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The policing function is not an easy one and is often a
dangerous one but there is occasionally a lighter side. With the following
TRUE stories only the names are withheld to protect those involved from
further ridicule by their colleagues.
| Next story due any time
soon. If you have stories please submit them and a volunteer group from the ex-Scorpions
will vet them to see if they are suitable for publishing. |
| ADVERTORIAL 22nd
October 2010
This cartoon is one of many in the
glossy "Coffee Table" publication "Greycop"
authored by our very own Communications member of the Westville
SAPS, Stephen Clark.
The Westville CPF has
access to a limited number of this delightfully humorous publication
at R50 per copy. A significant portion of the purchase price
goes toward the funding of various CPF projects. The Westville CPF
is extremely grateful to Steve for this generous contribution that
supports his passion for facilitating the reduction of crime in the
Westville community. This is done in part by the disseminating of
knowledge to the age group 8 years to 80 years plus. Copies
available while stocks last at the Westville CPF meetings held on
the 3rd Tuesday of the month at the Westville Baptist Church, Church
Road opposite SPAR. Check for details of the next meeting on the home
page.
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We
had a friendly rivalry with the neighbouring station shift. Our days
fell exactly together so we saw each other all the time. All sorts
of tricks were pulled on each other and once or twice it was
unintentionally taken to the next level.
One
day it was very quiet and our two vehicles had met on our boundary
and we were having a nice chat about everything and anything. As we
got ready to leave, I noticed the other two got into their van a bit
too quickly. As I watched them, I saw the crew dangle a set of keys
out the window. MY van’s keys! Knowing that they would probably
drop them somewhere far down the road I sprinted after the moving
van and dived, bullet proof and all in through the window onto the
crew’s lap. There were punches exchanged in the struggle but my
padding saved me from the worst. Eventually after about fifty metres
of an extra120kg of elbows and fists flailing around inside their
cab, they gave up the fight and I slid out onto the road with my
precious keys. My crew had just stood and watched the incident
unfold and his eyes were damp from laughter.
I
had forgotten about it all when we met up again about a week later.
The other pair were not happy campers. They told me that in my wild
flapping and punching I had managed to rip off the rear view mirror,
break the police radio, and the whole dashboard cover had come loose
and sagged off. They said they had spent the rest of the shift in a
panic with a silicone gun and screwdriver trying to put the interior
back together again. I had a good laugh, they would have got into
serious kak if they handed back a van in that state, and I don’t
know how they would have explained it. Luckily the radio survived
without any permanent disfigurement, but apparently the dashboard
had come loose again, in the middle of someone else’s shift, so
they had full deniability.
I
promised not to do anything in retaliation for the key theft and
they didn’t try anything like that again so an informal truce was
called.
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A
reservist is a volunteer. He has his 9 to 5 job, but has undergone
full police training and once or twice a week; he dons police
uniform, arms himself and goes off to do his bit for his community.
I like to think most are dedicated to the task and don’t often
deserve the “Weekend Warrior” status they are bestowed.
Many
years back, I was a new reservist, still undergoing training, but
managed to persuade some of the permanent force guys to take me out
on the road to get experience. I was kind of aware of the ritual of
winding up the new guys, sort of expected it but thought I was
prepared.
One
cold, misty night I was admitted entry to the Crime Prevention
car’s back seat to shut up, watch and learn. As the night wore on,
the two PF’s (one had actually been below me at school) slowly
started talking to me and the questions started as to how well I
knew the area, road names et cetera. I answered to the best of my
knowledge as we meandered through unfamiliar streets.
“You
heard about the ghost horse?” I was asked. Of course I hadn’t. I
listened intently to the story about this alleged equestrian phantom
that wandered the streets for one reason or another. The suburb was
well built up; there were no farms anywhere near, so the last thing
I expected to see was a horse. Sure enough, as we turned a corner,
there on a grassy bank in the swirling mist was a white horse.
“There,
there, the horse!” I exclaimed from the back seat. Of course the
guys had set me up and looked in completely the wrong direction.
“No,
no, other side!” I said desperately. Of course, by the time they
looked around, we were well past the spot. They laughed at me saying
it was just a story and I was just trying to be one of the boys. I
considered pleading my case when it dawned on me that I had fallen
into an extremely well planned trap on that cold, misty night.
The
horse was quite real, and was owned by a local resident. It
disappeared some time later; sadly before I could play the same
trick on anyone myself.
WCPF060 |
How many policemen does it take to push a suspect down a flight of stairs?
None. He slipped.
A field-training officer glares at a student policeman, “Who taught you to hit a suspect on the head with your mag lite?”
“Sorry Inspector.” The student says, “What do you want me to do?”
“Hit him with your tonfa, stupid!”
