work vans called Stabbin’ Cabins before? They are the kind you always see on America’s Most Wanted and they never have any windows on the sides.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008 at 9: 30 am |
Funny — I knew exactly what kind of van you were talking about just from the term “stabbin cabin”.
You guys have way more fun down there at the Pigtown Palace. Although, my next-door neighbor’s house was broken into yesterday…the cops were here. That wasn’t much fun, though. My poor neighbor.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008 at 10: 43 am |
my friend dave always called those vans “the ford [/chevy] ABDUCTOR…”
it puts the lotion on its skin…. lol [/creepy]
Tuesday, March 4, 2008 at 2: 45 pm |
I knew exactly what you meant by “stabbin’ cabin”, but I’d never heard the term before. Nice!
This kind of crap is the best possible argument for legalizing – and regulating – brothels. There are always going to be people willing to pay for it and other people willing to sell it, so there’s no fucking sense trying to pretend you can keep it from happening – better to spend your effort just trying to make sure it happens safely, in a safe place, somewhere people who don’t want to deal with it don’t have to.