What I've Learned From the SBPD

by dragonmactir

This was originally a list of goofy things about a soldier. Lassiter's military-minded, so that's why there are still refs to cadences and suchlike. He'd never do any of these things, but he might well WANT to.

What I've Learned From the SBPD

Buzz's real first name is Busby. Not "Opie."

I am not authorized to declare martial law anywhere, at any time.

I am not allowed to watch South Park when I'm supposed to be monitoring security.

My proper honoriffic is "Detective Lassiter," not "Princess Anastasia."

I am not allowed to threaten anyone with black magic.

I am not allowed to challenge anyone's disbelief of black magic by asking for hair.

I am not allowed to get silicone breast implants.

I am not allowed to play Pulp Fiction with a suction-cup dart pistol and Spencer's forehead.

I am not allowed to add "In accordance with the Prophecy" to answers I give to questions asked me by my colleagues.

I am not allowed to add pictures of coworkers I don't like to Wanted posters.

I am not allowed to counsel any rookies to "Get over it."

I am not allowed to purchase anyone's soul while on duty.

I am not allowed to join the KKK. Not even as a self-appointed undercover op.

I am not allowed to join any militia.

I am not allowed to form any militia.

I am not allowed out of the Interrogation room when the Mayor visits the precinct.

I am not allowed to train adopted stray dogs to "Sic Spencer!"

I must get a haircut occasionally, even if it interferes with my "Samson-like powers."

God may not contradict any orders given to me by my the Chief.

I am no longer allowed to perform my now infamous "Barbie Girl Dance" while on duty.

I may not call any colleague immoral, untrustworthy, lying slime. Even if I'm right.

I must not taunt Guster.

I must attempt to refrain from antagonizing the Chief.

I must never call Spencer a "Wanker" or "Smeghead."

I must never ask any colleagues if they have been smoking crack.

I must not tell McNab that I am smarter than he is. Especially since it's true.

I am not allowed to steal the batteries out of my colleagues' alarm clocks.

Tiny little Officer O'Shaunessy is not after "me frosted Lucky Charms."

I am not allowed to wake O'Hara by repeatedly banging her on the head with a bag of garbage.

I am not allowed to let sock puppets take responsibility for any of my actions.

I am not allowed to let sock puppets take command of my security post.

I am not allowed to chew gum on stakeouts, unless I brought enough for everybody.

I am not allowed to chew gum on stakeouts, even if I brought enough for everybody.

I am not allowed to sing "High Speed Dirt," by Megadeth, while piloting the SBPD's helicopter. ("See the earth below/Soon to make a crater/Blue sky, black death/I'm off to meet my maker.")

I can't have flashbacks to cases I was never on.

Our psychologist's name is "Dr. Erlich," not "Dr. Feelgood."

I am not allowed to take time off for religious purposes on the basis that the world is going to end, more than once.

My super-powers do not include flight.

I should not attempt to convince rookies that their super-powers include flight.

"Keep on trucking" is not a message of psychological warfare.

I am not allowed to attempt to appeal to mankind's baser instincts in recruitment posters.

I am not allowed to print up posters advertising the SBPD's annual spring Hawaii-fest party as "The one party where you are guaranteed to get leid."

Marilyn Manson is not appropriate music at a policeman's ball.

A grown man should not require his coworkers to lock up the caffeine and high-sugar sodas from him.

A grown man should be mature enough to recognize why these items are locked away from him, and should not pick the locks.

Body paint does not constitute a uniform.

I am not David Attenboro, and have no right to make nature documentaries on the sexual habits of various colleagues.

Nipple clamps are not acceptable uniform accessories.

I am not the atheist chaplain.

I am not allowed to "Go down to State Street and shake Daddy's little Money-Maker for twenties stuffed in my undies."

I am not one of the knights who say "Ni."

None of my colleagues are, in fact, "cheeky monkeys."

I am not authorized to fire anyone.

When circumstances land me in the position of being underneath or on top of another male colleague, I am not allowed to fake an orgasm.

I am not allowed to trade police technology for "magic beans."

I am not allowed to sell magic beans on station premises, or while on duty.

I am not allowed to quote Dr. Seuss on dangerous operations.

I am not allowed to yell, "Take that, Spencer!" in the Firing Range.

I am not allowed to quote Full Metal Jacket in the Firing Range.

An order to "put Kiwi on those boots" does not involve actual fruit.

An order to "make those boots black and shiny" does not involve electrical tape.

The proper response to a lawful order is not "Why?"

