05-01-2024, 11:57 PM
(This post was last modified: 05-03-2024, 10:34 AM by lemonoppy. Edited 1 time in total.)
*Law and Order Dun Dun Sound*
A car slowly meanders down the right hand side of a quiet suburban London street. A gruff voice is heard inside attempting a falsetto.
""Whatcha gon' do with all that junk
All that junk inside your trunk?
I'ma get, get, get, get you drunk
Get you love drunk off my hump
My hump, my hump,..""
*A police siren emits a single whistle*
“Aw jeez!” Juan Carrasco rolls down a window and starts trying to guide smoke outside of his vehicle with one hand as he ineptly wrangles the steering wheel with the other. Slowly the car comes to a stop with one wheel perched on the curb.
A man clad in a fluorescent yellow vest parks his vehicle across the street from Juan and walks toward the driver side window carrying a clipboard. He motions for Juan to roll down his window. Juan chuckles as he asks “You can get pulled over by crossing guards in this country?”
Nonplussed the traffic cop looks down at his yellow vest and tries to take control of the conversation, “Son. Do you know why I stopped you?”
Juan is not deterred, “No gun even? Where I’m from bathroom attendants are packing. England man, I swear.”
More forcibly the traffic cop demands: “Step out of the car sir.”
Lifting his hands in an act of capitulation the nose tackle opens his door and steps out. Several partially crushed cans of cider tumble out of the car. Mr. Carrasco almost trips over a can as he stands to his full height, towering over the uniformed city worker. The difference in size now fully apparent to the traffic cop he continues a little more meekly, “See anything wrong sir?”
“Yeah! *hic* whole dang country is uspide down here.” Juan begins to mumble unintelligibly, struggling to divide his attention between his diatribe and maintaining an upright position. Wobbling from side to side before continuing, “I got rights MAN! Y’all got RIGHTS here, right?”
The traffic cop continues writing on his clipboard. “In this country we don’t drive on the right side of the road.”
“Damn straight, everythings backwards in this country…” Juan wobbles to a crash landing on the sidewalk, lying on his side he continues, “Cuppa this, Lorry that. You don’t even know what real football is around here.”
The officer rips a copy of the ticket off his clipboard and moves over to hand it to Juan, still rolling about on the sidewalk. As he begins to hand it to the intoxicated nose tackle a stander-by moves up to the pair, cell phone in hand.
“Oi! Can I snap a pic?” Before anyone could respond the London youth snaps a selfie of himself with Juan on the ground reaching out for the ticket from the traffic cop. Juan still feeling rather jolly finds it appropriate to smile for the lad, but the traffic cop who has grown increasingly agitated by the whole affair remains expressionless.
“Do you have anyone that can pick you up?” The Traffic cop asks realizing Juan is in no condition to drive?
“Is that a joke about my weight?!” Juan’s emotion swings wildly at the unintended sleight. In an instant he is back on his feet poised to pounce on the policeman as if he were an opposing quarterback.
Backing away the fluorescently clad officer of the law chooses his words more carefully, “You’re in no condition to drive, sir. Is there anyone that you can call, or do I need to take you back to the station?”
“Threatening me now huh?” Juan chases the officer to the other side of the street where the police car has parked. Although a bit wobbly, Rascal’s athleticism is very apparent as he darts from side to side in pursuit of the traffic cop. The squad car serves as an able blocker for now, but the cop is not taking any chances he reaches down for his walkie talkie to call for backup.
Before the cop can make that call, reinforcements arrive but in an a rather unexpected form. “A selfie Juan really?! On your damn rear end while you’re getting a ticket?” A member of the London Royals legal team was scrambled to duty when Rascal’s photo instantly went viral. The lawyer throws a towel over Juan’s head, hoping to cool the player down or at least obscure his face before he assaults a cop.
“Jeez man, I was just trying to blow off some steam following our loss.” Carrasco stops his attempt to sack the traffic cop and slowly heads back toward the Royals fixer, towel still draped over his head. The traffic cop seeing his opportunity leaves the scene of the crime, confident enough things will turn out alright but not interested in being at the mercy of the 6’5” monster’s wild mood swings.
The lawyer guides Rascal into his car, positioned to leave on the proper side of the road. “There, there Juan you did your best. Have a seat and we’ll go back to the facility; fix you up a spot of tea.”
Rascal’s nose rankled a bit, he never did come to fancy tea despite the service at the Royals clubhouse. Towel still on head he sorrowfully begins to sing, “Nobody knows the trouble I've seen. Nobody knows my sorrow.”
