I am the most pro-police person you will ever meet. I really am. But the police in Minnesota are some of the most passive-aggressive pussies you will ever meet. Truth be told, I have gotten two tickets since I've been here, but in that same truth, let it be known, each and every incident seemed like something out of a movie - like a colored-guy getting pulled over in the Jim Crowe South, circa, well, the Jim Crowe era.
On the first occassion, I was driving through the airport. (Yes, you loyal-Minnesotan shitfucks, I now know that they are tough on everyone). But I was literally dropping someone off, on my second day here. Oh yee Royal-Mounteed Fuckwad pulls me over as I am nearing the terminal. He does not say what I did, only asks to see my license and POI. Suffice it to say, I didn't know what I did wrong until he handed me the ticket. I was speeding. Okay, I was with someone on my second day in the good old Twins-Marry-Each-Other-Cities, and I didn't know any better. Was I speeding? Quite possibly. But the pussy-ass cop with the big bad-ass POLICE just went to his car and wrote up his ticket. No eye-contact. No explanation. Ahh, Minnesota Nice!
On the second occassion, I was driving alongside of 494 in one of the suburbs. In this instance, I know for a fact I wasn't speeding. How? Because in this hick-ridden state, I drive under the speed limit by five or so miles per hour (even though every asshole hick in an extended-cab rides my ass), just to avoid being pulled over. Also in this instance, I never actually passed the cop - I didn't "break his plane." But just as I was about to ride past him, he throws his siren on and pulls me over. Again, same fucking thing. The pussy-ass "crime-fighter" asks for my license. (Wait, he didn't ask me for my insurance??) So of course, he makes no eye contact, goes back to his little police mobile and I wait. He comes back and hands me the ticket. When I ask him what it was for, he says "Mr. BLANK, do you know how fast you were going?" "Um, yes, I do. 30 MPH." "You were going 51 in a 35." When I started asking him how that was possible, he continued to look down. I then hit him with the whole "officer, half of my friends and family back home are cops." He sheepishly interrupted, "so you know." "Yeah, I know. I know what it's like to be someone who actually fights criminals, not fabricate shit like this."
Of course, this slack-jawed yokel had no response, other than to say "best you slow down." And of course, I was livid. But the pussy did nothing. This passive-aggressive MSP suburban cop did nothing. Instead, he walked back to his car, and got into his car. At the stoplight, we were parallel. I stared at him. He would not look up. Fucking pussy.
So, I have a few questions: why don't they speak to you, instead of at the ground? Is it because they were pulling a fast one and didn't expect to be called-out on it? Kind of seems that way. And that's kind of the way people are here. They try and pull things on you because they don't think you'll call them on it. And what happens when you do? Their passive-aggressive asses curl-up in a ball, then go motherfuck you to someone who also views you as a foreign-invader.
All police in Minnesota can go fuck yourselves. Okay, I'd like to lighten-up on that stance, because I do realize that there are cops out here that aren't cowardly weasels (and I salute you). But all of you other cops up here, you can take a cue from my beloved Chicago Police Department. You don't fight crime, you write bogus tickets. So suckit. Rednecks!
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