The following words and phrases may not be used in a cadence: "budding sexuality," "necrophilia," "I hate everyone on this squad and wish they were dead," "sexual lubrication," "black earth mother," "all police officers are latent homosexuals," "Tantric yoga," "Gotterdammerung," "Korean hooker," "Eskimo Nell," "We've all got jackboots now," "slut puppy," or any references to squid.

I may not make posters depicting the leadership failings of my chain of command.

"The Giant Space Ants" are not at the top of my chain of command.

The adage that it is "better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission" no longer applies to me.

Command decisions do not need to be ratified by a 2/3 majority.

Inflatable novelties do not entitle me to the same tax breaks as a married man, even if the license does check out legally.

I am not allowed to marry my dog.

There are no evil clowns living under my bed.

There is no "Anti-Mime" campaign in Ventura.

I am not the psychological warfare mascot.

I may not line my bulletproof helmet with tin foil to "block the space mind-control lasers."

I must not pretend to be a fascist storm-trooper while on duty.

I am not authorized to prescribe any form of medication.

I must not flaunt my deviancies in front of the rookies.'

I am not allowed to wear a "Scream" mask while on duty.

No police functions are to be performed in the nude.

Clown makeup is not appropriate camouflage, even during Mardi Gras.

I am not allowed to conduct psychological experiments on rookies.

"Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, Turn around," is not a cadence.

I may not "call block" my colleagues.

I am neither the king nor queen of cheese.

I am not allowed to wear a dress to any police functions, even if it is within the regulation guidelines for appropriate garb.

I am not allowed to bring a drag queen to any police functions.

I am not allowed to form any press gangs.

I am not allowed to start any SITREP (Situation Report) with the phrase, "I recently had an experience I just had to write to you about."

I must not use official police vehicles to "squish" things.

I am not allowed to make any psychological warfare products featuring the yearbook photographs of any of my colleagues.

I am not allowed to challenge any of my colleagues to the "field of honor."

If the thought of something makes me giggle for more than fifteen seconds, I am to assume that I am not allowed to do it.

I must not refer to the Chief as "Mommy."

I am not authorized to initiate Jihad.

When asked to give a few words at an official ceremony, "Romper Bomper Stomper Boo" is probably not appropriate, nor is "Gentlemen, start your engines."

Nerve gas is not funny.

Crucifixes do not ward off criminals, and I should not test that.

I am not in need of a more suitable host body.

O'Hara is not a chew toy.

Not even if I am teething.

I am never to implore Miller to "Hit me, baby, one more time."

I am not Tom Servo, and I am not being held captive by a mad scientist who forces me to watch bad movies.

"The Incredible Spider-Man" is not a team training manual.

Gozer does not dwell in my refrigerator.

The proper response to even a simulated chemical weapon attack is not "tell my coworkers what I really think of them and then poke holes in their gas masks."

I am no longer allowed to attend the police Halloween party dressed as Britney Spears.

I am to assume that the same goes for Christina Aguilera.

Or any member of Destiny's Child.

Or Cher.

Or Richard Simmons.

A smiley face should not be used on tactical schematics of war-torn areas to denote a minefield.

Claymore mines are not filled with yummy candy, and it is wrong to tell rookies that they are.

I am not allowed to paint teeth on the nosecone of the SBPD helicopter.

Rodents are not entitled to burial with full honors, even if they are "casualties of duty."

Henry is not old enough to have fought in the American Civil War, and I should stop implying that he did.

Vodka, green food coloring, and a "Cool Mint" Listerine bottle is not a good combination.

I am not allowed to bum cigarettes off of anyone under twelve.

I may not trade my service weapon for any of the following while on operations: cigarettes, booze, sexual favors, Kalashnikov rifles, old Soviet armored vehicles, small children, or bootleg DVDs.

I must not mock command decisions in front of my coworkers.

I am not authorized to change national policy in Eastern Europe.

I am never, ever, to attempt to correct the Chief about anything.

I am not qualified to operate any US, German, Polish, or Russian armored vehicles.

When saluting an officer of the SBFD, an appropriate greeting is not, "SBPD leads the wa—oh, sorry."

There is absolutely no need to emulate the people from The Full Monty every time I hear the song "Hot Stuff."

I should not speculate on the penis size of any of my male colleagues.

Crucifying mice is not a good idea.

I am not allowed to use police equipment to bootleg pornography.

When I am instructed to burn classified material, I should not consider the burn pits as my personal revel fires. Ergo, it is not appropriate to dance naked around them.

