whateverdudewriter

[whateverdudewriter]

Disgusting story no one should ever have to read

“I’ll return, my love,” Haley called to the animal with full intent on doing so.Starting slowly, she ground her hips into the animal’s. The red tip of his penis grew out of the foreskin. The crimson color excited Haley, reminding her of blood. She ground harder. “Oh, baby,” she whined. “I need you in me.” With one hand, she removed her pants, revealing her unclean, unshaven pussy. Taking him, she placed the scared animal’s penis against her opening. With some clumsiness, she eventually got the dick inside her. Rocking on it, she began to receive her pleasure.She lowered them to the grassy floor, a breeze sweeping her hair to the side. She began to kick his chest fur, so sweet and soft. Her hand moved down to his bottom, cupping it tenderly. His tail swayed between her fingers, brushing against them. Haley laid down, letting the panda lay on top of her. She moved her hand to the tip of his tail and pulled. A small yelp erupted from the animal. Haley enjoyed his pain. She yanked it harder. He screamed and clawed into her, drawing blood.And yet, I’m sharing it. So here is something that will make you wish you couldn’t read.

Haley saw his beauty immediately. The red panda looked so majestic. But this feeling inside her told her more. The red panda was not just gorgeous, but hot. She knew no shame when she came to her decision. She was going to fuck that gracious animal.

She slowly approached her prey. The animal showed no fear. Haley reached down and grabbed him around the stomach. She held him up, looking at him face to face. She began to kiss him straight on the mouth, licking him all over his face. The red panda began to lick her back. Now, tongue on tongue, Haley felt a true fire within herself, within her legs. This fire sparked passion. Closing her eyes, she let her sense of touch lead her.

The animal moved to run away, aware of the predator it has become intimate with. Haley wouldn’t accept this. In one swift motion, she flipped them over and pinned him to the grass. She began jerking his penis, squeezing it quite hard. His eyes filled with fear and pain. She pulled and yanked the foreskin quickly until the animal reluctantly came.

“Oh, look what you’ve done,” Haley purred. “What’re you gonna do about this?” She ran her sharp nailed finger gently over the liquid. She lifted the finger to her tongue and licked it. She pursed her lips. “How could you make such a foul substance. I love you. How could you do this to me?” She pushed her pelvis against the red panda. “I’ll make you pay!”

“Reddy!” she cried. “Pandi!” She had never felt so good before. Pure elation rushed through her. The animal claws at her to escape, drawing blood. The pain excited her more, holding him tighter. She bounced and rocked on the angry animal’s dick until she came, yelling out.

Finally relieved of her burning passion, she let the poor red panda go, who rushed into the woods without a look back.

“I’ll return, my love,” Haley called to the animal with full intent on doing so.

[whateverdudewriter]

My fortune cookie wants me to write fanfic

[whateverdudewriter]

I walk through a mopey field, stones lined up in rows and columns. Not only was this my last day on Earth, it was Earth’s last day. Due to human interference, the sun was due to die billions of years early. I know not of how I got to this field, and I cannot remember what I was doing before now. What I do know is the memories from my life. I keep trying to remember everything to discuss with my other me. I want to know what decision separates us, why I’m me and she’s her.

I don’t know why she would be out here and not with her family with it being the last day. I keep walking, searching for a person around, anyone who could be me. No one in sight.

Reaching a rather ordinary stone, I stop. I don’t know why, but I stop looking for her. I look down to the stone. I read my name, my birthday, and a day from my teenage years. Under that read, “May she finally get the rest she deserves.”

Now, everything makes sense. I know the day on the stone, what decision I made that day. “So that’s what actually happened to me. That’s what the real me became.”

She could’ve been me, but she chose her pills instead.

On your last day on Earth, the person you became meets the person you could have become.

[whateverdudewriter]

Since I don’t have a story or chapter to share with you, I decided to give you a poem I wrote back in 9th grade.

“Why, Old Man? Why?”

Why, old man, are you such an old fart?

You constantly yell ‘cause you cannot hear,

like to run errands like shop at Wal-Mart,

and use old words such as “horseplay” and “dear.”

Why do you, old fart, always drive slowly?

You can go to the speed limit, you know?

Simply, the wheels can do a fast rolly.

C’mon, old man, just hit the gas and go!

Why am I not allowed into your lawn?

