Hi Officer (name withheld -- for the time being, anyway)!
I'm not sure if your interest in me derives from curiosity or challenge, but I am sure the guys and gals in your department would advise you against taking me on. They'd prolly suggest that, among other things, you should not unnecessarily conduct slow drive-by stare-downs of my motorcycle or look yourself up on I HeArTE JADE. They might point out that paying so much attention to me earned at least one member of Law Enforcement a sexy site of his very own. They may inform you that I thrive on ridiculing uppity lawmen. Even if you choose to disregard their counsel, let's be real, darlin', no matter what your intentions are, you can't possibly keep up with me. If you persist in this provocative behavior of yours, I'll have to assume it's because you want to become the next policeman I make fun of on here.
Kisses,
P.S. Tell your awesome Lieutenant I said "howdy."
Showing posts with label Brandon Long. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Brandon Long. Show all posts
20120808
20110914
From The Pads Of Fingertips...
Thanks to my operating, like, 25 thousand blogs, I’ve learned a lot about html, formatting, and specialty scripts. It’s remarkable how even a tiny string of coding can accomplish oodles. A key set of lines inserted for a site can reveal beaucoup information about visitors -- from their location right down to their bookmarks. Currently I am studying how to create web tables.
Also, I’ve discovered IP anonymizers seriously do not work the way folks assume they do. The gist of clandestine surfing software is to secret personal data. What happens, though, is that stats simply show the user went to a proxy then the proxy came to the site one hoped to conceal that he or she is visiting. In other words, when people go through a proxy to look at my sites, not only do I know who they are, I know that they are making an effort to hide who they are from me. Fascinating, eh? Bottom line: you want to be undetectable and unidentifiable? Stay. Off. The. Frigging. Internet. Definitely don’t come to my cyberspots.
Incidentally, judging by the relationship status recently added to Facebook, my State Policeman, Tony Gattuso, and pseudo wife apparently had a pseudo break-up; I guess that makes her pseudo single. I’m sorry, but, ya’d think that with all her education and all his training, they woulda come up with a little more innovative con. His repairing her house and mowing her lawn as she keeps better sight on him than a hawk does a snake just doesn’t represent separation. Lest it isn’t obvious by my tone, I don’t believe their split is legit.
Speaking of dumb and dirty State Policemen, on the 23rd of this month my bout with local VSP Trooper Brandon Long will be finalized. I intended weeks ago to finish my account of the interaction I had with him and Sgt. Bailey, however my hard drive died -- taking the audio of the exchange with it. It’s subsequently been resurrected plus backed-up, backed-up, backed-up. I hope to type the remainder of the report soon.
I got pulled over the other night for one of my tag lights being out. Of course when the officer ran my plate and license, the dispatcher kicked back all the gratuitous nonsense -- gang member with known drug ties, infamous anti-Law-Enforcement chick, ad vomitus. Next thing I know I’ve got a stationary train of three cruisers behind me with their bubbles flashing in full glory and a request to search my vehicle. Normally I would’ve refused on principle, but, feh, I was in the mood for some entertainment. “Knock yourselves out” I told them. I stood behind the car and chattered openly with one badge-wearer, watching as the pair of others nosed inside my auto. During the process, to check what kind of bulb I’d need to fix the violation I leaned over and barely bumped the unlit one. It illuminated immediately! Jeez. Only me.
The officials located the pouch of handgun ammunition, which I carry, again, on principle, in my trunk and emphasized worry. “What exactly is it about a bag of loose ammo that ‘concerns’ you? Whatcha think I’m gonna do -- flick a bullet at you?” I was impressed when the lawman I directed that at grinned. By that time, my demeanor had plainly put them all at ease anyway.
They let me go without a citation. I love me some decent cops.
“What about JADE?” you ask. “JADE who?” I reply. Ha! Well… my two years of “good behavior” are coming to an end. Freedom at last! Thing is, I can’t say I really give half a dang what the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force or its members are doing these days. I suppose I HeArTE JADE might become a place for ecumenical Law Enforcement coverage, although, shoot, it’s kinda that already, huh? By the by, good call Chief Longo. ;)
In conclusion, albeit with zero proper segue, a new or replacement scanner is still top o’ my wish list. C’mon. Help a girl out?
Obligatory police-related photographs:
-- ♥ --
Also, I’ve discovered IP anonymizers seriously do not work the way folks assume they do. The gist of clandestine surfing software is to secret personal data. What happens, though, is that stats simply show the user went to a proxy then the proxy came to the site one hoped to conceal that he or she is visiting. In other words, when people go through a proxy to look at my sites, not only do I know who they are, I know that they are making an effort to hide who they are from me. Fascinating, eh? Bottom line: you want to be undetectable and unidentifiable? Stay. Off. The. Frigging. Internet. Definitely don’t come to my cyberspots.
