textfiles/magazines/MIKE/mike17.txt

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			       C O P S
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	  Filmed on location in Sacramento, California, as it happens. 

All these offensive little creeps are assumed innocent, which we all know
damn well they're not, until proven guilty in a court of law, which we all
pray they will be.

Cops will return after these messages. . .

NEXT TIME ON AN ALL NEW "STAR TREK -- THE NEXT GENERATION". . .
     
The Enterprise is plagued by Australians!

Bruce 1: "G'day Bruce!"
Bruce 2: "How are 'ya then, Bruce?"
Bruce 3: "Blimey, it's cold in 'ere, Bruce!"
Captain Piquard: "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU PEOPLE? GET OFF MY SHIP!!"
Bruce 1: "'oo you tellin' t' get offa this ship?"
Bruce 2: "'e's tellin' YOU, Bruce!"
Bruce 3: "Where's the bleedin' Foster's?!"
Bruce 2: "Where's the Shielas?"
Captain Piquard: "WARF!"
Bruce 1: "That's how a harelip dog barks!"
Bruce 2: "Quite witty, Bruce!"

It's roit good fun, mate!

Next time on . . . "STAR TREK -- THE NEXT GENERATION!"

We now return to Cops. . .

----------------------- 
9:03 P.M.: ROUTINE STOP
-----------------------

(Cop rambling on while following a beat-up '65 Plymouth with a bumper
sticker that says "Legalize Pot!")

"Yup, this looks like a live one . . . Lez git 'im! Hit the lights, Charlie!"

[BWWWWWEEEEEEEEEEEEEE--UUUUUUUUUUUUUUU! BWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-UUUUUUURRRRR!]

"Pull ova' there, boy! Git that Plymouth o' yours on the shoulder!"

(Dude pulls over, camera follows cop outta the car.)

Cop: "Hey Boy! This is ELK GROVE! Whatchoo doin' with that Legalize Pot
      sticka on yo' bumpa?  You ain't got no POT in there, do ya?!"
					     ---

Driver: (a hippy-lookin' dude with sun glasses on at night) "Oh hey
	man, why you givin' me a hassle?"

Cop: "Boy, I'm gonna give you more anna hassle! HEY! You hit a skunk?"

Driver: (sniff sniff) "OH YEAH! . . uhhh . . . I hit a whole shitload
	of 'em on the way back from downtown! Yeah. . ."

Cop: "HEY! We's on TV! Don't you swear like that none!"

Driver: "Ah shit! Did I swear?"

Cop: "BOY! YOU DONE SAID IT AGAIN!"

Driver: "I'm real fuckin' sorry. . ."

Cop: "They gonna have t' bleep that out! Don't give these TV boys any
      trouble! They might not show it on TV. And my wife will be really
      upset if they don't show it on TV!"

Driver: "You're breakin' my fuckin' heart, pig!"

Cop: "I'M GONNA BREAK YER FUCKIN' SKULL, BOY!" (cocks back nightstick)

Driver: "WHOA! I won't give ya any shit . . . err, trouble."

Cop: "Hey -- you keepin' a couple 'o dem skunks here in yer trunk?"

Driver: [nervous] "No man . . . uhhhhhhh . . . maybe one of 'en got stuck up 
	underneath my gas tank . . ."

Cop: "I'm gonna open yer trunk -- you got any objections?"

Driver: "No man, but I lost the key!"

Cop: (reaches in car) "What's this here key on your key ring marked
     TRUNK for?"

Driver: "Oh THERE it is!"

Cop: "Nice try, boy!"

(cop goes around back with the key and opens trunk)

Cop: "BRING THAT BOY HERE, CHARLIE!"

(cop's partner grabs hippy out of the car through the window and
drags him around to the back of the car.)

Cop: "BOY! WHAT'S THIS LOOK LIKE TO YOU?!"

(points inside trunk)

Driver: (surprised) "Oh wow, man! It looks like a hundred and forty-seven
	pounds of MARIJUANA!"