Does it have something to do with your grass?

Plus, why are you up at the crack of dawn?

And you must think of the young kids as crass.

Old fart, why do you do the things you do?

Why can’t you get with the things that are new?

(My teacher that year was in the “old” range in reference to her age and teased me about it for the rest of the year. I got a 100% on it.)

[whateverdudewriter]

A Tale from an Awkward Man

It was dinner time on a rainy night. In an empty local diner sits a ruffled man, hunched over on the counter. He swivels his stool back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. A regular working man sits a few stools over, finishing up his sandwich.

The ruffled man, an awkward man, a man of no name and no life, lifts his head. He speaks, “This town is in need of saving. It’ll be its own downfall. Its end is near,” he pauses for a breath, “and I think I need to stop it.”

“Why you?” the working man replies. “Why not me?” He throws a french fry into his mouth. “Or anyone else? Why do you feel you specifically can save it?”

“To be honest,” the awkward man answers, “I have no idea. I can’t save anyone, not even myself. I can’t save a file on a computer. I can’t save anything.” He sighs depressingly. “But,” he continues, enlightened, “there is one thing I can damn well save.” The waitress slides a plate of food over the counter to the awkward man. “These nachos.”

He munches into them, crunching very obnoxiously loudly. The working man becomes increasingly uncomfortable with every bite, every chew. Perspiration drips down his forehead, neck, back. Breathing becomes difficult as the air around him seems to become thick. His heartbeat jumps, spikes, with each next chip consumed by the awkward man. Slamming a 20 onto the counter, the working man rushes out, into the rainy night.

“Your loss!” the awkward man yells to him, unknowing of what the loss is.

[whateverdudewriter]

The Dragon ‘N Me: Part Three

As the depression seeps into place, I say to myself, “Gods, damn it, Helios. I can’t take this gods damned life.”

I trudge towards the edge of the Vacuum Abyss. I would end it all. I would let my special spaceboots let go of the fabric and let me float away into the void. At the edge, I look back one final time to the pack of dragons and the wonderful people who led me through my life. I examine everyone’s oblivious face, oblivious to my pain, my plan, my gods-damned destiny.

I look to another man of a different squad. Our eyes lock into place. I go to try and move back into plan, but I’m not in control. I can’t move anything. I’m merely a soul as a cosmic creature takes my body, my vessel.

It moves me away from the edge, towards the man. Our eyes stay on each other as he stands completely still, as if he weren’t able to move, as if something were keeping him in place.

My back suddenly gets heavy, as if I were dragging a chain behind me. My skin shifts, crawls, toughens. I try to move my eyes down to see what the Hells was going on, but the Thing keeps my eyes on the man. My fingers writhe in pain as something pushes through my new skin. My eyesight shifts, morphs, into new. Colors never before seen and stars from beyond observation come into view. The fabric of the Vacuum holds hundreds of hues, albeit dark hues, which all dance together in the gods’ choreographed canvas.

Coming to a stop, I finally reached the man. A voice, the Thing’s voice, caresses my updated eardrums, “Your destiny.” It loosens Its grip on my vessel, allowing me to observe the new changes. I look down to my feet, where strong and powerful, scaled legs now rest. I turn behind me to view my added weight: wings, gorgeous cosmos wings, adapted specifically for space-flight. Behind those, a tail, spined, ready for action. “What was that about never caring for us much?” the Voice asks teasingly.

Before me, the beautiful man stands astonished, astonished to behold his companion. His dragon. “I’m-” he tries his hardest to speak. “I’m Acetum. You must be...” He allows me to introduce myself.

“Helios,” I attempt to tell him, but the only sound I make is a roar, one that sends every person and dragon into terror.

But Acetum remains calm. “Helios.” He laughs. “Right. Of the Thunderchildren.” His eyes glow as they stay on mine. They shine, like they’re their own individual stars, galaxies with endless possibilities.

I raise my chin, giving him access to the skin under it, giving him my trust. He pets me, caresses, tickles. He hops onto my back, ready for adventures. I fly above the Vacuum Abyss, above the dragons and the trial. “VICTORY SCREECH!” I yell, my thunderous roar booming throughout the cosmos, echoing past universes.

Acetum laughs, understanding every word I roar. The laugh is the most beautiful sound to ever dance with my ears. I look back at him, to view the most beautiful face to ever meet mine. The emptiness inside washes away, being replaced by only this: the knowing that through anything and everything, we should be with each other, for it is my destiny. Our destiny.