-- ♥ --
Strangely enough the traffic to My State Policeman is practically double that of I HeArTE JADE. Daily readership includes, but is not limited to, Department of Justice (DOJ) and Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) personnel, a handful of County of Henrico employees, several distinct Troopers, the spouse of a Trooper, a Bedford Sheriff’s officer, an acquaintance of Brenda Priebe, and a freelance journalist from overseas. I’m not sure if they’re interested in Tony’s activities or mine.-- ♥ --
Incidentally, judging by the relationship status recently added to Facebook, my State Policeman, Tony Gattuso, and pseudo wife apparently had a pseudo break-up; I guess that makes her pseudo single. I’m sorry, but, ya’d think that with all her education and all his training, they woulda come up with a little more innovative con. His repairing her house and mowing her lawn as she keeps better sight on him than a hawk does a snake just doesn’t represent separation. Lest it isn’t obvious by my tone, I don’t believe their split is legit.
-- ♥ --
Speaking of dumb and dirty State Policemen, on the 23rd of this month my bout with local VSP Trooper Brandon Long will be finalized. I intended weeks ago to finish my account of the interaction I had with him and Sgt. Bailey, however my hard drive died -- taking the audio of the exchange with it. It’s subsequently been resurrected plus backed-up, backed-up, backed-up. I hope to type the remainder of the report soon.
-- ♥ --
I got pulled over the other night for one of my tag lights being out. Of course when the officer ran my plate and license, the dispatcher kicked back all the gratuitous nonsense -- gang member with known drug ties, infamous anti-Law-Enforcement chick, ad vomitus. Next thing I know I’ve got a stationary train of three cruisers behind me with their bubbles flashing in full glory and a request to search my vehicle. Normally I would’ve refused on principle, but, feh, I was in the mood for some entertainment. “Knock yourselves out” I told them. I stood behind the car and chattered openly with one badge-wearer, watching as the pair of others nosed inside my auto. During the process, to check what kind of bulb I’d need to fix the violation I leaned over and barely bumped the unlit one. It illuminated immediately! Jeez. Only me.
The officials located the pouch of handgun ammunition, which I carry, again, on principle, in my trunk and emphasized worry. “What exactly is it about a bag of loose ammo that ‘concerns’ you? Whatcha think I’m gonna do -- flick a bullet at you?” I was impressed when the lawman I directed that at grinned. By that time, my demeanor had plainly put them all at ease anyway.
They let me go without a citation. I love me some decent cops.
-- ♥ --
“What about JADE?” you ask. “JADE who?” I reply. Ha! Well… my two years of “good behavior” are coming to an end. Freedom at last! Thing is, I can’t say I really give half a dang what the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force or its members are doing these days. I suppose I HeArTE JADE might become a place for ecumenical Law Enforcement coverage, although, shoot, it’s kinda that already, huh? By the by, good call Chief Longo. ;)
-- ♥ --
In conclusion, albeit with zero proper segue, a new or replacement scanner is still top o’ my wish list. C’mon. Help a girl out?
-- ♥ --
Obligatory police-related photographs:
20110613
What Happened: The Trooper Long Report (Part 1)
(It’s been, like, forever, since I wrote wrote anything, but, yesterday, something pleasing happened to inspire me; so, lessee if I remember how to type out a semi-literate story.)
The scene screamed “potential perfect photograph.” Across the roadway from me sat a Virginia State Policeman’s car. The blue and gray patrol vehicle all by its lonesome in the lot, at rest by a special gasoline pump, was beautifully reflecting the afternoon sun. I trained my device on it and quickly netted a few stills. Know what would be even better? To capture it at another angle, closer. Crossing the four lanes that separated me from my objective, I, intending to catch the setting from the nearer side of the street, passed by the VSP’s small area office in Bedford County with nary a glance and spun a U-turn at the overlooking Super 8 Motel. In my cute Toyota, now rolling downhill at practically a snail’s pace, I cautiously raised my camera with my right hand and pressed its shutter.
“Stop! What are you doing? Stop right there!” Apparently the operator of the cruiser -- very much to my astonishment, I might add -- was actually present attending the fill-up of his government-issued auto. Oops!
