F**k’s sake. Just back fae a dissaplinary heerin’ wi’ a pair ae complete f**kin’ c**ts frae tha profeshnul standards dapartment.
It wis aboot f**kin’ hee haw an’ aw. A pure waste ae polis time ovah a compleet missunnerstonnen.
It wis jist a normal Sunday mornen in June doon at the stashun. The fitba season’s done wi’ so nae radge Rangahs an’ Sellick c**ts tae worry aboot, aw the scrotey wee Buckfast c**ts have f**ked aff oan the train tae Troon an’ a’body else is tae busy gettin’ pure mad wi’ it in their ain gerdens tae poasht ony hate crimes oan the twittah.
So whit we yooshally dae is aw put twenty quid each in an’ send wee Kenny oot tae the offy fer a couplae they big 24 can packs ae Tennunts an’ a massive f**k aff cerry oot frae the chinky. Then we f**k aff intae the back office, get the dert board oot an’ divert aw the phones tae Maryhill stashun an’ let they c**ts deal wi’ aw the annoyin wee pricks whit phone the polis tae coamplain aboot pure pish oan a Sunday.
We’ve hod a few cans each an’ big John Paul decides tae liven’ up the derts by unlockin’ the firearms cubbard an’ shootin’ the board wi’ a taser. So we aw have a go and the sarge rinses the big man for aboot fifty quid wi’ a flukey bullseye.
John Paul’s pure greetin’ oan his money back so he says tae the sarge: “Right ya jammy c**t, double or quits,” drags wee Kenny ovah and puts an empty can oan his heid. “If ah can shoot that can aff that wee prick’s heid withoot taserin’ the pure f**k oot him you gie me mah fifty quid back.”
The sarge is aw up fer it cos a reckun he’d pay a hunnert tae see wee Kenny take a taser tae the coupon. Kenny’s no fer it at aw but the sarge threatens tae gie him a hale week ae cavity search duty oan hameless junkies wi nae rubbah gloves if he disnae shut his trap an’ stond still.
So the big man’s linin’ up his shoat. Nae c**t’s heard the front door oapenin. Wee Kenny’s pishin’ sweat an’ beggin’ him tae aim high. Thah wee fanny’s almost pishin’ hissel. Nae c**t’s heard the CID come in bahind us wi’ a suspect. Big John Paul tasers wee Kenny right batween the eyes an’ he’s doon like a sack ae spuds havin’ some kindae fit oan the flair. Wan ae the CID c**ts finally says sumthin.
“Whit the acktual f**k are yeez playin’ at ya bunchae f**kin’ wallopers?,” he says. We’re aw jist starin’ at the flair an’ wee Kenny’s still coanvulsin’ like wan ae they eppaliptic c**ts. The sarge has a wee hink aboot it an’ avenshully says sumthin.
“We’re daein firearms trainen,” he says.
“So whit the f**kin hell’s aw they lagah cans and chinky food daein’ lyin aboot then?,” says the datective. These sneaky CID c**ts dinnae miss a hing.
“Aw f**k,” says the sarge. “We mustae been so engroashed in oor trainen that noneae us noteced aw the s**te the night shift left oan the deshks. Iss a f**kin dasgrace whit they fannies get up tae in this stashun.”
“Is that wee probashuner c**t alright?”
“Erm, aye, he’s jist makin’ it pure realishtic…fer trainen purpashes.”
Then big John Paul pipes up. He’s hod aboot twelve cans so he disnae gie a f**k. “Hey sarge, look at the f**kin’ state ae that torn faced wee hing they’ve arreshted.”
They’ve liftet some pure misrable lookin’ wee wumman whit looks like she’s pure rattlin’ for a fix. The sarge is pure deshperate tae change the subject so he goes alang wi’ it.
“Aye whit a f**kin’ mess. Proabably been liftet fer hawkin’ her mutton doon Waterloo Lane.”
“Thass f**kin’ yeers and yeers ae drenk an’ smack and f**k knaws whit else that’s done that tae her,” says John Paul. “Yeez can see it that pure haggert auld coupon. She’d be lucky tae get a tenner for a wee tug fae a blind mon. Iss a pure f**kin’ tragedy in a way.”
“If yeez look at her frae a certain angle she looks a bit like that Nickla Sturjan c**t,” ah says, an a’body apert frae the CID’s pure creasin’ themsels up. “Ainly if that Nickla Sturjan c**t wis a ropey auld smackheid sellin’ ten bob sookies doon a derk Gleska alleyway instead ae a shady wee gobs***e pollatishun .”
There’s a lang silence. Far tae f**kin’ lang a silence tae be onythin’ but trouble.
“If you’d like tae follow DS McTavish intae wan ae these intaview rooms Ms Sturjan,” says the Detective Inspectah, “Ah’ll be with yeez in a meenut.”
Then he turns tae us. “An none ae yeez complete f**kin’ drongos move a f**kin’ inch. Ah’m gonnae fry aw yer f**kin’ gonads fer showin’ Polis Sco’lan up like that in frontae that crooked wee gobby c**t.”
So we’re aw wheeked in fer a pure bollockin’ this mornin’ cos they’re s***in’ themsels aboot that Sturjan c**t goin’ away an’ dobbin’ us in tae that wee Humza Youshaf prick an him dashiden we’re aw rashist an’ there bein’ anuthah f**kin inquiry. Aw f**kin deralickshun ae duty this an’ disgrace tae the yoonaform that. Oan an’ oan and f**kin’ oan they went like we’re a bunchae weans gettin’ it tight frae the teechah fer actin oot at school.
But we’re aw membahs ae the Sco’ish Polis Federashun so they cannae f**kin’ kick us oot the force unlessh we’ve raped some c**t or cawed some darkie a paki or sumthin an if they do its a breach ae oor yooman rice an we get hunners ae cash. So inshtead ae gettin’ sushpendet or fired wha’v aw goat tae go away oan a three day divershity coursh at Tulliallan tae learn no tae use darogatry langwedge aboot wimmen and burds when they can hear yeez. The sarge has awready got a minibus sortet an’ we’ve got enuff cans tae lasht a hale week so iss werked oot alright an’ it’ll be pure f**kin’ magic few away days wi’ the boys.
© DH 2023
