We just drove by the 8-month construction project that is the I-75/I-85 (they’re the same road for a few miles) repaving project bisecting downtown and midtown Atlanta. There was a cop on the side of the road, or at least, someone dressed like a cop with flashing blue lights on top of his car. However, painted on the side of his car was the word “POICE.” That’s right. Poice. My thoughts were the following:
1) What did this poor sap do to get stuck with the “POICE” car? Graduate last from the police academy? Anyone who saw the movies in the 80s knows it’s not all that intellectually rigorous. So, last place is marked by the absence of a letter–Hester Prynne in reverse. Okay. If he ever responds to my house alarm, I’ll just know that it’s time to replace all my electronics.
2) How would Ice Cube sing about this guy?
“Fuck tha poice
Comin’ straight from the underground.
Young nigga got it bad cuz I’m brown
And not the other color so poice think
They have the authority to kill a minority.”
That sounds awful. There’s no way I would’ve chanted that after 5 Zimas while driving by a roadblock in suburban Nashville, Tennessee during the summer of 1993. No way at all. Which means there’s no way my cracker friends would’ve been impressed. And therein lies the real tragedy.
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