Never one to disobey a member of Law Enforcement, I followed his instruction; I pressed the brake to the floor, bringing my wheels to an immediate halt in the road. 10mph to 0mph in less than one surprised breath. Standing approximately 120 feet away, his face contorted in rage, the Trooper furiously pointed and shouted at me “You can’t take my picture!”
Since that technically wasn’t an order, and armed with the knowledge I have the legal right to ignore his assertion, I depressed the snapshot button several times succinctly.
The apoplectic man took a few steps toward me. Sensing the uniformed dude and I were going to have words over the topic, in one move I plunked the camera on the seat next to mine and scooped up my audio recorder from the console and activated it.
“I can so take your picture” I slung back, just loud enough for him to hear me. I watched his nostrils burst out as his voice exploded “No you can’t!” Sheesh. Here we go.
He’d been steadily moving in my direction and I waited for him to span the final hurdle that divided us: a grass-covered knoll. Perhaps it was the heat of the day combined with the heat of his temper that prompted him to rethink the trek. Through gritted teeth, the balance of his body rigid on the concrete at the edge of the greenery, he magisterially declared “You are not allowed to take my picture.”
Is he one of those jerks that genuinely believe it’s against the law to take a picture of a policeman? Or is he bluffing, with the hope that I don’t know any better?
It’s tough to be defiant of an officer who is saying something so authoritatively and with such conviction. If I, considering the circumstances and his tone, were an uninformed citizen, I might’ve been convinced I was doing a deed prohibited by law; I may have even apologized for my actions and his upset. Fortunately I am savvy on statutes concerning this particular “crime.” I proceeded to give the uneducated badge-possessor what amounts to a verbal booty-kicking about a photographer’s rights. It didn’t take but about four sentences from my mouth for the man to realize he wasn’t messin’ with no twitty kitty.
His eyes flickered as he rapidly scanned our surroundings. Oh gee, I wonder what he’s checking for. Get. Real. Mister. On the barely used drive, there were of course no witnesses to his outburst -- which, I suspected, was what he wanted to avoid.
Clearly he had no desire to hash it out with me in our current placements; he gestured at the station house’s parking entrance and commanded me to pull in. Naturally I complied, albeit I saw it for exactly what it was: him attempting to control the situation and get the upper hand. Home field advantage and all that jazz.
Upon the repositioning of my sedan, the Trooper approached my rolled-down passenger window and again launched into his no-picture-taking claptrap. There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to bow down on this one, and I let him hear so.
“I absolutely am ‘allowed’ to photograph you -- anyone” I insisted. “Not without my permission” he retorted.
I started the process of thinking I should’ve paid attention to his name pin -- before he’d bent over to yell at me -- when abruptly he directed me to park. I asked why. He then informed me he was going to write me a ticket!
“For taking your picture?!” By that time I’d already figured out he knew good and well I was not in the wrong about the legalities of public photography, so I was flabbergasted he would so bodaciously dare issue me a citation for it. He had to be aware a judge would toss that out of court in a minute -- and with two seconds to spare.
There was a strange, long, pause before he responded. I could seriously smell him reining himself in and finally regaining his composure. “No,” he says calmly, “for improper stopping on a highway.”
My eyes spread wide, my brows rose up. I was for realiously impressed! He mightn’t have been quick on the uptake when he was mad but that gray matter in his head had life in it when he wanted it to. I laughed out loud. “Oooohhh… yoooouuuu’rrrrre good.”
Highly excited to learn how this would play out, I drove my car appropriately to a nearby space. The red light from my recorder indicated it, too, was still listening...
The scene screamed “potential perfect photograph.” Across the roadway from me sat a Virginia State Policeman’s car. The blue and gray patrol vehicle all by its lonesome in the lot, at rest by a special gasoline pump, was beautifully reflecting the afternoon sun. I trained my device on it and quickly netted a few stills. Know what would be even better? To capture it at another angle, closer. Crossing the four lanes that separated me from my objective, I, intending to catch the setting from the nearer side of the street, passed by the VSP’s small area office in Bedford County with nary a glance and spun a U-turn at the overlooking Super 8 Motel. In my cute Toyota, now rolling downhill at practically a snail’s pace, I cautiously raised my camera with my right hand and pressed its shutter.
“Stop! What are you doing? Stop right there!” Apparently the operator of the cruiser -- very much to my astonishment, I might add -- was actually present attending the fill-up of his government-issued auto. Oops!
Never one to disobey a member of Law Enforcement, I followed his instruction; I pressed the brake to the floor, bringing my wheels to an immediate halt in the road. 10mph to 0mph in less than one surprised breath. Standing approximately 120 feet away, his face contorted in rage, the Trooper furiously pointed and shouted at me “You can’t take my picture!”
