Hungry Cowboy: A Story of Love, Deception, and Slim Jims

In celebration of V-Day, let's check out a story of love and deception from our friends in Bozeman, Montana, who always seem to have something entertaining to report.

February 8, 2012: Someone reportedly stole beef jerky and DVDs from a grocery store around 10 p.m.

Dear Hungry Cowboy,

I realize that a long day on the range will leave you feeling tired, famished, and a little horny. Those cows won't herd themselves, now, will they? You park your trusty steed at the local Grand Union and dip in for some delectables when you realize--you didn't have room for your wallet in those tight Lee Dungarees! What to do?

You had a multitude of options at your fingertips, HC. You could have pocketed a few apples, oranges, or even some Hot Pockets. You had a whole aisle of crackers and cookies at your disposal, but you chose the meat snack marketed by a professional wrestler that costs 2 for $1. I hope you at least got the kind that has the cheese in it, too. Live a little. 

Once you were finished choosing your meal for the evening, you picked up a couple of randy flicks for later, Ride 'Em Cowgirl and An Officer and a Gentlehorse. Though I have to ask, where did you intend on sticking these videos, if you didn't have room for your wallet?

I guess we learned a valuable lesson here, HC: saddlebags aren't just for show. Next time, pack wisely. And maybe get a girlfriend.

XOXO,

PGG

If I were a hooker

This is absolutely amazeballs. A woman in LA is accused of offering sexual favors in return for a box of chicken nuggets.

Seems like a fair deal to me, those nugs are like bites of Jesus in your mouth.

Things I'd accept in return for sexual favors if I were a hooker:
- a Klondike bar
- a roll of Bubble Tape
- a pair of Pajama Jeans (those things are EXPENSIVE!)
- an Orange Dream Martini from Applebees
- Chia Herb Garden
- a gift certificate to JoAnn Fabrics
- a movie date to see Breaking Dawn (K won't go with me, whomp whomp.)
- 3 Chalupas
- a box of K-cups
- a Double Filet o Fish
- a Shake Weight

That's right folks, I'm a cheap date.

Police Blotter Monday

Happy 2012, kiddies! A new year, a new start. Thanks to everybody who managed to make it through the last post. I know it's not my usual, but I think I just needed to write it to heal in the only way I know how--through words. I'm doing a little better now that it's been a few days, so I think it's a good time to get back to swearing and sharing my humiliating life stories with you to make you feel just a little better about yourself.

Let's kick off the new year with a little Police Blotter Monday from our friends in Bozeman, Montana:

December 31, 2011 - Bozeman, Montana
Someone slashed the tires on a Valhalla Court man’s car. The car was also egged and had ketchup and mustard poured all over it.

Ouch, buddy. This isn't a good way to finish off 2011. I can only imagine that you got into a fight with your manager at the In-and-Out Burger where you've only been employed for the last 4 weeks. The gig at the convenience store just wasn't paying enough so you thought you'd take a chance and break into a new industry. The hours were long, the burgers were hot, and the customers were rude. So when those two punk kids came into the store demanding they have their burgers their way, you lost it. You dove across the counter and pounced on the one who called your mom fat, giving him a fat lip and a bloody nose. You were fired on the spot, spit in the manager's face, and stormed out the back door after making a scene and tossing beef patties all over the kitchen like frisbees.

When you got to the parking lot, your car looked like something that had just come out of the fryer. The tires were slashed, and condiments had been squirted all over the outside of your '94 Dodge Caravan. Maybe they thought it looked like a hot dog? Did they use the packets from the bin in the lobby, or did they use industrial sized containers? I guess it would be pretty time consuming to rip open all of those ketchup and mustard packets, but then again--your beef tantrum did take about 20 minutes.

I hope you learned your lesson: the customer is always right. They may be douchey, but they have the power to ruin your mode of transportation. And your mom is gonna be PISSED when she finds out you borrowed her van.

This shit just writes itself.

Seriously people, this shit just writes itself. Saturday, before Carebear-Palooza, K and I were having a leisurely breakfast downtown. We returned home to finish decorating the front yard, when an elderly lady walked past us on the street and said "did you hear that someone robbed the bank?" We nodded; it was local news and everyone in Stars Hollow knew about it. "No," she said, "They robbed it AGAIN. Just now!"

My mouth dropped in disbelief: we were JUST having breakfast next to the bank! But more importantly... who robs the same bank TWICE? In ONE WEEK?

K: "How stupid do you have to be to rob the same bank AGAIN? These people must have serious problems."
Me: "...Or they're incredibly SMART. Because they have successfully robbed a bank 2 times without getting caught, and I have successfully robbed a bank no times. Who's the winner there?" (Granted, I'm not wanted for armed robbery, but it must have been a hell of an adventure.)

I cannot fucking WAIT to read about this in the police blotter. We are bound to be in morons in the news, AND I'm willing to bet there will be an overhaul of the Stars Hollow Police Dept, too. You can't make this shit up if you tried.

