Fer right terrah

DH, Going Postal

Ah mind the time ah pure foilt a fer right terrah attack.

Me an’ wee Kenny the probashunah endet up bein’ sent oot tae Ibrox wan day cos some wifey cawed the wan oh wan non-emergunchy nummer tae slaver some pish tae the sarge aboot junkies gettin’ in tae her tenamunt close an’ sh*tin’ in the bins.

Ah hink the sarge only made us go oot there cus he was pure sick o’ lissnen’ tae wee Kenny bouncin’ aboot the statshun slaverin’ pish tae onywan who’d lissen aboot how he’s gonnae join the CID, which is jist pure f**kin’ fantasy by the way cuz the wee pikey c**t’s as thick as a bag o’ sh*te.

Onyway, we get tae this wifey’s door an’ straight awa’ she’s up in wee Kenny’s face bawlin’ a load o’ the usual auld pish.

“So yeez f**kin’ lazy basterts hov finally decidet tae boather yer fat erses an’ come oot here?,” she says. “Ah’ve phoned yeez aboot a hunnert times aboot they scuzzy smackheid c**ts pure kickin’ the close door oaf ets hinges an’ usin’ mah close as a sh*thoose an’ yeez hov done f**k aw aboot et.”

Ah decided tae step in an’ use aw mah yeers o’ polis experiush tae pure defuse the sityation.

‘D’ye fancy shuttin’ yer stupit f**kin’ mooth fer wan minnut an’ puttin the kettle oan a’fore a pure taser yeez right in the tits, ya mad f**kin’ roaster?,” ah says tae her. “Here’s me pure oot o’ breath efter climbin’ they three flights o’ steps tae get tae your f**kin’ door an aw ah get is some annoyin’ f**kin’ moothy coo expec’in me tae lissnen’ tae her borin’ f**kin’ pish aboot junkies sh*tin’ in her close withoot even oafferin’ me’ a cup o’ tea wi’ mulk an’ five sugars an’ a packat o’ Fox’s double choaclat cookies.”

Ah hink ets importent for wee Kenny tae be able tae watch an’ learn how a polisman can take the heat oot o’ a sityation by usin’ calm langwadge an’ diplomissy.

So the wifey stoamps oaff tae the kitchen tae fanny aboot wi’ teabags and aw’ that sortae pish an’ ah finally get tae sit doon an’ catch mah breath fer five minnuts.

Then wee Kenny spoats a book lyin’ oan the coaffy table. Toammy Robertson’s Mohamad Koran or some sh*te.

“Haw fannybaws,” he whispers tae me. “That hing there looks like pure racism tae me.”

“Whit the f**k are ye slaverin’ aboot the noo ya schemey wee c**t?,” ah says tae him. Wee Kenny’s aways pure talkin’ oot his erse cuz he wis dragged up in a smack den in Easterhoose by a prostatute an’ a mangy staffy an’ he disnae know ony better than tae coanstantly slaver pure sh*te tae try an’ get attenshun fae folk.

But it turned oot the daft wee fanny wis ackshully ontae sumthin’ this time.

“A’body knows some pr*ck cawed Toammy didnae write the f**kin’ koran,” he says. “Some wee f**kin’ paki boy cawed Aller Ackber wrote the c**t aboot hunnert yeers ago. Ah hink that’s whit that f**ker was sayin’ in the diversety trainin’ onyways. Ah wisnae lissnen’ proaperly cus the sun wis shinin’ intae the room a sertan way an makin’ aw the burds’ blooses look pure tronsparent. It wis f**kin’ magic.”

Now, ah’m no a f**kin’ mooslem vicar or onythin’ so ah decided the best hing tae dae wid be tae radio the sarge fer guidance oan whit the f**k tae dae.

“Right then, ya fat c**t,” he says efter aboot five minnuts. “Ah’ve hod a guid look through the Polis Sco’lan hondbook an’ it turns oot that jist holdin’ that Roabinson pish in yer hond is classed as an act o’ fer right terrah. Yeez twa’ glaikit c**ts hov somehoo managed tae uncover a f**kin’ fer right terrah cell in Gleska. Jist yeez baith sit tight an act pure natchural an’ the ermed respoanse unit’ll be wi’ yeez in ten minnuts.”

So there ah am pure sh*tin’ masel’ while ah’m drinkin’ this f**kin nazi wifey’s tea, knowin’ she cuild launch a f**kin raishully motavatet terrahist attack oan me an’ wee Kenny at ony given moamant. Ah’ve nevah in aw mah f**kin’ life been so relieved tae see a middle aged wumman bein’ dinghied unconshus wi’ the butt o’ a machine gun an’ dragged oot a sh*tty tenamunt flat by her onkles.

Onways, it turned oot the fer right book wis jist the tip o’ the iceberg. The pointy-heided computah boys foond aw kinds o’ extremist raciss’ sh*te oan her intarnet that pure proved beyoand ony doubt she wis prolly plannen’ tae burn doon a wan o’ they mooslem church hings. Brittun furst facebook poasts, Mail Oanline, some white supremassis’ frog certoons an’ some fer right puffin website pish.

Ah ended up wi’ a commendashun an’ gettin’ taken oot fer a slap up Wutherspunn’s denner by the sarge fer single hondedly makin’ the stashun’s hate crime figgahs the best wans in Sco’lan. F**kin’ happy days.

Wee Kenny got ordahed tae clean oot a cell some hameless jakey bastert had sh*te hissel’ in that mornin’ cos the sarge jist assumed he wis bein’ a sly wee c**t tryin’ tae take the credit awa’ fae a mair experiunshed oafficah. Pure f**kin’ magic.
 

© DH 2018