Thoughts and Prayers

Try decaf!

Not Just A Symbol

The young man came forward, his face drawn and sad And he held out his hand, displaying his badge. The old chief rocked slowly and put his hands in his lap And shook his head gently, and said, "What is this crap?"

The young cop sniffed, and from his eye wiped a tear, "I've given you my best for almost one year. But I make no difference, as I once thought I could, There is far more evil out there than is good."

The old chief stared up into the young rookie's eyes And tried to recall something clever and wise. "Tell me" he said, to the once eager young cop. "How many DUI's in a year have you popped?"

"Forty-two," the rookie replied with great pride. "And had you not, how many more might have died? It's not how many are arrested, now, is it? It's how many less accident scenes you must visit."

The kid hung his head, and flexed his strong hands, "But, sir," he said, softly," You don't understand. "We're greatly outnumbered, the drugs are the worst, The schools are like hell and the streets , they are cursed."

"Dealers breed like darn roaches. On the kids, they all prey, And even when arrested, they are out the next day." The old chief set his jaw, and tapped a red finger, And on the young cop, his eyes sadly lingered.

"If one little kid cannot get connected, If one pregnant junkie finds the strength to reject it, If one lousy addict decides he can beat it, If one crack-head in a million says I just don't need it...

Then you...have removed his greatest temptation, If only for a night, it might be be his salvation, And wars are not won by those who say: Screw it. They are won by the men who decide they can do it.

The rookie pulled up an old wooden chair And running a hand through his shock of brown hair, "But what about the children and poor battered wives? Why can't we stop it and fix all those lives?"

"Each time you set foot in that same, run-down house Each time you go back to bust that same dirty louse, For the children and wife, the violence has ceased, If for only a few hours, you offer them peace."

"You cannot dictate their sad chosen path, You cannot stop his booze-laden wrath, You can't pack their belongings and cart them away But you can prevent murder for just one more day."

"But sir," he said, his heart heavy like lead, "I know there are dirtbags who wish I were dead, But the public, the press, the politicians fling mud, And who says thank you when we shed some blood?"

The chief pursed his lips, his answer unknown For he knew it was this pain that hurt to the bone, "There's no easy answers for the ache that you feel, But appreciation and praise just ain't part of the deal."

"The respect, gratitude and admiration, too Will not come from people who can't do what we do. You ask for a sense of honor and pride, My advice, my son, is to look deep down inside."

The young cop stared down at the badge in his hand And he knew he would not resign as he planned, For he saw the badge now as not just something he does, It was not just a symbol...It's what he was.

~~ Author Unknown ~~

Tribute to GG

The bald cop came forward with his notebook in hand, ready to hand it over to the chief. Chief, sitting on his $4,000.00 dollar chair said “What’s up Kojerk”?

Kojerk, wiping the tears flowing from his eyes, said “I have screwed over as many officers as I can but it makes no difference as I thought it would. There are so many more to backstab and just not enough time”.

Chief stared into Kojerks eyes as he tried to recall something clever and wise. “Tell me” he said, to the faithful backstabbing cop. “How many officers have you screwed over this year”?
“Four or five”, Kojerk replied with great pride. “And had you not, how many more would I have had to work harder to screw over for no reasons”?

Kojerk hung his head high and flexed his strong hands, “But sir”, he said, softly, “you don’t understand. “I am greatly outnumbered. There are far to many good cops in this organization and it is getting extremely difficult to screw anyone over. There are very few entries in my notebook”.

“Good cops breed like roaches” said chief. “Even after being accused of wrongdoing, they are back up the next day doing a great job”. The ole chief set his jaw, and tapped a red finger.

"If I can take one good cop down. If I can deteriorate a complete police department. If I can put in place a dysfunctional administration, then you have done your job".

Kojerk pulled up an old wooden chair and stroking his bald head, “But what about all the other good cops in this department? Why can’t I continue to screw them over and ruin their lives”?

“Each time you set foot in the station. Each time you back up a fellow officer on a call. If only a few entries are made in your little black notebook, you offer me peace and some good ammunition on yet another unsuspecting officer”.

“You can not dictate their chosen path. You can not make them bad officers. You can not bring their spirits down. But you can continue to lie, cheat and bring me some information, truth or not, it makes no difference”.

“But sir”, he said, his heart pounding heavily, “I know there are good cops, me not being one of them, wish that I would do something more suitable of my talents like being a bag boy at Publix, and I am just confused”.