My right to freedom of religion does not extend to human sacrifice.

If I truly do feel the need to sacrifice chickens for religious purposes, I am requested by my chain of command to do so in private, off station grounds.

I cannot arrest children for being rude.

A briefing is probably not the best place to unveil my latest off-color joke.

I am not a cat, and am not permitted to curl up for naps on policewomen's laps.

Not even if I do purr when they scratch behind my ears.

I should not throw sticks and expect Guster to chase them.

I should not use the department's laminate resources to "waterproof" dirty magazines.

Radioactive material should not be stored in the station.

"Two drink limit" does not mean first and last.

"Two drink limit" does not mean two kinds of drinks.

"Two drink limit" does not mean that the drinks can be as large as I like.

"No consumption of alcoholic beverages" does not imply that a Jack Daniel's IV is acceptable.

"Spadoinkle" is not a real word.

The Microsoft "Dancing Paperclip" is not authorized to countermand any orders.

"I'm drunk" is a bad answer to any question posed by my coworkers while on duty.

No dancing on the roof at any time. This especially applies in conjunction with rule #129.

The PA system is not a forum to voice my opinions.

The PA system is not to be used to replace the radio.

The PA system is not to be used to broadcast the soundtrack to a porno movie, or any Three Stooges video.

An order to put polish on my boots means the whole boot.

Shouting, "Let's do the village! Let's do the whole fucking village!" while out on an operation is a bad idea.

I should not show up at the front gate messily drunk, wearing part of a military uniform.

Not even if the Chief did it first.

I must not flush cherry bombs down the men's room toilets.

I am not authorized to sell the mineral rights to the station grounds.

I am not allowed to use a broadsword to disprove the notion that "the pen is mightier than the sword."

"Calvin-Ball" is not authorized Exercise Room training.

Especially not with a bowling ball.

I do not need to keep a "range card" by my window.

"Eyeshadow, mylar, and a thin coat of Break-Free" is not an authorized uniform.

I should not drink three quarts of blue food coloring before a urine test.

Nor should I drink three quarts of red food coloring and scream during same.

I should not threaten suicide with Pop Rocks and Coke.

Putting red "Mike and Ike's" into a prescription medicine bottle and then swallowing them all down in front of Dr. Erlich is not funny.

I am not allowed to create new forms for the annual psychological profiling and insist that they be filled out.

In Exercise Room training sessions against live partners, a wedgie is not considered a legal hit.

The proper way to report to any commander is "Detective Lassiter, reporting for duty, Sir!" Not "You can't prove a thing!"

The following items do not exist: keys to the Drop Zone, a box of grid squares, blinker fluid, winter air for tires, canopy lights, or Chem-Light batteries.

I should not assign rookies to "boinking guard."

I shouldn't treat my coworkers' athletic supporters with extra-strength Icy-Hot.

Or cayenne pepper.

I am no longer allowed to perform lap-dances while in uniform.

If I take the uniform off in the course of the lap-dance, it still counts.

The revolution is not now.

When detained by the Chief for insubordinate behavior, I do not have a right to a strip-search.

No part of the police uniform is or should be edible.

Past lives have absolutely no effect on the chain of command.

Take that hat off.

There is no such thing as a were-virgin, and even if there were, I am most certainly not one.

Nor am I in any way, shape, or form a werewolf or vampire.

I do not get "that time of the month."

No, the pants are not optional.

I am not allowed to operate a business out of the basement.

Especially not a pornographic movie studio.

Even if they are "especially civil-rights oriented" films.

If I do choose to star in a pornographic movie, I am requested not to use my real name, and especially not my title.

God is not in the TV, nor am I in any way the god of fuck.

"A Glock 17 and some privacy" is not the way to counsel a potential teen suicide.

I am not allowed to create new levels of security clearance.

Department computers should not be used to play computer games.

Furby is not allowed into classified areas of the station, or on operations.

We do not "charge into battle, naked, like the Celts."

Any device that, set to "medium," can crawl across a table does not need to be brought into the station.

I am not a "lesbian trapped in a man's body."

On official documents, my race is not "Other."

Nor is it "Secretariat, in the third."

Pokémon Trainer is not an official police computer operating system.

There is no requisition form for "wall-to-wall counseling."

My colleagues neither have the time nor the inclination to listen to what I did with six boxes of Fruit Roll-Ups.

When operating a police vehicle, I may not attempt something I "saw in a cartoon."

My name is not a killing word.

I am not the emperor of anything.

I must not taunt coworkers in the throes of nicotine withdrawal with cigarettes.

