hell is where da partii at

I assume you’ve all read the secret paperwork informing you that you have been selected for consideration to be our department’s next generation of undercover jumpstreet cops. Before we begin, I should say that this assignment is not for everyone, and that not all of you will make it. Those who choose to accept this serious responsibility will find the work thankless and at times, humiliating. Those who decline will find work in other areas of law enforcement, where street ruffians will likely make fun of you for having a baby face. Of course, you all learned in the academy that the best way to handle that problem is to give those punks a “taze-te” of their own medicine, if you get my drift. Oh, and don’t use that line, either; that’s mine.

Under your seat, you will find a packet containing instructions for how to blend in, as well as a few accessories to help you pass as a teenage ne’er-do-well in today’s world. I urge you to all please trim all ear and nose hair to acceptable levels before putting in the piercings that come with your disguises. Now, your first day of class, you’re going to want to set a tone early. Let the other kids know that you’re a bad mamma jamma who’s looking to ruffle a few feathers. A lot of new kids get called to the front of the class to introduce themselves, and one quick way to make an impression is to use bad language. Remember, you don’t want to disrespect the teachers and principals we’re partnering with, so if you’re gonna use the word “fuck”, make sure you stop just shy of fully pronouncing the “k”. Ramble incoherently about your troubled home life, which is ruled over by your domineering “old man” and the myriad ways he is always ” hassling” you. And another thing, you don’t want to give away your age by appearing too smart, especially in history class. Just lean back at your desk and buuild your credibility with the hoodlums in the back of the classroom when you sneer, “who the fuc is Walter Mondale?”

Once you’ve established your place in the pecking order, then you’ll be ready to infiltrate the dangerous gang and drug culture that permeates every high school in this country. Spend your lunch period in the boys’ bathroom, and when the delinquents barge in to slick back their hair and sneak drags off cigarettes pilfered from their stepdads, pull a vial of chalk dust out of your fanny pack and ask them if they know where the real party is. Important: if any of them asks you if you’re a cop, tell them no, so you don’t blow your cover. Then put on the headphones of your department-provided Walkman and say,”later, losers.” That will accomplish two things. First, by employing the sophisticated mind game known as reverse psychology, you’ll send the signal that you’re an alpha male who’s not to be crossed. The other objective is that the Walkman is actually a super sensitive microphone with which you can eavesdrop on those young philistines’ conversations. But be careful, because the powerful range of the microphone has been known to occasionally make its user insane from being able to hear the deafening sounds of people’s hair growing.

All right, ladies and gentlemen, get out there and do what we hired you for. Each of you was chosen not just for your adult acne, but for your finely tuned mind; not only for your sparse moustache, but for the nose for crime located directly above it. Oh, before I forget: if the opportunity arises, another way to build rapport with the wrong crowd is to get Saturday detention, then tell one of the school’s jocks not to call you a wasteoid, and that yes, that you are gonna blaze up in here (don’t actually blaze up in there, though, as that would mean incriminating yourself, and would probably constitute entrapment or something, especially if you somehow got the jock, geek, princess, and basketcase to partake with you). Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be spending the rest of the week inside this booth made of three-inch-thick bulletproof glass, seeing as how I’ve got three days till retirement.


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May 2011
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