Cop: "YEAH! And I think that's EXACTLY what it is, TOO! Whatchoo doin' with 
      a hun'red an' forty-seven pounds of top grade Humbolt High in the
      trunk of this here car?"

Driver: "It ain't mine, man!"

Cop: "Oh yeah? And what's this item in yer shirt pocket?" (pulls out a
      roach 4 inches long and as big around as a quarter -- The kinda roach
      you get from a Foot-Long of purple Kush you can get at a park in
      Ashland, Oregon).

Driver: "It's a cigar butt!"

Cop: "If this is a cigar butt, can I smoke it then? (lights the roach
      and takes five big puffs) This thing don't taste nothin' like a cee-g...

      *      *         +             .       *       +       *      *   .
  *       +      .      *     S P R O I N G !    +      *      .    
    *           *    *           .       *          .        *     .     *

...Oh hey, we can let this dude go. He's clean. I'm gonna keep this here
cigar (puff puff puff). Hey! I wanna have a talk with you TV boys for a
second . . . Hey boys, uh, what'll it take to make you lose that tape?. . ."

(fade out)

Cops will return after these messages. . .

Tonight on THE REPORTERS:

Journalism -- Is it the protector of the First Amendement or a whore of the
publics' morbid curiosity?

Hunter S. Thompson -- The bad boy of the Newsroom, the renegade reporter
that gave us Fear and Loathing, Great Shark Hunt and A Generation of Swine
now tells all in "I used a lotta drugs and now my brain's fucked up".
It's sure to be at the top of some booklist, somewhere.

Panama's General Manuel Noriega -- "What happened to this dude's face?"
We talk to a trauma surgeon, an Army wounds expert and John Merrik as we try
to uncover the story behind the Face of Sandpaper.

All this, and some dude who wishes he was Andy Rooney on. . .

THE REPORTERS (TAPPA TAP TAP TAPPA TAP TAP TAP)

And now back to Cops. . .

----------------------------------------------
10:30 P.M.: ROUTINE ENCOUNTER WITH JASON LUNDY
----------------------------------------------

Cop: "Yep, spend a lotta time out on this here road. Gotta lotta nasty wr...
      Hey Charlie, how fast you say that Ford Falcon up there's doin'?
      Hun'red-five? Lez gittim! Hit the lights, Charlie!"

[BWWWWWEEEEEEEEUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU------------BWWWWWWWEEEEEEEEE]
     
Cop: (pulls up alongside the Falcon) "Pull ovah there, boy!"

(Guy driving the Falcon leans out the window and smiles.)

Jason: "FUCK YOU PIG!"

Cop: (like Yosemite Sam) "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! It's that goddamn
     Jason Lundy!"

Jason: "UP YOURS OINKER!"

Cop: (On loud-speaker) "PULL OVA THERE, YOU SONOFABITCH!"

Jason: "EAT SHIT!"

Cop: "BOY! WATCH YER LANGUAGE! WE GONNA BE ON TV!"

Jason: "I'LL GIVE YOU FUCKERS SOMETHING TO FILM!"

(Stomps the gas, slams into first and nails the nitrous at the same time,
and does a standing launch of 9 feet, hits the road doing ninety miles an
hour, ramps off the Calvine Road overpass, sails over a low-rider, hits
the ground and then spins seven complete power doughnuts and straightens out
into a 1,500 foot burnout.)

Jason: "And I never even came CLOSE to second!" (flips off cop and squeels
	into the night.)

Cop: "...sumbitch ..."

(fade)

	     ---------------------
Next time on MARRIED WITH CHILDREN!
	     ---------------------

The Bundy's all die and go to Hell!

Al: "Hon, this place smells just like your snatch!"

Peg: "Oh Al, I love it when you talk dirty!"

Steve: "You just HAD to take interstate 880, didn't you Al? Get to the
	airport quicker, you said. . ."

Al: "But at least that 400 tons of falling concrete killed Marcy first! 
     Hey, where is Marcy, anyway?"

