The Cop Report

It was a brisk Tuesday morning when I picked up my prospect, Azazel, in my Bravado Rumpo Doom Van. I had taken it to the autobody shop in Vinewood the night before, and it was ready now. My late night intoxicants had kept me up to this point, and I wasn’t going to spoil a fresh morning in the golden hour. So, my prospect and I picked her up before heading out west for Paleto Bay. I was unaware that the route would become a savage bloodbath.

Senior Cuntstable Gunsynd Badge Number 5959 was not having a particularly good day when he pulled me over for reasons I’m not even sure of. Without telling me to give him my license (which I didn’t have anyway) or for me to roll down the window, only pointed at me with a sleeve already stained in blood.

They commanded me to “Open the door, NOW!” in a boisterous Aussie tone. Throwing open my driver side sliding door, he searched the Doom Van with what I could tell was malicious intent. He was looking for the drugs that were already consumed just hours prior, ultimately to no avail. The prospect was cool and collected when I turned to him, but that quickly failed in his new facepaint.

Suddenly, Highway Patrol Trooper Drakvar swooped in on the image of my nightmares. He snarled at me atop a police bike with a V-Twin engine that grumbled at my despair. Hypnotizing lights that flashed red and blue began to amplify my fears of the situation. It seemed like forever until we were finally able to exit the van to comply with Senior Cuntstable Gundsynd Badge Number 5959’s orders. Suddenly, Trooper Drakver smashed my driver’s headlight through the ram protection set up.

“Do you know why I pulled you over, mate?” Senior Cuntstable Gundsynd Badge Number 5959’s shiner behind his sunglasses was barely hidden. “Broken headlight. Plus you ran that red light back there while I was right behind you.”

I had not remembered the red light, but then again I was on a completely different level having not had slept the night before. “Officer, I-”

“Shut up, clown!” He barked at me before pointing at my prospect, Azazel. “Who are you?”

Without warning, my prospect broke his cool and made a move to run, but Senior Cuntstable Gundsynd Badge Number 5959’s stun gun was a faster mover. With the momentary loss of his functions, my prospect began to take a cop beating that would make a conservative flinch. I could do nothing but watch in horror as I heard his bones crack from the full contact of the nightsticks. This would not last, as Azazel lay there on the ground motionless. Highway Patrol Trooper Drakvar turned immediately to be and slapped his nightstick against my face in a split second, and soon, Senior Cuntstable Gundsynd Badge Number 5959 would be immediately behind me with his drawn.

This was a situation I could not escape from. After I was beaten to shreds, they turned their attention to the traffic building behind us. Senior Cuntstable Gundsynd Badge Number 5959 began to direct traffic to “Move along”, but when these orders were not met, Highway Patrol Trooper Drakvar began to nightstick their car. Insanity began to ensue in the middle of Rockford Hills as the 2 officers attempted to control the traffic. The next thing I know, I’m smoking a cigarette with a burned out vehicle next to my van.

Crime is always up in Los Santos
It’s true, you see it every time you drive to the Diamond Casino for your free spin of the lucky wheel. Whether it’s me, you, or that weird dude that lives down the street from you, we all make money by bending the rules a bit. Crime, crime never changes. Do you know what also never changes? The old ways. The ways that have stayed the same since capitalism began. You pay the public to do it for you. So what did the Los Santos Police Department offer them this time?

The Police Bike, essentially a Western Sovereign with lights, was recently offered to the city of Los Santos at a price of around three-to-five million dollars to help shave off the amount of crime in the city. Most of those that have this bike, also have access to a litany of vehicles used to maintain Law and Order. In exchange, more jobs have opened up for the city, which I accept is stimulating the economy, but at what cost?

New cops on the force
After my harrowing experience, it has become clear the method in which they train this new police force. It is obvious that the amount of mental health screening for Highway Patrol Trooper Drakvar and Senior Cuntstable Gundsynd Badge Number 5959 was minimal, if any, given the attitude towards not finding drugs in my van (or in my system). The savagery that followed my and my prospects’ brutal beatdowns is so intelligible that I cannot even begin to put it into words in this article.

I have tried to investigate the whereabouts of the person in charge of making the decisions for these new hires. To my dismay, I only had no clues or outlandish suggestions. Could it be that they have no leader and it IS all pure and accepted chaos, or could the truth be so fanatical that nobody you told it to would believe it? It’s almost embarrassing to believe that our police chief stays so hidden that nobody I’ve talked to even knew their name. At this point, hundreds of thousands of cops have been hired already, but who are they?

Could be our own!
I do not know how to combat this new rise in police activity, only to note that some of them could be your homie across the way, your uncle you’ve known for all your life, or that girl you’ve been flirting with at the Up-N-Atom Burger. It seems maybe the job market is so dry that we all have to either commit our felonious occupations, or bust those trying to feed their families. For some, it is justified. They genuinely want to make the city better and clean it up. Maybe their image is being tarnished with the experience I had earlier this week.

I’ve seen those in the middle take a gunshot just as quickly as either side, so I don’t have an answer to these concerns. All I can say to you, my favorite reader, is to be safe out there delivering your narcotics, your merchandise, or illegal weapons. Wear your body armor, and for the love of the gods, bulletproof your tires just in case. Your innocent Sunday afternoon drive to the shoestore could turn into an unstoppable rampaging kill frenzy just outside of Del Perro; and nobody needs that.

Be safe Readers. As always, two whoops and a badonkadonk to you