The chief pursed his lips, his answer unknown for he knew that Kojerk was absolutely worthless as a cop and really should submit his application with Publix, stated, I am running out of arse kissers and I really need you to suck up to me”.

"The respect, gratitude and admiration, too will not come from good cops. You ask for a sense of honor and pride. My advice, my son, is to look deep down inside and follow your leaders who have no honor, loyalty, honesty or pride, just in it for the big money"


Kojerk stared down at his notebook in his hand and he knew he would not resign as he planned, For he saw the notebook now as not just something he does, It was not just a symbol...It's what he was.


Author: Joe Mama :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol:

Police poet is starting to FREAK ME OUT. I'm thinking 72 hour evaluation.

Police poet is starting to FREAK ME OUT. I'm thinking 72 hour evaluation.

What is the problem with this person?

The Making of a Policeman...

A policeman is a composite of what all men are, a mingling of saint, just and deity. He, of all men, is at the same time the most needed and the most unwanted person. He must be such a diplomat that he can settle differences between individuals so that each will think he won. But if a policeman is friendly, he's a flirt, if he's not, he's a grouch. He must be able to start breathing, stop bleeding, tie splints and above all be sure the victim goes home without a limp or expect to be sued. He must know every gun, draw on the run, and hit where it doesn't hurt. He must be able to whip two men twice his size and half his age without damaging his uniform and without being brutal. If you hit him, he's a coward; if he hits you, he's a bully. He must know where all the sin is and not partake. The policeman must chase down leads to a dead end, stake out ten nights to find one witness who saw it happen, but refuses to remember. He must also be a minister, a social worker, an information center, a tough guy and a gentleman. But let a policeman get into trouble and the cry "crooked cop" is shouted. Then let a policeman risk his life and the same guy will say, "He's just doing his job."

What "are" policeman made of?

Author - Paul Harvey

WHEN GOD MADE POLICE OFFICERS...

When the Lord was creating police officers, he was into his sixth day of working overtime when an angel appeared and said you sure are doing a lot of fiddling around on this one. And the Lord said, Have you read the specs on this order?

A police officer has to be able to run five miles through alleys in the dark, scale walls, enter homes the health inspector wouldn't touch, and not wrinkle his uniform. He has to be able to sit in an undercover car all day on a stakeout, cover a homicide scene that night, canvass the neighborhood for witnesses, and testify in court the next day. He has to be in top physical condition at all times, running on black coffee and half-eaten meals. And he has to have six pairs of hands.

The angel shook her head slowly and said, Six pairs of hands... no way. It's not the hands that are causing me problems, said the Lord, it's the three pairs of eyes an officer has to have. That's on the standard model asked the angel. The Lord nodded. One pair that sees through a bulge in a pocket before he asks, May I see what's in there, sir? (When he already knows and wishes he'd taken that accounting job.) Another pair here in the side of his head for his partners' safety. And another pair of eyes here in front that can look reassuringly at a bleeding victim and say, “You'll be all right ma'am”, when he knows it isn't so.

Lord, said the angel, touching his sleeve, why don't you rest and work on this tomorrow. I can't, said the Lord, I already have a model that can talk a 250-pound drunk into a patrol car without incident and feed a family of five on a civil service paycheck.

The angel circled the model of the police officer very slowly, Can it think she asked. You bet, said the Lord. It can tell you the elements of a hundred crimes; recite Miranda warnings in its sleep; detain, investigate, search, and arrest a gang member on the street in less time than it takes five learned judges to debate the legality of the stop... and still it keeps its sense of humor.

This officer also has phenomenal personal control. He can deal with crime scenes painted in hell, coax a confession from a child abuser, comfort a murder victim's family, and then read in the daily paper how law enforcement isn't sensitive to the rights of criminal suspects.

Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek of the police officer. There's a leak, she pronounced. I told you that you were trying to put too much into this model. That's not a leak, said the lord, it's a tear. What's the tear for asked the angel. It's for bottled-up emotions, for fallen comrades, for commitment to that funny piece of cloth called the American flag, for justice. You're a genius, said the angel. The Lord looked somberly at the angle and said. I'm no genius; I didn't put the tear in his eye!

WHEN GOD MADE POLICE OFFICERS...