-(End)-

[whateverdudewriter]

how to trick writers into giving you more fanfic to read

[whateverdudewriter]

First: It was dinner time on a rainy night.

Last: “Its end is near,” he pauses for a breath, “and I think I need to stop it.”

Writeblr! Let’s do something fun! Reblog this post with the first sentence – only the first sentence, not the first paragraph or anything (I know I’m guilty of this, because I have a tendency to set up a punchline and I want to get to it) – and the last-written sentence of your current WIP! You can decide if “last-written” means the one that’s currently at the end of your file, or the one you’ve most recently written (if you’re revising).

I can’t wait to go through the notes and see what people have. :)

[whateverdudewriter]

The Dragon ‘N Me: Part Two

(BTW, the first part is posted with a prompt)

“Move your butts, Leones!” Fermi yells at us. “We can’t be the last ones there!”

We make our way towards the Vacuum Abyss, the habitat of wild dragons. In Leones culture, we use dragons for our adventures through the Vacuum. Every year, those who have come of age get to choose their dragon as a trial of their maturity. This year, my brothers and I have all reached 18, so today we march into the trial to start our adulthood.

“Hey,” Argentium whispers to me. “Acetum. What type of dragon are you going for?”

“Maybe a speckled,” I laugh a reply.

“All the dragons are speckled, Dumbass,” he angrily says. “I meant personality, reputation, strength.”

I chuckle to myself. Like I would have a conversation with my dragon to decide whether she’s mine or not. “I dunno. Maybe a mid-pack draggo. Like she’s strong enough to survive, but she isn’t like the runt.”

“Why not one of the strongest ones? They’re obviously better.”

“That’s debatable. All draggos are good in their own ways. Strength isn’t the only factor.”

“But they’re better for adventuring, what we do as Leones when we reach this age.”

I sigh. “I guess you’re right.”

We finish our march to the Vacuum Abyss. As we approach it, I see the star-like spots of the empty black dragons. A beautiful sight to behold, which didn’t last when the rest of my tribe ran ahead of me to view it.

Andromedous, head of the Thunderchildren squad, steps forward and announces the rules of the trial. Each word he speaks holds such power, as if their thunderous god had granted the Thunderchildren his gift. With every new sentence, new rule, I grow in anticipation. I feel as if I have been waiting for this moment my whole life. I have, but now it actually hits me. This was going to be my day to run free.

Fermi, my generation’s Leones leader, and the other leaders step forward to their starting points. I don’t quite understand why they get to go first. All men are equal to each other. My manhood is just as strong as Fermi’s, but apparently not, according to this trial.

Andromedous shouts to start, his voice so booming it confirms my suspicions; the god of thunder had blessed these people. It makes sense when I think about it. They worship their God of Thunder, but now I finally see why. Or, it could be the other way around. Either way, the voices of these people are so sacred that they are able to be heard in the vacuum of space. Our ears have adapted to be more sensitive to noises because of how little there is to hear out here. However, my people and other squads also have adaptive sight to pick up on soundwaves as it rides through the air we speak, and we have a more developed sense of touch than the Thunderchildren; we can feel the soundwaves, which helps us understand what is being spoken.

The leaders race into the Vacuum Abyss, into the dragon pack. My brothers around me rush as far forward as they’re allowed to go, so they can either watch what’s happening or try and choose their dragon. The Vacuum Abyss seems to dissipate behind my brothers, leaving me completely oblivious to the state of the trial.

Each second feels like the longest, my inability to start frustrates me. I fold the fabric of space-time beneath my bare feet, keeping steady not to fold it to change anything but like playing with its hair. I focus on the objective: choose your dragon, fly into the cosmos, in that order. I review what to do with the dragon, how to choose her.

“3,” Andromedous shouts, his voice being felt through me, “2, 1, GO!”

Everyone tramples each other as they finally get their turn in the trial. Despite being ecstatic to get in there, I waltz my way down into the dragon pack. I search for a vacant dragon, one of which I find over near the edge of the pack. I walk over to the dragon, a medium sized youngling. She’ll grow up strong.

“Hello,” I tell her. “I’m Acetum. Do you like me?” She ignores me, carrying on with her dragon activities. I reach my hand out to touch her snout. She moves away. She leaps into the air and flies off.

