[Ofc. Don W. Richards]

Everything had been going just peachy tonight as I cruised the county roads looking for criminals and the crimes they commit. I had a thermos full of coffee, a box of donuts, and southern gospel tunes on the radio.

Suddenly, I saw something in the road. I came to a grinding halt on the gravel, just in time to avoid running into one of farmer Keaton's cows.

How many times had I told him to fix his fence? Three. I told him three times.

I wrote out a ticket and taped it to the cow for farmer Keaton to find in the morning. I had finally had enough of this nonsense.

As I was on my way back to the cruiser something caught my eyes and ears. I could see a lot of lights on in a house down the road, and sounds of laughter coming from that direction.

Who would be making such a commotion at 11:30 PM, when good country folk have been asleep for five hours already?

I sped down the road and came to a stop at the beginning of the lane leading up to the house. I shut the engine off and listened.

Loud music, laughter, smell of a barbecue... This was a party, alright.

This would call for undercover ops. I quickly changed into my ordinary day clothes including sunglasses, and slipped silently into the hedgerow along the lane.

I emerged from the woods near the house and quietly made my way towards the group of people milling around the front yard.

I would simply blend in as one of the guests and figure out just what exactly was going on here.

I approached a group of young men, and addressed them:

"What it is, my dudes. This party is so rad, it has to be monitored by X-ray technicians."

The group of young men laughed. Clearly, they accepted me as one of their own.

I bobbed my head with the music and started mingling.

I approached some kids hanging out by the stereo on the porch, from which the devil's rap music was blaring.

"These are some gnarly tunes! A cat could swing all night to those crazy beats!"

I did some disco moves I remembered seeing on TV in the 70s, and proceeded to the grill.

The food smelled delicious and I was hungry. At first I thought the cook was absent, but then I realized he was just a black kid.

I would have to adjust my approach slightly:

"Yo yo yo, hows about a little chow chow for a big dawg," I said as I slapped my hands on my belly.

I helped myself to a couple of burgers with a side of steak and interrogated the young darky.

"I don't mean to be all up in your biznitch, my brother from another momma, but who is da wild cat throwing this shindig?"

He told me the party was for Shane.

SHANE! I just knew that little puke had to be involved in this somehow!

Still, I wanted to be sure it was the right Shane:

"For sizzle my nozzle? The pizza delivery cracker? The deep-dish dude? Shane, Shane, the pizza machane?"

"Uh yeah, that Shane. It's his nineteenth birthday." said the black kid, with surprisingly good diction.

This was my chance!

"Where be the big birthday man? Smoking some ultra-fly weed? Gettin' busy with da Lizzies?"

For some reason the black kid was becoming increasingly quiet. I suppose they aren't used to being talked to by a white guy who knows the lingo so well.

"I dunno," replied the black kid, "last I knew he was in the house."

I cleverly excused myself from the grill:

"I'm a go hit him upright, 'cause I don't want him bein' uptight thinkin' I be hatin' all over him on his birthday."

I be-bopped my way into the house, and found it refreshingly quiet. I took this chance to investigate further. I opened the drawers, looked in the fridge (very nice birthday cake), under the fridge, on top of the fridge, checked out the bathroom, and somehow made my way into what looked like a teenager's room.

It had to be Shane's room. But where was Shane? And what was this suspicious baggy I found under his mattress?

I opened it and took in a great big whiff. Yep. It was weed. Pot. Ganja. Mary Jane. Wacky tabacky. Silly cilantro.

I developed a plan right then and there.

I ran back into the kitchen, opened the fridge, grabbed the cake and went out the front door.

"Attention, my marshmallow peeps and chocolate bunny rabbits, I have an announcement for reals!"

The music stopped and the kids gathered round.

"It's cake time, my bitches!"

I started singing Happy Birthday and the entire crowd joined in.

It worked! Before the song had ended, a rather bewildered Shane had appeared at the front of the crowd, to see me holding his cake. I could tell he was trying to figure out just who I was and why I looked so familiar.

The song ended. I put the cake on the table. I approached Shane and said, "Dude, I have a totally, like, wicked present for you. Dude."

I whipped out a pair of handcuffs and slapped them on his wrist.

"You're under arrest for possession of marijuana."

He definitely remembered me now.

I started dragging him towards my cruiser as chaos erupted in the crowd.

Shane yelled, "What are you talking about?! What marijuana?!"

"The marijuana I just found in your room under your mattress," I replied.

"My room!? Wait a minute, you're making a huge mistake, this isn't even my house! It's Brady's house! The dude cooking at the grill! It's his house!"

Shane kept trying to point back to the young black buck I was talking to earlier, but I would have none of these excuses.

I finally got the little bugger in the car and made my way back to HQ.

It was a brilliant mission flawlessly executed to perfection. Not even his incessant excuses, complaining, and demands that I check the county appraiser for ownership of the house could ruin my feeling of satisfaction.

He is mine! After all this time, I finally nabbed the punk!

I have stayed late just to enjoy the sight of that little monster sleeping helplessly behind bars, right where he belongs. I'll call his folks tomorrow and let them know birthday boy is now jail bird.

Sleep peacefully, Freehold!

Over and out!