"Alright, sir. If you wouldn't mind running through it again for us..."
"Sure, me and my son, we're here in the kitchen making Slurpees..."
"I think Slurpee is a trademarked product, sir."
"Fine, we're making a Slurpee-like flavored ice drink in the kitchen, when suddenly this huge son of a bitch comes crashing through the wall and screaming at us."
"Through the wall?"
"Yeah. Right through a fucking brick wall. Scared the shit out of Tyler. He just got over wetting the bed, too. This experience ain't gonna do him no favors."
"And what did you do?"
"Well, fortunately I had my Smith and Wesson Model 500 holstered..."
"Smith and Wesson Model 500. It's a .50 caliber handgun. Anyway..."
"Hold on - .50 caliber?! You just happened to be carrying, not just a loaded firearm, but the most powerful handgun in the world. In your kitchen."
"What part of the Second Amendment says I can't have a gun in my kitchen?"
"Fair enough. I assume you attempted to shoot the assailant?"
"Emptied the fucking chamber at him. But, he moved really quick for such a big guy, so I think I only got him once."
"I'd think once with a .50 cal would be enough."
"He broke through a brick wall, remember. But it'll slow him down. He went off that way, up Davis Avenue."
"Yeah. We've got men out for him... OK, hold on, my radio's flashing at me. This is Detective Habbards, 10-9 please."
"Code 10. Code 10. Suspect spotted on Davis and 14th. Possible 11-47. Detective, I think we've got your guy."
"10-4. I'm 11-15."
"10-9, sir. I'm pretty sure you're not 11-15."
"Really? What's 11-15?"
"Ballgame in street."
"Huh? Why the hell is that a code?"
"No clue, sir. Presumably at one time the department had to break up a lot of ballgames."
"OK. 537 then?"
"Defrauding an innkeeper, sir?"
"Christ on a cupcake! What's the code for 'I'm on my way and I'll be there as fast as I can?'"
"There is no code for that, sir. It's assumed. If you want, you can say 'en route.'"
"10-4. En route."
"'Officer arrived at scene.' Very good, sir."
"I'm fine. How are you holding up?"
"No, sir. 11:52 a.m., sir."
"Ah, right. All this is a long way to go just to show off that someone still remembers the radio codes for the San Diego Police Department. What's the situation here?"
"Well, sir, I'm pretty sure we've got your perp holed up in this Biffy over here. And from the looks of it he's in bad shape. Take a look at the snow leading up to the portable toilet -- stained with red."
"Jesus. OK, hand me the megaphone... Hey! You in there -- in the porta-potty. Can you hear me?"
"Wait a second. If there's snow on the ground, how could we have been using San Diego police codes?"
"Dramatic license, sir. I think we've got bigger problems. He's coming out."
"Mother of God! What is that thing?! Open fire! Open fire! Open fire!"
**Are you OK?
The above is a piece for Flickr Fiction. If you're lost as to what the short story was about perhaps this video will help. Also playing along this week are: TadMack, Neil and Valsha.
Dear Indian: Please make a smaller bike
11 hours ago