One of two videos on YouTube showing Louisville police Sgt. Joey Davis improperly detaining and searching patrons at Cahoots — the infamous local watering-hole that recently was stripped and castrated of its liquor license — has collected over 79,000 viewers. And the video is a measly one minute and 29 seconds long. It contains zero Amber Rose, and it features bro-talk, an off-camera burp, enough light-flares and rights violations to get John McTiernan off and questionable choices of clothing for everyone involved (hey, I dress like a garbage man from a Russ Meyer film, so that’s some pretty thin shade I’m throwing out there). The second video is even shorter, garnering about as many views as a 16-year-old wanna-be PewDiePie from Salt Lake City postin’ videos of himself playing Alien Creeps on an Amazon Fire while yelling “Excelsior!” (More shade coming your way!).
Trust, my dudes, it’s a chore to watch, and it lasts about as long as Kirk Cameron does in the sack. Davis, a sergeant without the “Slaughter,” obviously came to work that day with the gumption of a rookie from “Police Academy 4: Citizens On Patrol,” armed with some sexy khaki shorts and big, juicy hopes of bringing the brass tacks to a shit-shack den of vice, not unlike ol’ Popeye Doyle, sans the rad pork-pie hat, but he instead ended up on the wrong end of a Samsung Galaxy looking like Sgt. Tackleberry with his pants down ... Flash forward to “Once upon a time called Right Now,” and Cahoots is surviving on the sales of cheese fries topped with teardrops, as miserable patrons glumly sip club soda, thanks to the huf-and-puff wrath of the greater community at large, which felt the need to knuckle up, snatch the bottle from the baby and let Cahoots know it’ll never be as good or as successful or as handsome as its older brother Tewligans (damn! Shade machine lobbin’ ‘em hot!).
Meanwhile, in the cold fortress of Louisville’s police headquarters, under harsh florescent lights and the oppressive mixed aroma of gun oil, pepper spray and Gold Bond Triple Action wafting around like phantoms of municipal sanctimony, Sgt. Joey was forced to face his superiors for his infractions and misconduct, and his towering mustachioed overlords and lovers of reprimand saw fit to judge and sentence him harshly, and they served Sgt. Joey a Crockpot piping with pink-slips and public shame. He was stripped of all titles, pensions and benefits, and forever denied the mirthful act of feeding the beloved police stallion, Officer Hot-Trot, peppermint candies ...
Oh no, wait ... that’s not how that shit went down at all!
This is an American Police Force, not Papa John’s! Shit, sorry about that non-sexual flight of fantasy, because on the real, Sgt. Joey was suspended for one single day without pay, a punishment that’s the equivalent of being forced to write “Making Millhouse Cry Is Not A Science Project” on a chalk board 100 times (welcome to the shade parade!). Now, I’m a man of meager means who once missed a day of work without pay because I went full Lampwick and turned into a donkey at a Tom Waits show, and woke up the next day in a ditch beside my brother Luke, who was wearing the remains of a screen door like a disgraced member of Delta Tau Chi. So trust — a day without pay ain’t shit kapitän: You shake that shit off with a bowl of cereal and some soaps (and God looked upon his creations and brought down the shade!). So as far as police scandals go, Chicago we ain’t — the “Chi-Raq” police force commits more nefarious deeds on their way to a Cubs game with their kids in the car than the Louisville Metro Police Department has committed since its inception, but that doesn’t mean Sgt. Joey is beyond schoolyard reproach and undeserving of a good hiding.
Now, I’m not standing here as The Feeding of The Five Thousand flatly blares on my ear-buds, yelling that all cops suck, and let’s do away with law and order because anarchy, or some such hogwash, and I’m sure as fuck not standing here like my Amway-slinging, James Dobson-lovin’ auntie Jill who considers any Johnny Law with a boner for skull-crackin’ and an appetite for murdering the family dog to be a hero in blue. The police in this country desperately need to get its act together, and don’t even give me that Andy Griffith-whistling good-cop-on-the-beat-of-lore bullshit: That’s a portrait that never existed a damn day in the real world (ever held a blackjack in your soft little hands? It’s like a cruel dominatrix toy that will turn your brains into mashed potatoes with one thump — they’re not nice). So listen fuzz: We need you to police and police well, mind the Ps and Qs of your protocol and make “To Protect and Serve” your mothertruckin’ mantra, because we need you, especially since my piece-of-shit Uncle Terry is likely to try and drive home again from Hooters after a night of beer guzzling, pill popping and sexual harassing, and without y’all to pull him over, hem him up and toss his stupid ass in the back of a squad car, the chances of him flipping his flaming Suburban into a daycare is nigh (shade casting all over your stupid face, Uncle Terry!). Do better. be better ... peace.