I sigh heavily, running my hand through my hair. I look around for another dragon. However, what I find is a Thunderchild running frantically for a dragon. I try to keep looking for the dragon, but I can’t seem to move my eyes from him, as if some cosmic power was interfering with my trial.

“HIM!” a voice booms through my head. I struggle to take back my body from this Thing. “HIM!” It screams again. “YOU! NEED! HIM!” The Thing consumes my consciousness, leaving me to let it do as it wishes.

-(End Part Two)-

[whateverdudewriter]

It’s my turn. My turn, and the first turn, for I am the leader of this generation and get this first go. It is tradition in my squad, the Thunderchildren, for the next generation to have to win our steed’s respect and loyalty. It is seen as the nicest and most honorable act, to let your companion choose. Our gods love to spectate our wonderful event.

The dragons are not the normal, domesticated dragon you see in everyday frontier-life. These dragons are completely wild, in packs. They are deadly. If done wrong, this tradition can be the last thing you do.

Different squads approach the large pack. All rivals. All dangers. All could take your dragon. But not mine. I won’t let that happen.

“I know,” my squad leader, Andromedous, speaks to the others, “that you all know the rules, but for those who are IDIOTS,” he looks over to my group, “here they are. Leaders from all squads go in first, after the first time period is over, we send the rest of the next gen in. The chosen time for this trial is two minutes.”

I start to worry. That is the shortest time yet. Every generation before us had longer. Also, the dragons are free to anyone who tries. The dragon you get also determines what rank you get in your squad. Dragons matter. Dragon size and strength matters. At least with us Thunderchildren.

Andromedous continues. “No violent or gods-damned methods are to be used.” The younger ones snicker. “The gods themselves don’t allow cheating. That’s what I mean. Mature you guys.” He sighs. “You know the dragon has chosen you because it will let you pet under its chin. Just being able to ride it doesn’t mean it’s the One. Leaders, to your positions.”

I move towards my starting position. I get stopped briefly by my mate. “Make sure you keep that thing-” he gestures to my crotch region, “where it should be. Right, Helios?” He chuckles.

“Good one, Betel,” I reply half cringing. Why can’t they just forget about that stupid rumor?!

At my position, I frantically try to find the right dragon to go after. The leader of the pack is always a good start, but everyone goes for her. But, if I were to get her, I would be the ultimate leader. I put my eyes on her. Nothing. It doesn’t feel right. One thing with us Thunderchildren is our belief that the gods tell us who is our dragon when we see them. A love-at-first-sight belief. I try and look at every dragon I can before the start is called. There’s only a few seconds. If I don’t find the dragon before then, then I may never find her. Nothing.

The horn sounds, and, as if it were instinct, I rush into the dragon pack. No dragon I look at is mine. Time seems to blur as I run like a headless chicken to all the dragons. At some point during my crisis, the rest of the squads were sent in. I don’t notice them.

One by one, dragon cries fill the Vacuum. People are finding their dragon. A dark depression consumes me. No dragon is mine. My life is worthless. My squad will abandon me. Dragons are too important not to have. This is what those gods planned for me. I guess I never cared for them much anyways.

-(End Part One)-

The Dragon ‘N Me

It’s the year 2113 and humanity has escaped to the final frontier. Your squad of space pirates learns the hard way that the reason dragons never seemed to exist was because they also fled hundreds of years ago and have evolved to accommodate.

[whateverdudewriter]

“It’s that time,” I say excitedly to myself. “My life for tomorrow’s me begins today.” I walk to grab my coat. “But,” I contemplate jokingly, “I have done this a lot. (Apparently).” I shrug. “What if... I just, didn’t?” I laugh briefly. I stop, however. “What if I decided not to?” I ask seriously this time. “What would happen if I didn’t convince my parents to adopt me? Would someone else raise me? Would I change from how I currently am?” I laugh again. “Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out.” I walk out the door, waving to the inside of the empty house. “Maybe next time.”

As I walk away from the house, it fades away into ashes, getting blown away into the wind. I follow suit after it, never able to change my decision.

Ever since you were born, you grew up with your future self as an older sibling. Today, you’re 15 years old, and it’s the day you travel back in time to convince your parents to adopt you.

