I have always been very industrious and it comes in handy with my job. Dealing with sex crimes means I handle some pretty nasty evidence. One of the most common are used condoms. I don’t think twice anymore as I collect these little suckers.
Even if I’m not working a sex crime, I seem to be the queen condom eliminator. Vehicle and house searches uncover a variety of shapes, sizes, and colors. If one of our big burly officers comes in contact with a used willy warmer they freak. I stroll up and dispose of the offending love glove with a latex covered hand and an eye roll.
During sex crimes training we refer to the slimy contents as spoodge. I never knew this wasn’t a real word until I decided to write this post. If it is, I can’t find the proper spelling so help from my readers would be greatly appreciated.
Anyway, a problem with spoodge is that we cannot send evidence to the crime lab unless it’s dried. I’ve investigated and searched but I’m unable to find a device which will keep the integrity of my case and dehydrate a gentleman’s jerkin.
So, like in many other situations I improvise. I thought about adjusting an old wire shoe rack to fit my needs. My idea was to use a pair of pliers to squeeze the looped metal together so it would hold a cock sock. Then I would turn the rack upside down so the French letter doesn’t drip dry. Unfortunately this solution is larger than my small drying room has space for.
After dwelling on my dinger dilemma for weeks, I finally came up with the perfect solution. I like to take my freshly pressed dress uniform off the wire hanger after it’s been dry cleaned. Yes, I’m very Mommy Dearest when it comes to wire. After removing my uniform from the offending contraption I threw it in my outside garbage can. I then went into my house and poured a glass of iced tea.
I know you’re wondering what the two have in common but like much of my brilliance, it hits when I least expect. I went back outside and retrieved the hanger. Using pliers and my empty tea glass, I came up with the perfect answer to my problem. I bent the wire to the average size of a penis (Yes girls I know, quite small) and then gave it two lips. Are you following me here? I place the condom over the penile projectile and then turn it upside down with the luscious lips keeping it from falling inside the glass.
I was so proud of myself and I’ve been thinking of a way to market my rubber magic. I decided that in order to get started my creation needed a name. This seemed to be the hardest part of my business plan. I played around with many words; Prophelactic puller, salami sling socket, and rubber wrapper. They just didn’t give my brainchild a proper title.
After much deliberation and hair pulling, I fooled around with spelling and came up with the final titillating term. Ta da, it’s now officially the Suzie Ivy Bloww Dryer©
Now to celebrate before I becum too rich for friends, everyone is invited to my house for a glass of iced tea.
Update: Thanks to British reader, @Old_Chap, “Splooge” is the proper term and can be found in the slang dictionary. Darn, I wasn’t even pronouncing it correctly.
Summer is coming and school will be out soon. This means the teachers get a break and we (parents and police) work harder. Every year we have what’s known as the senior prank which happens in the weeks preceding graduation. Our police department waits with bated breath to see what this year’s class will come up with.
In a much earlier blog post, I mentioned the most famous of the dastardly deeds as being the great tire caper. Some industrious youths dropped tires over the tallest flagpole in town. Trying to figure out how the kids managed to scale the pole with large tires became an unsolved mystery for our department and the teenagers responsible never talked.
This season the PD kept vigilance throughout town in hopes of discovering a clue to this year’s follies. Well, we failed again and as much as the tire caper was legendary, I think the Class of 2012 topped it.
I was on my day off or I would have taken a picture of the display that greeted several of my fellow officers as they tried to overcome the laughter of every car driving past. During the night, more than three hundred garbage cans were placed five feet apart down our Main Street sidewalks on both sides of the road.
stolen confiscated cans belonged to residents throughout town. Each police officer was chosen as a victim and only our trash receptacles were decorated with ribbons and signs.
Phone calls began flooding dispatch as early as 5 in the morning. Hundreds of residents went to place their large blue plastic bins on the side of the road for pickup and discovered themselves targets of the trash heist. The garbage company was notified and brought citizen records to identify each can number to its owner.
