Sometimes, I Smile...

Lopaka Tanu

Disclaimer: I own not the characters, but the story is for Linda.

Summary: Random Insanity, or Never let a cop have a Computer.

Begin Report:

I sit here typing up this damn incident report over something I should never have to. How does a man get a gun shoved up his ass? Perhaps I should say I float on this damn air cushion as I type. That is right, I was the guy with the butt that doubles as a weapon's locker.

You see, it all began like it always does. Frase noticed something hokey, his word, not mine. Anyway, something was up with these two drugged up punks; he knew they’re trouble just from looking at them.

Kind of hard not to notice the big bulges in their jackets, but with how low kids wear their shit these days, it might have been their dicks. But I am veering off course again, another Fraser saying.

They were walking down the street, looking around from time to time, then, when they were sure no one was looking, they marched into a corner Mom and Pop drug store. Well, they weren't as observant as they thought, for Frase and I were in the alley down the street huffing and puffing. Seems he left the dog in the car, and the dum... I mean Dief took the liberty to lock us out.

Now this is the middle of winter, a cold February night. So naturally I am freezing my nuts off while Frase is trying to reason with the damn dog. This was such shit; we took a break from him sternly pro-nun-see-ate-ing words so that deaf Dief would understand. That was when he noticed the two geniuses looking around, and pressed me bodily against the stonewall out of their view.

Any closer and I would be expecting a ring on my left hand from him. He didn't seem to notice how close we were as he pressed his lips to my ear and whispered what he saw. Of course, as is always done in cold weather, he licked his lips, and them being so close, he licked my ear. You’re heading to Mars again, Kowalski.

So he tells me about these punks, and I groan. Of course, it had absolutely nothing to being pinned by that Mountie against a brick wall with his tongue practically in my ear. He takes it as I mean it, that it is another of his hair-brained ideas.

He assumes this look, you know the one, 'I am Super Mountie and you are the Stupid Son-of-a-bitch partner, now follow my lead'. OKAY! So it is more like I just told him the queen was ugly. No matter how true, no one better badmouth his queen. Then, I was feeling bad and rolled my eyes as he new he won, again.

Next thing I know, we are moving silently down the road towards the Mom and Pop place. We can hear the sounds of someone getting smacked by the butt of a gun. This is when Frase does something stupid, well the first time. He asked for my belt. I gave him a look, but did as asked, stupid me.

He removed his, and bound them together. After that, he turned in to Benton: Warrior Princess. With a shrill battle cry, he charged in there and lashed out with the whip. To start with, his aim is naturally great, but in an enclosed space, you need to watch where you are swinging. His first swing took out a display of castor oil. I think that might have been subconsciously deliberate, because who in their right mind has that crap anymore?

His second swing catches the gun before it hit the old lady who was behind the medicine counter. Several more lashes later, the perp who had been hitting on the old woman with his gun was in turn having the hell beat out of him. It was kind of ironic; an old widow woman would be what sets him off.

But in all this, I am following; holding up my pants in one hand, gun in the other. Today would happen to be the day I wear the only pants I had left, due to missing my turn in the laundry room. Said pants are the baggy pair of pants every guy owns because he is too much a momma's boy to go exchange the gift she gave him. So, now I am in the store and watch as Fraser manhandles the perp and locks the belts around his wrists.

A shadow from behind me catches my eye as it reflects off what remains of the castor oil. I spin to kick this punk in the face, let go for balance, and my pants go flying. As my pants drop, I slip on the caster oil and crash in to the second perp like a mac truck. I back off him. He looks a little dazed and turns around to get my gun.

Big mistake!

I knew I should have washed my clothes yesterday.

As I was bent over scrambling for my gun, I remembered the perp had one too, and the glazed look was a natural side effect of the drugs. That was when I felt something large, phallic shaped, and oiled shoved in a place that was most definitely not a holster! My scream rouses Fraser from his perp slapping, and he notes that I am being held hostage.

Frase, being the noble Mountie he is, tells the perp, “don't shoot!” and for me to do the same. Oh hardy har har! You’re a dead Mountie, Frase!

Oh, shit!

The perp was pushing and turning on the gun, threatening to blow my brains out. Fraser made a comment about the bullet having to go through a lot of shit before it got that far. The perp pushed the gun again. I was really going to kill him if I could have.

That was when the shit hit the fan, no pun intended. For starters, I was getting nervous and the caster oil lube was causing a mighty burning in the back woods, to quote a former freak. Next came the old lady, somehow she had gotten the gun of the other perp and was using it to beat the living shit out of him. Third, Fraser decided he was Xena again and did a flip over the caster oil. And lastly, the perp decided he needed a better grip on the situation and grabbed me by the balls.

He then made a witty remark about how Fraser had better not take another step closer. It was not so much fun when he emphasized it by yanking on my balls. When he felt that he had Fraser right where he wanted him, the perp stood up, taking me with him. Of course I was bent forward with a gun up my ass and a hand attempting to castrate me, so I was no shield.

Fraser decided to take advantage of the situation and toss his Stetson like the chakrom type thingy Xena has. The hat brim, being as deadly as the chakrom, hit the perp's hand and he let go of the gun. When the threat to my brain was gone, I removed his other hand, or tried to any ways.

So now he was screaming in agony and about his rights and police brutality as his hand hung limp, no tendons connecting it to the wrist. Fraser was just staring at what he had done with a look of horror. The old woman was finishing her citizen's arrest of the second perp as he fast lost consciousness. And me? Well I gave birth to a nine-millimeter glock at 9:05 P.M. in the corner, out of view of the security camera.

I was felling like that gun as I stood there pulling up my pants, pretty shitty. I was sure most of my skin was pale from the straining. Frankly, I couldn't give to shits less. Yeah, okay, enough of the bathroom humor already. But let me tell you, being at the ass end of the work day, I was not looking forward to writing the report for this.