[whateverdudewriter]

Words to replace said, except this actually helps

I got pretty fed up with looking for words to replace said because they weren’t sorted in a way I could easily use/find them for the right time. So I did some myself.

IN RESPONSE TO Acknowledged Answered Protested

INPUT/JOIN CONVERSATION/ASK Added Implored Inquired Insisted Proposed Queried Questioned Recommended Testified

GUILTY/RELUCTANCE/SORRY Admitted Apologized Conceded Confessed Professed

FOR SOMEONE ELSE Advised Criticized Suggested

JUST CHECKING Affirmed Agreed Alleged Confirmed

LOUD Announced Chanted Crowed

LEWD/CUTE/SECRET SPY FEEL Appealed Disclosed Moaned

ANGRY FUCK OFF MATE WANNA FIGHT Argued Barked Challenged Cursed Fumed Growled Hissed Roared Swore

SMARTASS Articulated Asserted Assured Avowed Claimed Commanded Cross-examined Demanded Digressed Directed Foretold Instructed Interrupted Predicted Proclaimed Quoted Theorized

ASSHOLE Bellowed Boasted Bragged

NERVOUS TRAINWRECK Babbled Bawled Mumbled Sputtered Stammered Stuttered

SUAVE MOTHERFUCKER Bargained Divulged Disclosed Exhorted

FIRST OFF Began

LASTLY Concluded Concurred

WEAK PUSY Begged Blurted Complained Cried Faltered Fretted

HAPPY/LOL Cajoled Exclaimed Gushed Jested Joked Laughed

WEIRDLY HAPPY/EXCITED Extolled Jabbered Raved

BRUH, CHILL Cautioned Warned

ACTUALLY, YOU’RE WRONG Chided Contended Corrected Countered Debated Elaborated Objected Ranted Retorted

CHILL SAVAGE Commented Continued Observed Surmised

LISTEN BUDDY Enunciated Explained Elaborated Hinted Implied Lectured Reiterated Recited Reminded Stressed

BRUH I NEED U AND U NEED ME Confided Offered Urged

FINE Consented Decided

TOO EMO FULL OF EMOTIONS Croaked Lamented Pledged Sobbed Sympathized Wailed Whimpered

JUST SAYING Declared Decreed Mentioned Noted Pointed out Postulated Speculated Stated Told Vouched

WASN’T ME Denied Lied

EVIL SMARTASS Dictated Equivocated Ordered Reprimanded Threatened

BORED Droned Sighed

SHHHH IT’S QUIET TIME Echoed Mumbled Murmured Muttered Uttered Whispered

DRAMA QUEEN Exaggerated Panted Pleaded Prayed Preached

OH SHIT Gasped Marveled Screamed Screeched Shouted Shrieked Yelped Yelled

ANNOYED Grumbled Grunted Jeered Quipped Scolded Snapped Snarled Sneered

ANNOYING Nagged

I DON’T REALLY CARE BUT WHATEVER Guessed Ventured

I’M DRUNK OR JUST BEING WEIRDLY EXPRESSIVE FOR A POINT/SARCASM Hooted Howled Yowled

I WONDER Pondered Voiced Wondered

OH, YEAH, WHOOPS Recalled Recited Remembered

SURPRISE BITCH Revealed

IT SEEMS FAKE BUT OKAY/HA ACTUALLY FUNNY BUT I DON’T WANT TO LAUGH OUT LOUD Scoffed Snickered Snorted

BITCHY Tattled Taunted Teased

[whateverdudewriter]

Warning: Messed Up Content. Trigger Warning. Whatever warning you need. Beware

The Abortion Factory

I was shaking as I entered the factory. This job went against all of my morals, my principles, my beliefs, and, yet, I found myself still walking in. My hands were trembling— a trembling that was unable to be soothed by any method— and would remain that way for quite some time.

A man of the ‘redneck background’ approached me. “Y’all look,” he called to the others. “The new kiddo’s here.” Everyone turned from their firing ranges. Most appeared ecstatic that I was there; the rest disinterested, as though they were here for the same reason I was: the pay was great. Some older men, similar to the first, ran up to me. They started trying to encourage me on the job. One man told me, “There’s no feelin’ quite like it. I know ya’ll love it.” That didn’t sit well with me. Gods, I hope I don’t like it, I thought.