Three young boys are playing together and start comparing their dads. The first one says “My dad can run so fast, I can shoot an arrow and he can get to the other side of the garden and catch the arrow.” The second boy says “My dad is faster than that. He can shoot my pellet gun, run to the other end of the range, hold up a coke can, and the pellet will hit the can.” The last boy says “My dad is faster than both of yours put together. He’s a policeman, he finishes work at four and he’s home half past three.”
WCPF048ii |
Sunday evening at Pretoria Police College, a very pissed off platoon sergeant is waiting for
his students to get back after weekend pass. They are all over an hour late when the first guy
comes panting up the hill to building 8 South.
“Ja!” the sergeant screams, “What’s your blarrie story?”
“Sorry, sergeant. Last night I met this lekker chick and we ended up at her parents place on
the farm, then this afternoon her dad gave me a lift to the main road where I got a taxi. The
bluddy taxi ran out of petrol and I spent my whole salary on a old horse I bought from an oke
on the side of the road, but the bluddy horse collapsed and died and I actually ran the whole way down Kerk Street to get here.”
The sergeant thinks the story is crap but creative, so screams at him a bit more then chases him away.
Five minutes later the second student arrives sweating. “Sorry, sergeant, Saturday night I
met this lekker chick and we went to her farm, then I had to get back so I got a taxi that
broke down and I ended up buying a horse from…”
The sergeant is furious. There was fishy and gave the young guy a tongue lashing with
threats of tomorrows P.T. session being the worst ever. As he chases this guy, the third
arrives and tells the same story.
The sergeant is scarlet with rage, and the student constable runs before he exploded.
Student four to thirty five arrive and tell the identical story like it was an honest, freak chain of
incidents and the sergeant is popping blood vessels and having hallucinations about the
punishment they were going to get the next day.
Hours later, the sergeant has calmed down and is having a quiet drink in his office before
lights out. There is a knock on the door. “Binne!” he bellows. The last student pokes his face
around the door. “Sorry I’m late, sergeant, no excuse.”
Mildly surprised the sergeant presses him as to why he was late. “I hooked up with this
chick…”
“Hold on.” The sergeant interrupts, “Let me guess, you went to her place on the farm, her pa
gave you a lift to the road, you caught a taxi which broke down. You bought a horse from a
guy and after a few kays the horse vrekked and you had to run rest of the way back.”
“Not quite, sergeant.”
“Which part?”
“The taxi didn’t break down.”
“What happened?”
“The road was blocked.”
“By what?”
“Dead horses.” WCPF048i |
A police officer attempts to stop a car for speeding and the guy gradually increases his speed until he's topping 100 mph. He eventually realizes he can't escape and finally pulls over.
The cop approaches the car and says, "It's been a long day and my tour is almost over, so if you can give me a good excuse for your behavior, I'll let you go."
The guy thinks for a few seconds and then says, "My wife ran away with a cop about a week ago. I thought you might be that officer trying to give her back!" |
| How many cop jokes are there? Just two, all the rest are true! |
A London lawyer runs a stop sign and gets pulled over by a Glasgow copper.
He thinks that he is smarter than the cop because he is a lawyer from LONDON and is certain that he has a better education then any Jock cop. He decides to prove this to himself and have some fun at the Glasgow cops expense!!
Glasgow cop says, ' Licence and registration, please.'
London Lawyer says, 'What for?'
Glasgow cop says, 'Ye didnae come to a complete stop at the stop sign.'
London Lawyer says, 'I slowed down, and no one was coming.'
Glasgow cop says, 'Ye still didnae come to a complete stop. Licence and registration, please.'
London Lawyer says, 'What's the difference?'
Glasgow cop says, 'The difference is, ye huvte to come to complete stop, that's the law, Licence and registration, please!'
London Lawyer says, 'If you can show me the legal difference between slow down and stop, I'll give you my licence and
registration; and you give me the ticket. If not, you let me go and don't give me the ticket.'
Glasgow cop says, 'Sounds fair. Exit your vehicle, sir.'
The London Lawyer exits his vehicle.
The Glasgow cop takes out his baton and starts beating the tripe out of the lawyer and says
'Dae ye want me to stop, or just slow doon?' |
My husband, a Police
Captain with twenty years service, is a real action man. He was a
SWAT instructor, tries to copy motorbike stunts he sees in movies
and has two sons whose expectations he constantly needs to live up
to.
From his relatively active career, he is a touch aggressive under
pressure and a lot of his colleagues are glad he’s on their team.
One night, I woke with an unusual sound in the house. I gently woke
him and whispered into his ear. In a flash he was up and in the
little light coming through the curtains, I saw his 100kg physique
grabbing the first thing he found off my dressing table and go to
confront the intruder.
Within seconds he returned, still a bit adrenalised from the threat.
He told me it was just a cat and with that, I switched on my bedside
light. There in the room, stood my husband, muscular, tanned,
scarred, in his underpants, with his ‘weapon’ still gripped in
his fist.
A teddy bear. |
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