Single Status Update
So, I called the police a bunch of fascist pigs about a month ago. Many lulz were had.
HOW TO ARREST A BITCH: STEP ONE
Approach from the rear as the insanely handsome criminal is walking away. Stick your foot in in the back of his knee, causing him to fall face down on the pavement. Revel in the torrent of muffled abuse that comes forth as darknation eats concrete.
Sit on him to restrain said perp, like the victory hump you give a corpse in Halo multiplayer. Apply handcuffs. Make sure that they are good and tight; if his wrists aren't fucked for the next two weeks then you are doing it wrong.
STEP TWO: ENTER THE PARTY VAN
It is an irony that the police will fuck you for not wearing a seatbelt. And yet, the first thing you will notice upon entering the party van, is that there are no fucking seatbelts.
It is difficult to hang on when you have been handcuffed and hogtied. Expect the party van to lurch wildly on cunted suspension. Expect further damage to your fine facial features as you smash headfirst into the metal bench opposite.
STEP THREE: PROCESSING
They strip searched me. I shit you not. My clothes were confiscated after PC Homo was finished staring at my cock and arsehole. I was presented with my new jail uniform; a pair of blue shorts made out of some weird form of piss-proof kevlar. The t-shirt is a luminous abomination.
Think of the world's worst football kit and you'd not be far off.
STEP FOUR: JAIL
It is cold. You have no socks. There is no sheet on the bed, which is three inches off the concrete floor and bolted to the wall. The mattress is made of weird blue plastic. The urinal has no seat and weird rubber around the rim. Shitting presents a problem.
STEP FIVE: THE CREEPY OLD GUY STARING AT YOU THROUGH THE CATFLAP
There is a creepy old guy who opens the perv-hole in the door once every two hours to make sure you aren't Shawshanking your way out of this dump. The creepy old guy does not speak. The creepy old guy has bug-eyes. He likes to watch you poop.
STEP SIX: GETTING KICKED OUT
There is no breakfast. There is no coffee. Clothes will be returned. Officer Homo has gone home and has been replaced by Officer Acne. Wallet is presented with money intact; this was done with great and serious joviality, the implication being that We, the Police, would not stoop to stealing the money out of your pocket.
And then you get a forty pound fine for being drunk and disorderly and calling the police a bunch of fascist fucking pigs. If you do not pay it within the month then the fine doubles and warrants for arrest will be issued again. Suck the dark cock of justice.
STEP SEVEN: NEED NICOTINE
There is, conveniently, a garage next to the police station. Fags can be bought and smoked in profusion.
STEP EIGHT: TRIUMPHANT RETURN
I am now three hours late for work. I have not washed, my palms of my hands are bloody as fuck from the decking I got upon arrest. I have a million missed calls on my mobile. Pub greets me with the proper amount of respect upon my eventual resumption of bar duties. Cool old dude with a beard, so impressed with my heroism in the face of the anti-lulz, gives me forty quid to pay my fine and buys me a pint.
STEP NINE: REFLECTION ON LESSONS LEARNED