I may not challenge the Chief to "Meet me on the field of honor, at dawn."

Do not dare Spencer to eat bugs. He will always do it.

I am not allowed to make s'mores while on duty.

Our search and rescue ATVs cannot be assembled into a giant battle robot.

The proper response to a briefing is not "That's what you think."

The Masons and Gray Aliens are not in my chain of command.

I am not allowed to take incriminating photos of my colleagues.

I am not allowed to use Photoshop to create incriminating photos of my colleagues.

I am not allowed to give rookies tattoos or piercings.

I am not allowed to sing "I'm Henry the VIII I Am" until the sixty-eighth verse ever again.

I am not allowed to lead a coup during training missions.

I should not confess to crimes that took place before I was born, even if I can prove the validity of time-travel theory.

The Chief is not interested in why I "just happen" to have a kilt, an inflatable sheep, and a big box of broccoli rubber bands in the trunk of my car.

I must not valiantly push Spencer onto live bombs or hand grenades to save the team.

Despite the confusing similarity in the names, the "Safety Dance" and the "Safety Briefing" are never to be combined.

"To conquer the earth with a squad of flying monkeys" is a bad long-term goal to give the psychological profilers.

As well as "to steal the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel," even if that's true.

I am never again to nail a stuffed bunny to a cross in front of the station as an "Easter Decoration."

I am not allowed to write up false malfunction reports on police equipment.

I am not allowed to get shot.

The chicken and rice soup served in the station cafeteria is not a personal lubricant.

I am not allowed to play into the deluded fantasies of people who are "hearing conversations" from the NSA, FBI, CIA, and KGB due to the microchips the aliens implanted in their brains.

An airsickness bag is to be used for airsickness only.

I must not make up T-Shirts depicting rude caricatures of my colleagues involving barnyard animals.

I am not allowed to convince rookies stationed with me on operations in wilderness areas that their razor bumps are the result of microscopic parasites.

I am not allowed to kiss McNab on the lips.

Or any other body part.

Even if I don't use tongue.

An invitation to "a friendly game of poker" on station premises should not be intended to include $1000 stakes or the removal of any articles of clothing.

I am not authorized to do "barrel-rolls" in the SBPD helicopter just for the hell of it.

At protest rallies, my job is to prevent rioting, not to incite it.

I am no longer allowed to be in attendance at any delicate negotiation.

Imitating the Chief is an unsanctioned activity, and should never include goose-stepping.

I am not a gynecologist, and I should never attempt to convince any woman that I am.

I am never again to refer to Dobson as "my fuzzy little love-monkey."

I am never again to substitute a French maid's costume for the uniform.

I am not the avatar of Shiva, the Destroyer.

I do not have a fifteen-inch python in my underwear, nor should I offer to show it to anyone.

Asking anyone, male or female, if they would like to pet it is construed as sexual harassment.

It is not nice to mock the stupid.

I am not authorized to program any official computer system to instigate nuclear war on any world superpowers.

I am to assume that no one is curious whether or not the carpet matches the drapes, and am not to ask if anyone would like to know.

It is not nice to convince anyone that I am possessed by the Devil.

For the above reason, the "Mephistopheles' beard" look is probably not a good one for me.

"Speaking in tongues" doesn't make me multi-lingual.

Cayenne pepper is not to be included in the emergency supplies requisitions.

"Don't ask, don't tell" does not extend to official information pertinent to any given mission requested of me by my colleagues.

I am not "feisty as a gray mama coon munchin' on a cayenne peppa, I gay-ron-tee."

I am not a member of the Village People.

I am not to invent long, complicated, and ribald songs about my colleagues anymore.

"Because it is there" may be sufficient reason for climbing a mountain, but it is not sufficient reason for climbing the outer façade of a high-rise building.

Just because my car can do 130 mph does not mean that I should ever drive it at that speed. Particularly not through a school zone.

There is no specific rule against wearing chains, leather straps, or studded leather collars. However, attaching a leash to a studded leather collar and imploring male colleagues to "beat me like a bad dog" is not good for morale.

Just because someone can open any locked door does not mean that they should, particularly if that locked door leads to an occupied bathroom.

Practical jokes should never include live crawfish.

Or dead crawfish.

Or any other sort of fish.

It isn't nice to sneak out to O'Hara's car at night and turn the stereo volume knob up to full so that it blasts her eardrums when she starts the engine.

Ernest Goes to Jail is not in any way an educational video.