When the Lord was creating police officers, he was into his sixth day of working overtime when an angel appeared and said you sure are doing a lot of fiddling around on this one. And the Lord said, Have you read the specs on this order?

A police officer has to be able to run five miles through alleys in the dark, scale walls, enter homes the health inspector wouldn't touch, and not wrinkle his uniform. He has to be able to sit in an undercover car all day on a stakeout, cover a homicide scene that night, canvass the neighborhood for witnesses, and testify in court the next day. He has to be in top physical condition at all times, running on black coffee and half-eaten meals. And he has to have six pairs of hands.

The angel shook her head slowly and said, Six pairs of hands... no way. It's not the hands that are causing me problems, said the Lord, it's the three pairs of eyes an officer has to have. That's on the standard model asked the angel. The Lord nodded. One pair that sees through a bulge in a pocket before he asks, May I see what's in there, sir? (When he already knows and wishes he'd taken that accounting job.) Another pair here in the side of his head for his partners' safety. And another pair of eyes here in front that can look reassuringly at a bleeding victim and say, “You'll be all right ma'am”, when he knows it isn't so.

Lord, said the angel, touching his sleeve, why don't you rest and work on this tomorrow. I can't, said the Lord, I already have a model that can talk a 250-pound drunk into a patrol car without incident and feed a family of five on a civil service paycheck.

The angel circled the model of the police officer very slowly, Can it think she asked. You bet, said the Lord. It can tell you the elements of a hundred crimes; recite Miranda warnings in its sleep; detain, investigate, search, and arrest a gang member on the street in less time than it takes five learned judges to debate the legality of the stop... and still it keeps its sense of humor.

This officer also has phenomenal personal control. He can deal with crime scenes painted in hell, coax a confession from a child abuser, comfort a murder victim's family, and then read in the daily paper how law enforcement isn't sensitive to the rights of criminal suspects.

Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek of the police officer. There's a leak, she pronounced. I told you that you were trying to put too much into this model. That's not a leak, said the lord, it's a tear. What's the tear for asked the angel. It's for bottled-up emotions, for fallen comrades, for commitment to that funny piece of cloth called the American flag, for justice. You're a genius, said the angel. The Lord looked somberly at the angle and said. I'm no genius; I didn't put the tear in his eye!

Needs a life.Quckly.

Ode To A Cop

The policeman stood and faced his God, which must always come to pass.
He hoped his shoes were shining, just as brightly as his brass.

"Step forward now, policeman, how shall I deal with you?
Have you always turned the other cheek? To your God, have you been true?"

The policeman, squared his shoulders and said "No sir, I guess I ain't.
Because those of us who carry a badge can't always be a saint.

I've had to work most Sundays and at times my talk was rough,
and sometimes I've been violent, because the streets are awfully tough.

But I never took a penny, that wasn't mine to keep.
Though I worked a lot of overtime when the bills just got too steep.

And I never passed a cry for help though at times I shook with fear,
and sometimes, please forgive me, I've wept unmanly tears.

I know I don't deserve a place among the people here.
They never wanted me around except to calm their fears.

But if you have a place for me here, well... it need not be too grand.
I never expected or had too much so if You don't... I'll understand.

There was silence all around the room where the saint's respectfully stood.
As the policeman waited quietly, for the judgment... bad or good.

"Step forward now, policeman, you've borne your burdens well.
Come walk a beat on heaven's streets, You've done your time in hell."

The Making of a Policeman...

A policeman is a composite of what all men are, a mingling of saint, just and deity. He, of all men, is at the same time the most needed and the most unwanted person. He must be such a diplomat that he can settle differences between individuals so that each will think he won. But if a policeman is friendly, he's a flirt, if he's not, he's a grouch. He must be able to start breathing, stop bleeding, tie splints and above all be sure the victim goes home without a limp or expect to be sued. He must know every gun, draw on the run, and hit where it doesn't hurt. He must be able to whip two men twice his size and half his age without damaging his uniform and without being brutal. If you hit him, he's a coward; if he hits you, he's a bully. He must know where all the sin is and not partake. The policeman must chase down leads to a dead end, stake out ten nights to find one witness who saw it happen, but refuses to remember. He must also be a minister, a social worker, an information center, a tough guy and a gentleman. But let a policeman get into trouble and the cry "crooked cop" is shouted. Then let a policeman risk his life and the same guy will say, "He's just doing his job."

What "are" policeman made of?

Author - Paul Harvey