Bad boys, bad boys

I felt like I was 17 again this weekend. We had 2 BBQs on Saturday, and since we arrived late to the second (and had imbibed in a few drinks) we decided to stay. We awoke the next morning to the sounds of a fierce, persistent knocking at the door around 8:30am. (Jesus, is that you? We're on our way to church, we swear.)

I grumpily peered out the curtains to see who was gracing us with their early and unwanted presence. To my surprise, it was a burly, balding police officer. And he wasn't bearing coffee and donuts.

I craftily hid behind the curtains to watch the magic unfold, because that is my sneaky secret detective way. I had been to parties when the cops had arrived DURING the festivities, to address a noise complaint or arrest underaged drunkies, but never the morning AFTER. This had to be good.

Apparently, a neighbor had complained that a partygoer had ridden a bike down the street and wiped out on their lawn, a-la America's Funniest Videos, causing divots that were irreparable and emotionally damaging. Which is totally understandable, because grass doesn't grow on it's own. Oh, wait.

What party?

Anyways, our gracious hosts talked to the police officer and worked out the issue at hand. The cop asked if there had been a party the night before, and he admitted as much. Good thing he didn't try to lie, because this was right about the moment that I realized how the cop had found the house:

All was settled and nobody was arrested. And the moral of the story? Doesn't matter if you're 17 or 27, you can still get a laugh (and an unwanted visit from the cops) with a beer box. Also, don't ride your bike down the street and wipe out on your neighbor's lawn.

Police Blotter Monday: The Street Masturbator

May 19 - 5:55pm
A caller reported to police seeing a man step into the street, drop his pants and begin to masturbate in the Washington Avenue area the previous night about 9:30pm. The caller said she was not sure she could identify the subject but wanted to report the incident in case it happens again.

Oh, Stars Hollow--how you've evolved from a one horse town to a red light district. I guess it's mating season, so those who can't find a mate - drop their pants in the street and go to town.

I guess I can see it: a hot Wednesday evening in the spring, out for a nice walk before the sun goes down, and you want everyone in town to know how you're feeling--especially that nice old lady on Washington Ave.

What I don't understand is, why in the middle of the street? You could have at least stayed on the sidewalk so you didn't create a traffic hazard. Or even done your business in the privacy of your own home on whore island. And couldn't you have waited until it was actually dark, at say--oh, 10pm?

I guess when the mood strikes, you get caught up in the moment.

As for me, I'm super pissed I missed this spectacle. But I'll take the old lady's word for it, and keep my eye out for creepy strangers unbuckling their belts in the middle of the street.

Police Blotter Friday: Lost in the Wood.

April 16th - 10:05pm

Police were dispatched to Washington Street for a caller reporting a missing person. The officer then spoke with a woman who said her husband sent her a text message reporting being "lost in the wood." The officer had a dispatch 'ping' the phone and it showed the last time it had been used was in a neighboring town. 

It's super easy to get lost...you let go of your mom's hand at the mall and wander into the Toys-R-Us for a Tickle Me Elmo, and suddenly you turn around and realize you have no idea where you are. Terrifying. I'm sure that's just what happened. To a grown man. Who found himself lost in the woods.

Why a text message? If he had the ability to text, he certainly could have at the very least called his wife to have her mapquest him out of the wood. Or hopped on the interwebs and figured it out himself. Hey, they say the iPhone tracks you wherever you go anyways.

I can only imagine how that convo went:

Wife: Hey asshole, when are you coming home?

Husband: Don't know.

Wife: Why? Where the hell are you?
Husband: Lost in the wood.

And what exactly was he doing in the wood? In a neighboring town? Did he follow a white rabbit in a waistcoat? Shrink himself down with magic potion then run three miles giggling like a schoolgirl until he realized he was lost in the wood?

I sure hope he managed to click his red heels and make it home to his loving wife, who was obviously very worried about him. And sir, just a suggestion: maybe it's time to upgrade to a smart phone with GPS features? Or at the very least, a compass.

Police Blotter Friday: It's all fun and games until somebody gets tasered.

A man wearing a green sweater and a golf hat and holding a golf club was harassing people at a downtown restaurant. When police tried to restrain the man, he ran through the restaurant's kitchen, "destroying property." He was Tasered and arrested in the alley behind the restaurant.

Dear Tiger,

I know life has been getting you down lately. I'm sure it's frustrating that you didn't get to don that green jacket at the Masters. But to get drunk and harass patrons at a local restaurant with your clubs? You're better than that.

You must have been drunk, right? Otherwise why would you wear a green sweater and a golf hat to a restaurant. What were you saying to those patrons that got them upset? Did you try to sit down at a stranger's table and asked them to touch your club? Comment on how fat his wife has gotten? Maybe you asked to take a bite of his steak? I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here.

