fuck the police

Joe and I had just left Donnelly's--immersed in the ped-mall and all of its St. Patrick's day glory. Bound for the Mill, we rolled the 15 yards to the street. He intercepted our path like a troll guarding a bridge; one of Iowa City's "finest" was incensed that we were rolling on his sidewalk (his words, not mine).

"Now, do you know why I stopped you?"

No, but I have a feeling you're going to tell us...

"Look, I really don't care that you're on the sidewalk--that doesn't bother me, but look, there are all these drunk people around, and if you're not careful, BAM! you just ran over some meathead's girlfriend's toe, and then there's gonna be a fight. I just don't want you guys to get your ass kicked."

Thanks asshole, for looking out for us poor, weak cyclists. Thank you for protecting us skinny effeminate nancies from the hordes of drunken Todds. I feel so stupid; here I was, thinking you were breaking our balls because we somehow transgressed your turf or inadvertantly challenged your authority. Here you are, protecting us!


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