Fraser called the police as I stumbled into isle seven for the ass donuts and grabbed the best they had. The little old lady was nice enough to let me have it at half price while she lectured me on the importance of wearing underwear. When the uniforms came, I had them place her in protective custody because if she didn't shut up, I was going to give her a personal replay of what I just went through!

After thirty minutes and a check over by the paramedics, one who couldn't keep her hands to herself, I was told to file the report and take tomorrow off. Dief decided he still wasn't going to let Fraser and I in the car, that is, until I cocked my gun. Who says that wolf is deaf? For it, though, I got an earful of how I should not threaten the wolf. Frase stopped when I cocked my gun at him.

I was in no mood to deal with proper anything tonight. All the way back to the 2-7, he kept given me these sighs that I would normally ask about, but not tonight. He just sat there sighing again and again. Finally we reached the station, and not a minute too soon. Another of them sighs and I was going to do some serious damage.

When we walked in, he left my side immediately, probably to scamper off and lick his wounds in that damn closet again. I couldn't give two shakes of a rat's ass. So that is how it was; I went in to write my report, no one was in the room, Welsh's lights were off, and I was able to inflate my ring with no theatrics.

Which brings me to now. My report is done, and I am all done. I check the clock on the damn computer. It is after midnight, greatness! In my anger, I turned it off the hard way, unplugged it from system. Just as I stand up and grab for my jacket, the monitors on all the desks go dark.

What the hell?

An animation comes on, the picture of a gun waves in a fake breeze. Words scroll across the stop. "Proper Gun Storage: This is not a Holster, Kowalski!"

What the Fuck!?!

Suddenly, the dark screen switches to a scene similar to the Mom and Pop, and there is a blonde guy on fours, no clothes on. In flashes a gun behind his ass with a ‘don't’ circle over it, and gets shoved up inside him. The screen flashes to the face of the blonde, his eyes bugging out, and his limp hair going spiky as silently calls out. It ends by graying all the color out and putting bars over the guy's shocked expression like a jail cell.

This little animation replays in a continuous loop on all the computers in the network. There is no name, but I know how to find out. In the mean time, there is something I can do to get rid of it. Activating my computer again, I turn on a program Fraser uploaded about Canada and curling. It has the effect of ten inuit stories on the system, and two computers sparked in what will be known as The Second Copy-Cat Computer Killer. The first was when Fraser initially turned this boring thing on. Since then, those computer files have been quarantined behind a firewall in fear that it may spread from the already infected system.

Now, all that is left is to hack.... use Welsh's password to get the system controls and find out who had access tonight. There were four people in the network after my close encounter of the gun kind. Me, Fraser...

...and Hewey and Dewey, the love birds.

I am going to kick me some duck ass! Two can play at this... uh three can play at this. You two weren't the only ones that attended that seminar about the new computers. A slight modification to the programming, a new scrolling message, cut, paste, and wammo! I turned off the computer for good this time, the program on a timer for ten A.M. See ya in the morning, boys!

I walked to the squad room late, seems IA wasn't wasting time because they canceled my down time. Oh, that cold bitch is next for the Bathroom Stall of Fame. The room is quiet as everyone ignores me, attempting to stifle their laughter. My limping doesn't help.

Finally I reach my desk and bend over to get a magic marker from the clutter that is my drawer. In that moment, the room erupts in all sorts of gun noises, from clicks to bam bams. It is to be expected with this group of zoo rejects. That's fine. I look at my computer, notice the time and smile. In two minutes I won't be the only laughing stalk of the station.

I sit down gently on my inflato ring and wait patiently. They are starting to grow uncomfortable as I smile at them. They know something is up. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two...

Trumpet fan fare resounds over the speakers, and all the monitors go dark. On the screen, the waving image of Jack appears, his face pasted on the naked body of an anime character. The scrolling words start. "Proper Anal Sex: This is not a Whore House, Dewey!"

The screen flashed to a Red bed backdrop, a disco ball came down from the top and corny music started to play as Hewey's animated character appeared on his hands and knees. His face contorted in a comical pose from the mug shots. Jack appeared behind him, his anime cock fully erect, and slammed in. For five minutes the station watched the two characters having sex, their expressions changing between three photos of each of the two guys. The moaning from the bad music in time with the characters was soon silenced as the color faded to gray and prison bars closed across the screen. It was signed 'Prison Bitch Productions'. Then the anime began again.

This was when the silence was interrupted by Welsh's throat clearing. He gave me a look, and I knew I was dead. How he knew it was me, I dunno, but his look told me to turn it off. I activated the Canada Curling program, and it took over. The monster had breeched the firewall!

On one computer, the Proper Gun played, another the Proper Anal, mine played the Canada one, and on several others a mixture of all three programs. It was a nightmare watching six guys screaming go go go as Huey and Dewey went at it over the stones. What was worse was watching an ice broom as it was shoved up my anime ass! But by far the strangest was the close up shot of my anime face locked in the eye-popping cycle as a moose was behind him growling.

That is when Fraser walked in and promptly out on. His abrupt entrance and exit did not go unnoticed, as Lieu chased after him calling him all sorts of nasty words. When Huey and Dewey came in, they were the talk of the town. With all the hustle and bustle, I sat back and enjoyed the nature show. It is things like this that remind me of how strange life is. Sometimes I laugh, sometimes I cry, but most sometimes, I smile.

End of Excerpt of Incident Report:

File of Computer Tampering Investigation.


The entire detectives division of the 2-7 is completely insane. It is requested that all contact with them be at a minimal. All agents dealing in matters of security, avoid them at all costs!

William C. Gates


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