Look, Seattle Police Department, this ain't Hell's Kitchen; it's a small neighborhood full of cute little houses, liquor stores, and strip clubs. Granted it isn't a good neighborhood; but I bet you, with your bullet proof vest, tazer, night stick, mace, gun and hundreds of buddies could probably show up and survive. You know I manage to walk in this very neighborhood carrying a pack of gum, car keys, and a cell phone.
I know it must not be the whole neighborhood that you're afraid of- I see you ALL THE TIME at the Starbucks 1.5 blocks South of my house. Perhaps you are afraid of me? Don't worry, I'm really quite gentle-- once you get to know me.
You know, while I can't excite myself to feel that bad for the big haired trailer trash getting the shit kicked out of her by her biker/red neck/asshole boyfriend/husband/pimp in the parking lot of the bar across the alley from my "luxurious apartment home," I still feel kinda obligated to call you guys. I feel that if I bother to peep anxiously out my window in my underoos and tank top waiting for the woman to die/runaway or you to come and rescue her/any hope of me sleeping that night, that you could bother to show up. I should not have to slither onto my porch and throw shoes at her assailant to make them go away. For one thing, it is a waste of shoe; for another she just is going to hop in his truck/Cadillac/'hog' and proceed to get the shit kicked out of her in a new and exciting location. Oh boy! Maybe her spawn/miniature future criminals will be there and get their nightly beatings too. Oh yea, and it scares the living daylights out of me.
So, in conclusion, Seattle Police Department, please show up when I call. Or do I have to walk the 1.5 blocks to Starbucks and come to get you myself?
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