Indonesia’s chief of police has banned men with artificially enlarged penises from the force. A wise policy in my view. Victims of crime are already in a state of shock and don’t need a visit from Officer Cobra Pants. It's not easy to describe an offender’s features to someone with a zucchini in his trousers. It might be a different story if policemen wore kilts, but that would open up another can of worms. A law enforcer who can’t kick a suspect’s behind without exposing himself is fatally flawed as a crime fighter.
The one exception I’d make is for officers working in the Vice Squad. It’s common knowledge that well-endowed policemen get more respect from prostitutes and pimps. They’re harder to bribe for one thing. A working girl would think twice about offering a freebie to a man whose appendage might damage the source of her income. I don’t know which squad was involved in the recent round-up of beach gigolos in Bali, but I hope they measured up to the task. You don’t want policemen getting an inferiority complex from manhandling gigolos.
Are the Indonesian police yearning for greater groin mass to compensate for another inadequacy? Perhaps their standard issue handgun is one of those puny little pistols used by gamblers in the Old West to threaten a rival under the table. A cop won’t feel secure in his virility unless you equip him with a piece like the 44-Magnum. I bet Dirty Harry never gave a second thought to the size of his dick when he was blowing away all the punks and psychos who crossed his path.
When I was in the circus we never called the police, preferring in-house solutions to our security problems. The midgets looked out for pickpockets and bottom-pinchers in the crowds that assembled before the show, keeping me informed by walkie-talkie. If they reported any funny business, I swung over on a guy rope and apprehended the suspect with the long arm of the gorilla. Very little violence was required. To the pickpockets, I simply said:
“You’ve got a choice: you can give what you stole to me, or you can give it to the lions.”
They always gave it to me.
A different approach was required for the bottom pinchers. I gave them a speech along the following lines:
“A pox on your groping fingers, you saucy knave! Apologize for your indecent act or I’ll rip off your pants and expose your grubby gonads to the world! And be sure to repent with downcast eyes or I’ll give your nose a tweak you’ll feel until the next solar eclipse!”
The recipients of the pinch were generally satisfied with the apology, often adding their own acerbic remarks to compound the miscreant’s humiliation. In a few cases, it must be said, the victim behaved in a manner that suggested she had mixed feeling about her experience. One particularly buxom lady even asked her assailant for a date. He didn’t dare refuse under the menace of my stern gaze.
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