I was informed at 7 am that I needed to come and get my garbage which I had placed out the evening before. No one has come forward as a possible witness and like years past “mum” is the word on the streets. I felt sorry for the duty officers having to sort and call everyone but I couldn’t help my laughter when I arrived to pick up my container.
Class of 2012, I bow to your industrious thinking and I’m not sure if this country is ready for how you will change the future one piece of
garbage genius at a time, but I am. Congratulations!
Last week my friend Melissa stopped by Small Town for a visit. I wrote about her in an old Blogher post “Murderous Rendezvous.” We met on Twitter and then planned our first in person meeting after I attended an autopsy in Tucson. Melissa lives in a small desert town and our lunch took place in the middle of nowhere. We broke all the online safety rules and lived to tell the tale. No, I’m not endorsing this kind of behavior.
We began the first day of her visit with a hike through my mother’s canyon. I’ve now christened it Canyon D’mum. We went in search of mom’s mountain lion to shoot. NO, not that kind of shoot.
Melissa Crytzer Fry is an awesome photographer and writer. She publishes the blog What I Saw. I am in constant awe of her talent and the inspiration she gives fellow writers.
During our search we found large cat poop droppings in the sand (scat). We’ve since discovered our feline was most likely a bobcat. Though we never caught a glimpse of our large predator the two discovered piles got us quite excited. We’ve also decided on another adventure, an overnight camp out to finish our explorations. Here kitty-kitty.
We left and drove the ten plus miles of winding dirt roads to get back to the un-civilization of Small Town. My husband was waiting to entice us with barbeque ribs and chicken. I hit the blender and whipped up my special Mango Margaritas. As you can see by the picture, the alcohol was a success but I don’t really remember the dinner.
What’s that hanging down the front of my hat? I thought you might ask. I’m hoping it isn’t underwear on my head but I wouldn’t be surprised if it were.
To end our wonderful day we headed to the hot tub to soak our hiking legs. We gazed at the blurry stars and talked and talked and talked. It was quite late when we pulled our shriveled bodies out and went to bed. Melissa says I bumped the walls to stay upright but regardless of my small shoulder bruise I think she was hallucinating.
My alarm went off at 5:30 am and I hit the shower followed by my sleepy-eyed friend. We got dressed, me in uniform, and were ready for our exciting day of patrol. With our current officer shortage I’m doing double duty of patrol and detective work. I’m alone on my shift each Sunday and this was the day Melissa was with me.
Within a short time I received a call from Dispatch saying a distraught woman was trying to reach me. I took the phone call and between her tears I was given a vague idea of her general location and we went in search. I brought her back to the police department and listened to her heart wrenching domestic story. Unfortunately, I’m not able to give specific details but Melissa was in tears and I was holding mine for my bedtime crying jag that happens in these situations. We were able to put a temporary band aide on her circumstances and the following day I came up with a more permanent solution.
My shift progressed. I was yelled at by an old man for not doing my job (his thoughts) and also performed a hearing so a young lady could get her car out of impound. I drove Melissa through every inch of Small Town including drug alley and pee pee lane. Yes, they mean exactly what they sound like.
I took her inside an old abandon two-story building and we searched the premises. Creepy but just what was needed to get our blood pumping. There was garbage, manic writing on the walls, broken window glass and an overall ick factor. It was fun to say the least.
I gave Melissa the in-depth story of my serial killer case (one day a book) and showed her the locations involved in my exciting homicide career. I pulled my squad car over to say hello to a man walking down the street. I arrested his wife a few weeks before and wanted to check on the current situation. He stuck his head in Melissa’s side of the car window and whispered a drug tip.
I think overall Melissa received an excellent education about my life as a cop and it was wonderful to share more than my written stories. If you ever doubt the validity of my police life please check in with Melissa via her blog and she will straighten you out. Like she said, “You couldn’t make this shit up.”
The visit was a success and we are closer friends for the combined fun and excitement. She had a fascination with my 150 pound dog Charlie and though Melissa was a bit apprehensive at first they became licking cousins by the time her visit ended. The picture is Charlie playing with her favorite toy an empty five gallon bucket.
I can’t wait to do this all again and continue our adventure. For the other side of our weekend exploits, please visit What I Saw.