Steve: "In Heaven, Al, where I should be. But your hooker friend spoiled
	that!"

Al: "She wasn't a friend, Steve! She was my daughter!"

Hellzapoppin' on the next episode of. . . 

MARRIED WITH CHILDREN

(Sponsored by Tampex scented tampons. This month's new scent: Garlic Bread)


REALLY AWFUL EXPERIENCE, LTD.

  -(in conjunction with)-

  SLATER-NAZI TRAVEL, LTD.

      Pre-sentssss 

   (*dump-da-da-ta!*)

Travel for the QUEASY! (ltd.)

This month featuring. . .

------------------------
Ralphing through Russia!
------------------------

(12 pound 8, no rubber checks or we'll give ya wot's comin')

     Puke through Petrogard! Gush in Gorki! Spew in Stalingrad! It's
long, winding roads up the sides of cliffs all the way through the
crumbling throne of Communism. Our busses are always kept a balmy 98
degrees for your comfort, even when it's 115 in the shade outside!

     All lunches courtesy Ron's House of Heavy, Oily Food.  Known throughout
the Soviet Union as "truly horrible", Ron's Exxon Chicken has turned many a
meal into an adventure in gastric pain! And Pravda rated his Oilshake as
"slightly better than having your head slammed in a door."

[Cut to Mr. D.P. Gumby standing in a field]

Gumby: "But I LIKE 'avin' me 'ead slammed in a door!!"
	      ----
[Cut back]

     So come with us on a repellent romp across one of Europe's great
wastelands and visit a country the Michellin Red Guide calls "Wholly worth
missing". . .
%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%

     Come Ralphing through Russia! 

%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%


     I had a dream.
     A horrible dream:
     I was at work.
     I won't tell you where I work, lest a memo come down from HQ that says:

     "To Mike's Boss:
	  Shitcan this boy, wouldja? He makes our Sunneyvale clients nervous."

     But, uh, yeah. Okay, I had this dream. I was at work, ETC., and a
     customer walked in:

     "Hello sir, can I help you?" I asked.
     "I bought a II GS here about a month ago. . ."
     "You have my sympathy, sir," I apologized.
     "A-hem. Yes. Anyway, it seems to have quit working. . ."
     "And you're SURPRISED?!" I asked in amazement.
     "A-hem! What do you suggest I do about this problem?"
     "I suggest you put your machine at the service window," I suggested.
     "Do you get a lot of this?" he asked.
     "What? People going to the service window? Yeah, but it's only the
      II GS owners." I replied.
     "AH-HEM! I just might take my business elsewhere!"
     "God, I wish Apple would. . ."

     And he walked out.

     And in walked Harry Bawls, the local Apple Rep.

     "Whazzup slimebag?" I inquired.
     "Boy," he said in a voice remarkably similar to W.C. Fields, "You
      bother me. Get away! Get away!"
     "So what twisted mission from the Masters of Sunneyvale lured you
      out of whatever bar you were hiding in and brought your vile presence
      into this here store?" I asked, always polite.
     "You are an insolent young man!" he fumed.   
     "How come your breath smells like seven Martinis?" I asked.
     "Look boy, I got something for ya 't sell. . ."
     "I hope it's a bullshit detector, not that I would need one with you."
     "You are an annoying lad!"
     "Nevermind Harry. What have the Masters of Sunneyvale mistakenly released
      this time?" I asked nervously.
     "Okay, we got this idea from Radio Shack. It'll get us a bigger share of
      the home market. Are you ready for. . ."
     "I'm scared, Harry. What Crime Against Humanity are you guys gonna push
      now?"
     "II GS: The Next Generation!"
     "You MUST be outta your fucking mind!"
     "No! Look! It's a GREAT concept! Helpful (and beloved) characters from
      Star Trek, The Next Generation, help the user. . ."
     "Don't you mean 'the used'?" 
     "(A-hem) around in the computer. And we'll plaster **Star Trek, The Next
      Generation** all over it. Tie in with the show, ya know? Anyway, I
      got one here T' show ya. . ."
     "DON'T OPEN IT IN HERE! YOU'LL STINK UP THE WHOLE GODDAMN STORE!"
     "Silence lad, they only go off on disbelievers . . . See here? (points)
      There's Commander Data with an interesting II GS fact. See what it says?"
     "I can't read the text because the monitor's all screwed up, but it
      looks like our helpful (and beloved) Commander Data is currently
      giving you the finger."
     "That little bastard is! It must be a virus!"
     "A virus would die of boredom in a II GS, Harry . . . HEY! WHAT'S
      THAT HORRIBLE SMELL?!"
     "It went off!"
     "CHRIST WHAT A REEK!"

