Not Here for Model Policewoman

[Brad Rose]

Siren blaring, lights on, Officer Betty sped through six red traffic signals, weaving and gunning the accelerator like it was wa wa pedal on a cherry red Stratocaster. She loved the excitement of the chase.

Of course, today, there really was no "chase," no emergency, she simply wanted to drive 100 miles per hour and turn the radio up---not the police radio, the other one---as loud as it would go.

Betty turned it up really loud--so loud, in fact, she was afraid that even she, Ms. "Model Policewoman," the first female lieutenant on the Boise police force, now with only a week to go until retirement, might be arrested for disturbing the peace. But if she was lucky, she'd get away, Scot-free, and later that night she'd dance naked in her living room, where, wild as a hornet, she'd gyrate and sing to the Rolling Stones of her youth.

Indeed, Betty felt freer now, than she'd ever felt before, freer than when her children had left for college, freer even than when her husband, that bastard, had run off with that little snotty nosed sales clerk from Sears, the one who looked like a heroin addict and couldn't spell her own first name--- the one who was found dead not far from the precinct station, may her sad and sorry little two-timing ass forever rest in peace.

[Angela]

What a visual - gyrating wild hornet killer cop Betty naked with the Rolling Stones down-with-her-bad-self. Sweet.

[Teresa]

Oh the naughty games people play. Excellent 6, Brad.

[Joseph Lupoli]

Whoa, Brad! That was a speedy roller-coaster ride of a story. I'm guessing that Betty whacked the sales clerk too. This six rocks!