Believe You Me
Random Memorandum™ to the National Patrolman’s Registrar (NPR): Please accept this submission for consideration in your radio series, “This I Believe.” Whilst not a summation of the entirety of my life’s beliefs, it does offer a uniquely lawman’s stance — excepting the stance I assume at the latrine: “I believe in the hereafter, the here and now, and Now And Later® chewable hard candies. I believe that good things come to those who wait, unless you’re waiting in line at a discotheque for the return of face-painted, new-wave warbler Adam “Goody Two Shoes” Ant, in which case it will end badly. I believe experience is the best teacher, especially when compared to the punishment methodology employed at Our Lady of Perpetual Penance in Lincolnshire. I believe that every action has an equal and oppose reaction, but that an improper overreaction — flaming dogshite drop on a uniformed official’s front stoop — will land you in the lockup. I believe in walking softly and carrying a big stick of chewing gum for a welcome, mid-afternoon burst of fruit flavoring. I believe in the power of prayer, if by "power," you mean "utter bloody futility." I believe that powdered sugar on one's pant leg is a small price to pay for savoring a wedge of warm crumbcake. I believe that a Timex® banded wristwatch remains the most reliable, solidly fashion-forward timepiece on the market, no matter what the fancy pants at Swatch® would have you believe. I believe that a Greyhound® bus can take you places you never dreamed possible — hello, Branson! — pretty boy flyboy Richard Branson be damned. I believe that social media will transform traditional advertising, delivering marketers not only customers, but brand advocates. (Haha! I don’t believe that for a second!) I believe that when overactor Kenneth Costner said he believed in “long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days” in that “Bullmoose Mullarkey” baseball movie, he was talking out his arse. I believe he had some nerve in saying “I believe in the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman’s back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch and that the novels of Susan Lucci are self-indulgent, overrated crap” and that if I had been within earshot when he said it — in mixed company, no less — he would’ve ended up in a jail cell without so much as a deviled hamspread sandwich to look forward to. This I believe — and I believe you've heard enough of it — Constable Doyle “Dooley” Johns, Internet Patrolman (IP).