     So then I ran into the back, leaving several customers to their fate,
and got the "Only to be used in event of Apple Rep. visit" case open and
pulled out the gas mask (the kit also contains hip-boots and a shovel) 
and crawled out the nearest window and waited until the smell was sucked
out after a few days by a DC-10 engine mounted to the front of our
store.

     Moral: This is another good reason not to smoke three joints before
	    you go to bed.

----------------------------------------------------------
TOP 10 REASONS NOT SMOKE THREE JOINTS BEFORE YOU GO TO BED
----------------------------------------------------------
10. Mike's dream. 
 9. Your underwear will get wet and sticky.
 8. Pete Rose wouldn't.
 7. A hit of acid is better. 
 6. Nancy says to just say "No".
 5. Those dreams where you're just about to get laid and then you wake up.
 4. Hair on the palms.
 3. Your breasts will shrink.
 2. Masturbation is more fun.  
 1. Reason number 9 was enough for me!

(Sorry Dave, I caved into the pressure.)


  And now on BBC-2, Wide Wide World of Bastards.
  [*click!*] 

  Hello! Hello and welcome to:

     Wide Wide World of Bastards!

     "Tonight we'll be meeting some complete bastards. With us this evening
is Ken from Kent. His neighbors know him as a drunkard and embarrassment to
the community, but to us, he's just another bastard. Welcome Ken from Kent!"

     "Up yours!"

     "Ken, what is it that makes you such a total bastard?"

     "Well, I started out fartin' in front of Royalty. Y'know, blowin' one
off while you're shakin' 'ands with Prince Phillip. That sorta thing. Then
one day I let off while I was talkin' to Princess Anne and she said I was a
real bastard. That's when I knew I had what it takes to become a complete
bastard."

     "And then?"
 
     "Next I moved up to kickin' old ladies, yelling degradations at German
tourists, masturbatin' durin' 'God Save the Queen'. . ."

     "You ARE a right bastard!"

     "My point exactly."

     "The folks in Kent must be mighty proud of you."

     "Fuck the lot of 'em. . ." 

     "Thank you for being on our show."

     ". . .and you too!"


And now a few words from 'arry Butler. . .

     OI! OI! Come back 'ere ya basta'd! ROIT! Fire up the P-51 and get me
a few pints of bleedin' Foster's! COME 'ERE YA COCKSUCKER! Blimey. . .

     OH! 'ello! Didn't see ya readin' this. T'day we're afta the Incredibly
Bloody Rare Australian Dinglebird. It's the little basta'd wot saw me comin'
and took off. YA BASTA'D! Come. . .

     B L I M E Y !

     [mmmmmmmmmmmMMMMMMMMWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!]

     'e's got a bloody Stuka! DIVE FOR COVER MOITS! 

     [MMMMRRRRRRRRAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!]

     OI! I'll bleedin' well get ya for that, you 'orrible drippin' from a
cow snatch!

     [THUD!] Fizzzzzzzzzzzzzz. . . 

     I DROPPED ME BLEEDIN' FOSTER'S!!!

     BLIMEY!

     B L I M E - E E E ! ! ! ! 

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(C) 1990 Yucks For You, Inc.