Monday, April 27, 2009

Policing the Streets

Whenever I go to Selfridges (once a week, usually) I always walk there via Grosvenor Square and the US Embassy. This is because it affords me a certain amount of sport with the armed SO16 police division patrolling the area. I take every opportunity to shout at them such things as "I fucked your mother last night. She wasn't much good. Tonight I'll try you sister - your father tells me she's a much better shag. So do all her clients." And so forth.

They sometimes get the odd shot off at me, but without much effect. One problem (apart from their lousy aim and general ineptness) is that their weapons, ostensibly automatics, have been modified so that they can only shoot single rounds. So while they're trying to get another bullet into the breach, I've usually darted into the shelter of a nearby Italian restaurant or sandwich shop. Sometimes, I'll even dart into the US Embassy itself. The commotion often brings out a Marine division, who then engage the police in a brief, but lethal firefight, usually wiping them all out. Of course, the Government always imposes a D-Notice on all of this in furtherance of "the special relationship", so you'll never have read about it.

How different things were a few years ago. Think back, for example, to Dixon of Dock Green. OK, not a hard man in the conventional sense. Nevertheless, back in 1950, he was shot and killed by Dirk Bogarde. But did this stop him? No – he fuckingwell rose from the dead, thereafter to star in a long-running television series. Then, of course, there were Regan and Carter in the 1970s. They seem to have gone around permanently armed, and weren't averse to shooting someone just for the fun of it. And they always hit what they were shooting at. And in the 1970s, also, there was Harry Callaghan, aka “Dirty Harry”, who'd shoot people left, right, centre, and from below, too. Again, not someone to mess with.

But what do we have today? Wankers in protective helmets, poncing around behind riot shields, and running off, crying, to Health & Safety if they get even as little as a splinter in their fingers. And as for their kill rate, forget it. Note the G20 demonstrations on the first of this month. Thousands of fucking tree huggers and unwashed anarchists within an easily containable "kill zone", but they only managed to eliminate one person, and he was just a Big Issue vendor. Little wonder, then, that there's a crime epidemic and that the forces of Law and Order are so scoffed at. Little wonder that we are no longer safe in our own homes.

I therefore propose that dead policemen from the glorious past be dug up and their DNA extracted. Then we can clone The Greats and have them patrol our streets and make them safe again. Indeed, we could gene-splice them to create the best of the best. A bobby on a bicycle, for example, who bids people "Evening all" and "Mind how you go, sir", before cutting them in half with an automatic weapon. Or a traffic officer who, while assisting a child across the road, asks "Are you feeling lucky, punk?" before delivering him into the path of a speeding articulated lorry.

Only in this way with Britain be Great again.

2 comments:

K. McEgan said...

I thought it was C019? Cloning dead plod. Good idea. Could one splice the DNA with that of a repressed gay failed petrol station manager? You know, couldnt get into the special constabulary. Probably a Norwich supporter. Are cyber creeps good at observation? I think not, they spend too much time glopping over Wladislaw in his tight jeans.

Montesqusmith said...

Arfternoon Mr S.

For too long swampey et al have taken hold of the nation with protesting this, anarchy that, and a dangerously rigid no-deodrant policy. I'm sick of the fucking current pink village mentality embraced by the local nic and also believe that the country is in the shit its in due to political correctness making us all a bnunch of nonces. Not only do I concur Dirty Harry should be dusted down and re-introduced to down-town cleethorpes, but equally, I feel he should be used as a genetic template for teachers of the future. Any more fucking back chat from the little wankers and they recieve a pistol whip to the boatrace.