Partly Cloudy, 64°
If you’re a cop, you have to tell me. This isn’t—you aren’t are you? Because you sort of have this cop way of standing. You sort of have this cop posture. And that is definitely a cop haircut. The uniform and badge are throwing me a little as well. Plus the way you just called this whole situation in on your walkie-talkie. That was a real cop thing to do. I know that if you’re a cop, you have to tell me the second time I ask—right? So are you or aren’t you? Or is it that you have to tell me on the third time?
What’s your badge number? You’re right. Trick question—people that aren’t cops don’t have badge numbers. You’re a clever one. I have to watch out for you. What’s your precinct? Ah-ha! How did you know that only cops have precincts? How did I know? Whoa—don’t try to turn this around on me. I’m not the one on trial here.
So I guess what I’m trying to say here—or ask, rather—is: are you a cop? Excuse me, let me rephrase. Are you a police officer? What is it cops are calling themselves these days? Trooper? Lawman? Jeff—are you guys all going by Jeff all of sudden? I bet you guys thought you’d pulled a fast one. What is it? Tell me.
Alright. The way you just handcuffed me right there. That was a total cop move. And right there! It is so like a cop to say that you’re taking me down to the station. So if you’re not a cop, where did you get this patrol car? If you’re not a cop, why are you reading me my rights? I know I have the right to remain silent and to speak to an attorney. The question becomes: how did you? Do I understand these rights as they’ve been read to me? Almost certainly. I like you. You’re a sketchy motherfucker, but I like you.