“C’mon, guys. Let the boy be,” the first man told the others. They scattered back to their places. Once they all had resumed their work, the man turned to me and said, “I’m Ricky.”

“I’m Dmitri,” I responded nervously.

“Well, Metree, I’ll be your ‘guide’ or what-not for the day. So,” he continued, patting me on the back, “let’s show you to your spot.” He led me through a large hallway— firing ranges lined up next to each other and on either side of the hallway, each spot taken up by someone— for a very long time, too long to be walking down one hallway. At some point, we had reached, not the end, but a range after the last person; plenty of open ranges were visible to the left of me.

The range, my range, was tiny— one foot of moving room on all sides of me— with a dull, dull grey and shelves lined on the right to hold personal items and on the left to hold the pistol and headphones. In the left corner was a trash bin, except it held full ammunition magazines; on the right was an empty bin for putting the used magazines. In front of me was a table with only one red button on it. Down the range was a black trapdoor, and on the top right corner was a digital clock displaying 09:12.

Ricky walked over to the next range and grabbed its set of headphones. After he had made his way back to my range, he told me, “Ok, listen, Metree, ‘cause I’m only tellin’ ya once. Ya press the button to get the line of ‘em, then make sure ya got ya head-things on, then just start shootin’. When yere done er taking a break er whatever, press the button again to shut the door. Now I’ll show ya. Put the thingers on.”

We both placed the headphones over our ears. Ricky took my range’s gun and check to see whether it was loaded. It wasn’t, so he loaded it using one of the ammunition cartrages from the bin. He slammed the gun down on the button; he seemed ready, excited to do this terrible act.

The trapdoor opened, revealing a freshly born baby. It looked so innocent, so full of potential. Its eyes sparkled; the artificial light from above shone off of its fat, little tummy. But that didn’t last. A shot flared, shooting a bullet straight towards the baby. Just as the door had opened and the condensed blob of happiness had come, it had left this world, showing the next child behind it. The clock had changed to a life counter, reading “1”. Ricky slapped the button again to close the door. He removed his headphones, so I did the same. “Make sense?” he asked me and held the gun towards me.

I reached for it but paused, thinking. How could I do this? How could anyone do this? The money cannot be worth it. It’s a human life!

Ricky must have noticed this because he tried to calm me, but not very well, “Ya’ll get used to it, Metree. Just try not to think ‘bout it.”

I sighed, put the headphones back over my ears, and took the pistol from him. I cautiously walked to the table. I reached out to press the button, but my arm seemed frozen. It took everything in me to hit the shiny, red button. It felt huge compared to my hand. The trapdoor flapped open, showing me my victim. I loosed a deep breath and aimed my weapon. My shaking hands made the shot even harder. After too long of waiting and hating myself, I slowly pulled trigger. The counter read “2”.

The satisfactory smile that washed over my face as I turn around told us how this job would be.

“Well?” he asked.

“There’s no feeling like it.” I tell him. “I love it.”

[whateverdudewriter]

The Line-Up

I stood there looking at the suspects, not hearing what the officer was telling me. None of these people looked like my attacker. I could pick out the eyes of my attacker from any crowd, but none of these people have them. “This is useless,” I sigh to myself. I turn to the officer. He had stopped talking (for once) and appears to be waiting for a response from me. “Let’s check this out,” I say unenthusiastically.

He clapped his hands together and turned to the line-up. “Let’s start with Number 1,” he starts. “Male, five foot thirteen and five quarters inches, 180 pounds, green shirt.” The officer looks at me.

I examine Number 1’s eyes. Flat brown. The attacker’s eyes were crystal blue. “No,” I tell the officer.

He continues, “Number 2: female, four foot six, 210 pounds, red dress.”

“No.” The attacker was definitely male.

The officer keeps going. I don’t pay attention. I quickly check out every suspect’s eyes. None of them match. The officer keeps talking and asking, and I respond with a “no.”

When we reached the end of the line, he turns to me and says, “I’m sorry, Ma’am. We’ll find them.”

I look at him with doubt, but that didn’t last long. His eyes, they match. I lift my chin and square my feet. “I think my attacker was male, has crystal blue eyes, is 6’1”, and is wearing a police uniform.”

The officer looks down at his uniform. “Son of a bitch! Not again!” he yells. Other officers run over and cuff him.

“Again?” I ask myself as he gets hauled away.