The Royals fixer shakes his head at the over dramatic nose tackle. As he drives away he looks back in his rear view mirror. Rascal is now curled up into a ball in the backseat snoring.
A car slowly meanders down the right hand side of a quiet suburban London street. A gruff voice is heard inside attempting a falsetto.
""Whatcha gon' do with all that junk
All that junk inside your trunk?
I'ma get, get, get, get you drunk
Get you love drunk off my hump
My hump, my hump,..""
*A police siren emits a single whistle*
“Aw jeez!” Juan Carrasco rolls down a window and starts trying to guide smoke outside of his vehicle with one hand as he ineptly wrangles the steering wheel with the other. Slowly the car comes to a stop with one wheel perched on the curb.
A man clad in a fluorescent yellow vest parks his vehicle across the street from Juan and walks toward the driver side window carrying a clipboard. He motions for Juan to roll down his window. Juan chuckles as he asks “You can get pulled over by crossing guards in this country?”
Nonplussed the traffic cop looks down at his yellow vest and tries to take control of the conversation, “Son. Do you know why I stopped you?”
Juan is not deterred, “No gun even? Where I’m from bathroom attendants are packing. England man, I swear.”
More forcibly the traffic cop demands: “Step out of the car sir.”
Lifting his hands in an act of capitulation the nose tackle opens his door and steps out. Several partially crushed cans of cider tumble out of the car. Mr. Carrasco almost trips over a can as he stands to his full height, towering over the uniformed city worker. The difference in size now fully apparent to the traffic cop he continues a little more meekly, “See anything wrong sir?”
“Yeah! *hic* whole dang country is uspide down here.” Juan begins to mumble unintelligibly, struggling to divide his attention between his diatribe and maintaining an upright position. Wobbling from side to side before continuing, “I got rights MAN! Y’all got RIGHTS here, right?”
The traffic cop continues writing on his clipboard. “In this country we don’t drive on the right side of the road.”
“Damn straight, everythings backwards in this country…” Juan wobbles to a crash landing on the sidewalk, lying on his side he continues, “Cuppa this, Lorry that. You don’t even know what real football is around here.”
The officer rips a copy of the ticket off his clipboard and moves over to hand it to Juan, still rolling about on the sidewalk. As he begins to hand it to the intoxicated nose tackle a stander-by moves up to the pair, cell phone in hand.
“Oi! Can I snap a pic?” Before anyone could respond the London youth snaps a selfie of himself with Juan on the ground reaching out for the ticket from the traffic cop. Juan still feeling rather jolly finds it appropriate to smile for the lad, but the traffic cop who has grown increasingly agitated by the whole affair remains expressionless.
“Do you have anyone that can pick you up?” The Traffic cop asks realizing Juan is in no condition to drive?
“Is that a joke about my weight?!” Juan’s emotion swings wildly at the unintended sleight. In an instant he is back on his feet poised to pounce on the policeman as if he were an opposing quarterback.
Backing away the fluorescently clad officer of the law chooses his words more carefully, “You’re in no condition to drive, sir. Is there anyone that you can call, or do I need to take you back to the station?”
“Threatening me now huh?” Juan chases the officer to the other side of the street where the police car has parked. Although a bit wobbly, Rascal’s athleticism is very apparent as he darts from side to side in pursuit of the traffic cop. The squad car serves as an able blocker for now, but the cop is not taking any chances he reaches down for his walkie talkie to call for backup.
Before the cop can make that call, reinforcements arrive but in an a rather unexpected form. “A selfie Juan really?! On your damn rear end while you’re getting a ticket?” A member of the London Royals legal team was scrambled to duty when Rascal’s photo instantly went viral. The lawyer throws a towel over Juan’s head, hoping to cool the player down or at least obscure his face before he assaults a cop.
“Jeez man, I was just trying to blow off some steam following our loss.” Carrasco stops his attempt to sack the traffic cop and slowly heads back toward the Royals fixer, towel still draped over his head. The traffic cop seeing his opportunity leaves the scene of the crime, confident enough things will turn out alright but not interested in being at the mercy of the 6’5” monster’s wild mood swings.
The lawyer guides Rascal into his car, positioned to leave on the proper side of the road. “There, there Juan you did your best. Have a seat and we’ll go back to the facility; fix you up a spot of tea.”
Rascal’s nose rankled a bit, he never did come to fancy tea despite the service at the Royals clubhouse. Towel still on head he sorrowfully begins to sing, “Nobody knows the trouble I've seen. Nobody knows my sorrow.”
The Royals fixer shakes his head at the over dramatic nose tackle. As he drives away he looks back in his rear view mirror. Rascal is now curled up into a ball in the backseat snoring.