Since that technically wasn’t an order, and armed with the knowledge I have the legal right to ignore his assertion, I depressed the snapshot button several times succinctly.
The apoplectic man took a few steps toward me. Sensing the uniformed dude and I were going to have words over the topic, in one move I plunked the camera on the seat next to mine and scooped up my audio recorder from the console and activated it.
“I can so take your picture” I slung back, just loud enough for him to hear me. I watched his nostrils burst out as his voice exploded “No you can’t!” Sheesh. Here we go.
He’d been steadily moving in my direction and I waited for him to span the final hurdle that divided us: a grass-covered knoll. Perhaps it was the heat of the day combined with the heat of his temper that prompted him to rethink the trek. Through gritted teeth, the balance of his body rigid on the concrete at the edge of the greenery, he magisterially declared “You are not allowed to take my picture.”
Is he one of those jerks that genuinely believe it’s against the law to take a picture of a policeman? Or is he bluffing, with the hope that I don’t know any better?
It’s tough to be defiant of an officer who is saying something so authoritatively and with such conviction. If I, considering the circumstances and his tone, were an uninformed citizen, I might’ve been convinced I was doing a deed prohibited by law; I may have even apologized for my actions and his upset. Fortunately I am savvy on statutes concerning this particular “crime.” I proceeded to give the uneducated badge-possessor what amounts to a verbal booty-kicking about a photographer’s rights. It didn’t take but about four sentences from my mouth for the man to realize he wasn’t messin’ with no twitty kitty.
His eyes flickered as he rapidly scanned our surroundings. Oh gee, I wonder what he’s checking for. Get. Real. Mister. On the barely used drive, there were of course no witnesses to his outburst -- which, I suspected, was what he wanted to avoid.
Clearly he had no desire to hash it out with me in our current placements; he gestured at the station house’s parking entrance and commanded me to pull in. Naturally I complied, albeit I saw it for exactly what it was: him attempting to control the situation and get the upper hand. Home field advantage and all that jazz.
Upon the repositioning of my sedan, the Trooper approached my rolled-down passenger window and again launched into his no-picture-taking claptrap. There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to bow down on this one, and I let him hear so.
“I absolutely am ‘allowed’ to photograph you -- anyone” I insisted. “Not without my permission” he retorted.
I started the process of thinking I should’ve paid attention to his name pin -- before he’d bent over to yell at me -- when abruptly he directed me to park. I asked why. He then informed me he was going to write me a ticket!
“For taking your picture?!” By that time I’d already figured out he knew good and well I was not in the wrong about the legalities of public photography, so I was flabbergasted he would so bodaciously dare issue me a citation for it. He had to be aware a judge would toss that out of court in a minute -- and with two seconds to spare.
There was a strange, long, pause before he responded. I could seriously smell him reining himself in and finally regaining his composure. “No,” he says calmly, “for improper stopping on a highway.”
My eyes spread wide, my brows rose up. I was for realiously impressed! He mightn’t have been quick on the uptake when he was mad but that gray matter in his head had life in it when he wanted it to. I laughed out loud. “Oooohhh… yoooouuuu’rrrrre good.”
Highly excited to learn how this would play out, I drove my car appropriately to a nearby space. The red light from my recorder indicated it, too, was still listening...
20100615
20100601
Thanks For The Ticket, Fellas
Hey, I’ve already discovered Virginia State Trooper Brandon Long and VSP Sgt. Michael Bailey live only 1.4 miles apart:
I found this nifty old picture as well:
I found this nifty old picture as well:
20100531
Dirty Dirty Trooper
OH MY GOSH -- I just got my first ticket for taking a picture of a Virginia State Policeman! Okay, technically the citation states “improper stopping on highway” but that’s not what the irrationally incensed Trooper B.P. Long was shouting at me.
The court date on the summons is July 14, 2010, 9:00AM. Fer sure I will be retaining a lawyer this time ‘round, which means the entire hilarious story that I am dying -- absolutely dying -- to share with y’all will have to wait. ‘Til then, here are some legally acquired photographs of Brandon Long and Michael Bailey, the two confrontational tuff guys themselves:
The court date on the summons is July 14, 2010, 9:00AM. Fer sure I will be retaining a lawyer this time ‘round, which means the entire hilarious story that I am dying -- absolutely dying -- to share with y’all will have to wait. ‘Til then, here are some legally acquired photographs of Brandon Long and Michael Bailey, the two confrontational tuff guys themselves:
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