I know times are tough, my promiscuous friend. But when you saw the police come into the restaurant, you decided to go down in a blaze of glory, dashing through the kitchen towards freedom, swinging your club at pots, pans and frozen bags of french fries on your way out the door.

Too bad they caught you in the alley and tasered you, bringing your reign of terror to a ceasing halt. I was really rooting for you to finish what you had started up in that motha.

Tree Planters Do Not Babysitters Make

Another classic police report from the awesome city of Bozeman, Montana:

"A caller reported seeing a woman put a child in a tree planter outside a gym and then go into a casino around 12:45 p.m."

Dear Single and Simple-minded Mom,

I understand that you're trying to get your afternoon chores done. I imagine it's hard being a single mom, trying to get your fitness on, staying in shape so you can pick up hot young cubs looking for a MILF later at the club. I feel your pain, sister--I really do.

I'm curious about what you did with your baby while you were in the gym though? Did you put him on the treadmill next to you while you worked it out? Strapped him to the console and played peak-a-boo while you jogged (soft 'j')? These are the details I'm concerned about. Maybe he held your water bottle while you took a little time on the elliptical. I don't know.

After your workout, you came outside, proud of your accomplishment for the day and realized you had a few hours to kill before you had to go home and put the kiddie to bed, so you thought you'd try your luck and see if you could win a few million before you went home. But crap--you have the baby WITH you. He's not 18, you can't put him to work at the blackjack table just yet. What to do?

You came outside--took a look around, assessed your surroundings, and decided the most logical place to put your child while you went in for a little casino action was a tree planter? Why not a trash can? Or a car seat? You could have at least left him in a stroller so he could chillax while you got your gamble on.

So lady, I sure hope it was worth it. I hope you won just enough money so you can afford a nanny (or maybe an adoption service) so that you can continue your healthy gambling addiction. At least then he can sit home and watch Teletubbies while you're out running your "errands".

Best of luck!
XOXO,
PGG

Police Blotter Friday: They're called handcuffs for a reason, idiot.

This amazing small town police blotter blip comes to us all the way from Bozeman, Montana. 

"Police helped a man who accidentally locked a set of handcuffs onto his wrists in South Hedges Hall around 3:40pm. Police removed the cuffs."

Dear sir who accidentally locked a set of handcuffs onto your wrists: what exactly were you doing when this occurred? Were you playing an intense game of 'cops and robbers' with your nine-year-old son when things got really real, really fast? Are you a retired cop who was demonstrating to a first grade class how to put handcuffs on a criminal? Or did you find yourself in a compromising position at a bachelor party after a costumed lady of the night asked you to put your hands behind your back?

Another thing I'd like to ask you, sir, is why this call occurred at 3:40pm. We're talking broad daylight. And even if the bachelor party lasted until the wee hours of the morning, I'm pretty sure you didn't spend 12 hours locked in those handcuffs before you managed to shimmy your way to a telephone so you could phone it in.

What else were you wearing when the police came to unlock you? Because I'm picturing boxer briefs and a pair of dress socks. MAYBE a wifebeater. Maybe.

And lastly, how did you manage to make the call to police? Did your lady friend help you dial the numbers? Did she hold the phone up to your ear while you told police about the embarrassing situation you found yourself in?

Sir, I hope you were released from the confinement of your handcuffs and have continued about your life with a lesson learned: even if they are covered in cheetah-print fur, they still have the capacity to incapacitate you. Now you know, and knowing is half the battle.

Police Blotter Friday: Too Bad, Snow Sad

Last Saturday, on our way home from helping my sister and her bf move, we drove through our little downtown area here in Stars Hollow and saw four police cars, a tow truck, a snowmobile, and a gaggle of bystanders crowding the street around 2am.

In our small town where mostly everything shuts down around 9pm, this was a big to-do. Plus I think 4 police cars encompasses the entire Stars Hollow police force. K and I drove by slowly, faces pressed against the windows, trying not to stare but desperately trying to check out what was going on. We drove by getting no answers, but we knew where we would turn to find out: next week's police blotter. It's our source for all things (and people) criminal and we've made a weekly tradition of drinking our coffee and reading it aloud to each other.

So here's the scoop: come to find out THIS week that the guy driving the snowmobile was drunk and crashed it into a fence, getting himself stuck. He was found walking down the street, helmet in hand, and when police approached him, he said: "he just wanted to go home."

Poor guy. I mean, who drives a snowmobile to the bar? Who then downs a bottle of jack, throws on his ski boots and jumps on a fast-moving machine to get home? Imagine what a bummer it would be to just want to get to your house, throw on your footy pajamas and crawl into a nice feather bed... then WHAM! you fly into a fence and get your hot rod all jammed up. (That's what she said.)

Seriously, dude... you're an idiot. And you deserve to get your mobile taken away. Nobody should be driving drunk, and now you've learned your lesson the hard way!

And that's the Stars Hollow Police Blotter for this week, folks. Have a great weekend--and stay off the snowmobiles if you're having a hot toddy.