Cops are creative. Give them the opportunity and they can accomplish things that would astound the average citizen. When everybody else is running from danger, cops run towards it. Unfortunately, the the thing that pushes them to greatness, also allows them to fuck up in spectacular fashion. Great exploits are documented in police reports. Screw ups are documented in what is known as: “Dear Chief letters.”
I wasn’t there. I can only speculate as to the cause of this debacle. In an effort to help an officer that is down, I offer the following:
Dear Chief, “Who you gonna believe, me or the hooker?”
Dear Chief, “There I was conducting a community policing outreach to the hooker community …”
Dear Chief, “I wasn’t there, you have no pictures to prove it!”
Dear Chief, “What gun, what hooker, what Jeep?”
Dear Chief, “It wasn’t me, it was the PTSD.”
Dear Chief, “I know I’m not supposed to associate with persons of questionable character. But in my defense, the hooker is tops in her profession. She is highly thought of in her community. Who is to say NYPD standards are right and crook standards are not?”
None of these arguments are likely to work. What the hell, the officer is already the laughing stock of police work. He may as well keep them laughing, as he exits stage left.
Given the opportunity, some cops can fuck up a box of rocks with a rubber mallet.