We are all entitled to our own religious beliefs, but I am not allowed to tell rookies that they are all destined to rot in the Underworld for all eternity if they do not dedicate their lives to the worship of Anubis the jackal-headed god of the dead.

I am not the living embodiment of Horus, the falcon-headed son of mother Isis.

I do not speak ancient Egyptian.

I am not the reincarnation of Ramses the Great.

Nor am I the reincarnation of Alexander the Great.

Or Catherine the Great.

Or even Ivan the Pretty Good.

I am never to name all the things that can sit better on a Ritz.

Just because the buzzer never goes off when I play "Operation" doesn't mean I am qualified to perform actual surgery.

I will never settle down. Simply because, whenever I play the Parker Bros. game "Life" with my colleagues, I always somehow end up with three cars full of little pink and blue pegs representing my children, and I sense this is a bad omen.

I am not allowed to site "Jazz" as my religion on any formal document.

I am not "American by birth, Irish by grace of God."

I do not have the power to turn anyone into a drooling, red-eyed zombie.

It isn't nice to flirt with my male colleagues just to make them nervous.

The Chief is aware that I do not have any dental work; ergo, I cannot claim time off for mental fatigue from the radio transmissions I receive in my fillings.

I am no one's slut puppy, nor is anyone my slut puppy.

I am not allowed to sleep during Firing Range sessions, even if I still perform at a higher level than my colleagues.

It is not nice to purposely drop apparently innocent references to inane, repetitive songs in order to take over the brains of my teammates and drive them all to the brink of madness.

Sherri Lewis's "Song that Never Ends" is strictly verboten.

I am not allowed to repeat myself over and over again to achieve the same end.

I am not allowed to repeat myself over and over again to achieve the same end.

I am not allowed to repeat myself over and over again to achieve the same end.

I do not live in a Mentos commercial.

This message will not self-destruct in fifteen seconds.

I am not to shout the chorus of "Closer," by Nine Inch Nails, at any point during the work day. ("I wanna fuck you like an animal/I wanna feel you from the inside/I wanna fuck you like an animal/My whole existence is flawed/You get me closer to God.")

am not allowed to "flash" anyone from under my raincoat, even if I am in fact fully dressed with a placard around my neck on which I have written the word "BOO!"

Dreadlocks are not a good look for me, but a shaved head is even worse.

If I can't say anything nice, I am not to say anything at all.

My picture is not in the dictionary under the word "Kablam."

Underwear is designed to be worn properly, under my clothes, not on top of my head.

"Semprini" is an Italian surname, not a dirty word.

I do not have the ability to start fires with my mind.

Not being a quitter and never knowing when to quit are two different things.

I am not allowed to set shotgun traps in my bedroom.

It is a crime to lead to the delinquency of a minor. Moreover, I should not do it.

Times have changed. It is no longer deemed appropriate for me to wander through buildings asking people if they have seen my pussy, even if I really am looking for my cat.

Likewise, it's probably not appropriate for me to quote Curly Howard's lemon-sucking adage, "If at first you don't succeed, keep on suckin' 'till you do suck seed."

I am not allowed to put a "contract" out on George Steinbrenner.

I am not allowed to keep a harem on station premises.

Alligators do not make good pets.

I am not allowed to start a pornographic webpage featuring personal and contact information of my colleagues.

"Ah shall think about it tomorrow, for tomorrow is anothah day" is not an acceptable answer to any question posed me by my colleagues.

I am not an ex-parrot.

I am not allowed to substitute a Confederate flag for the precinct's American flag, nor can I fly it beneath the American flag where the state flag should be.

When I do replace the American flag with the Confederate flag, it is not gentlemanly to blame O'Hara.

It is not nice to accuse my colleagues of "cutting the cheese."

"Breaking and entering" should never be listed among my hobbies on any official documents.

The next time I sugar Dobson's gas, I can expect a serious smoking.

I am not allowed to deliberately confuse my coworkers.

If I truly do enjoy strange food combinations that others find nauseating, such as ketchup on apple pie, I am requested to eat in private.

Sneaking up behind Henry at night and goosing him is extremely hazardous to my health.

I do not have a pet circus mouse named Mr. Jingles who whispers things in my ear at night.

A loincloth is not appropriate casual wear.

Gibberish is not a language.

I am not the all-knowing eternal and universal consciousness of the Rilos 14 star system.

I am not the Lord of the Dance.

I am not allowed to forward spam mails pertaining to male enhancement or links to porn sites to my colleagues with new, innocuous subject lines.

I am not to refer to rookies as "new outlets for my rage."