The Fiery Truth

There’s not a dude on this planet that hasn’t dreamt about being a sniper. A grizzled Navy SEAL commando that eats terrorists and shits freedom. The mere thought of lying in the woods Tom Berringer style, with a .50 cal BFG [1]in one hand, and an ear necklace in the other, is enough to give any man the most massive of all erections.

About two weeks ago it was finally my time to live out that dream. We were told by dispatch that there was a larceny suspect with a gun running through one of our apartment complexes. Instantly, our entire shift responded to the scene and formed an air tight perimeter around the entire place.

We had that shit on lock down. No one was getting in or out. Rifles were loaded, adrenaline was blasting, and muscles were flexing. This is why I had become a cop, and I was fired up, big time!

As I sat in my car scanning the complex, I began to day dream. I imagined epic shoot outs and grand battles. Pictured the gunman rushing towards me with his gun blazing, and argued with myself over the coolest way to kill him.

But after about a half hour of staring at the side of an apartment building with my thumb in my ass, I began to get bored and restless. In the movies this was always the coolest part. The scene where the good guy takes aim at terrorists as they ran around screaming threats and pushing around hot chick hostages.

Nothing like that was happening to me, and I was getting restless.

After 50 minutes of absolutely nothing, I began picking at the last bits of Taco Bell that was left on my passenger seat. Though the Crunch-a-weeseys[2] were mashed and cold, they kept my mind busy, and my thoughts occupied.

Then, all Hell broke loose.

About 10 minutes after finishing the last few scraps of my enormous dinner, my stomach began to squeal. “Take it easy there girl,” I whispered to my agitated gut as sweat began to bead on my forehead.

“GRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPLLLLLLLLL!!!!” My stomach yelled back at me with it’s middle finger raised.

Apparently, my hastily prepared mix of adrenaline, cold Taco Bell, and gallon of Pepsi had pissed off my intestines. They figured that they had put up with this blended intrusion long enough, and they wanted it gone.

Quickly I began to panic. There was no telling how long I would be stuck on the perimeter waiting for the bad guy to give up. If I simply left without saying anything, I would most likely be fired. But then again, if I didn’t I’d probably explode.

“GRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPLLLLLLLLL!!!!”

“Oh no.” I thought to myself. Things were beginning to spiral out of control. I began to loosen my belt and shift my weight, hoping to take the pressure of my flaming anus, but no mater what I tried nothing helped. I tried listening to the radio and singing, anything to take my mind off of the massive volcano brewing inside my soul.

“Damn you delicious Taco Bell!” I began to curse. By now I was really in a panic. I again pictured the gunmen suddenly in front of me gun blazing. But this time the outcome was different. This time I sat there helplessly mashing my buttcheeks together as bullets tore into my chest.

“I’m gonna die,” I thought. “And my backup is going to find me covered in my own shit.”

Just when I didn’t think I could hold it in anymore, one of my buddies found the suspect and arrested him. As it turned out, the guy never had a gun, or threatened anyone in any way. But I didn’t car about any of that. All that mattered to me was that I made it back to the station before a giant Hershey bomb detonated in my pants.


[1] That’s nerd speak for “Big Fucking Gun”
[2] Cheesy Gordita Crunches