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Cheery Abatement Stickers Brighten Up Hulk-Engulfed Streets – October 5, 2010

6:43 p.m. A superheated citizen aglow with righteous rage let off a coronal mass ejection of resentment over the antics of his neighbors, those punks. As a dispatcher attempted to document his travails, the man railed about the skateboard slamming he’d been enduring. Apparently he’d confronted the noisy neighbs, as an officer arrived to advise him not to engage the neighbors directly and just let cops deal with the noise. Then they endured his crabby complaints that alcohol is legal and that people can enjoy beverages of this nature on their porches, which just isn’t right. He agreed to stay inside and be mellow for the evening, or most likely to stew in silence about the injustice of it all.

Company's Coming, Better Hide The Pills – September 19, 2010

11:42 p.m. One of the multiple ongoing neighborly grudge matches flared, with one complaining about overly loud dog conversation in the other’s yard. An officer went over for a listen, but found the barking of the dogs somewhat less problematic than that of certain nearby humans. The officer also invoked the concept of observer-influenced reality insofar as the ambient arfage: “One of the dogs is barking, but it is because I am in the driveway.”

The Motel Was Cheapo, The Mom A Psycho And The Kids Both Klepto – September 5, 2010

10:48 p.m. As is not uncommon, a drunk got the notion in his pickled brain that one of the beleaguered Plaza street trees required further dismantling. Even though he was sort of dressed like a tree, with brown pants and a green shirt, the man showed no particular fealty to the spindly object of his scorn, and savaged it without remorse. Interrupted in mid-branch rip, the anti-arborist was arrested on a public drunkenness charge.

Chain Falls Off Little Girl's Bicycle – August 29, 2010

• Sunday, July 25 2:33 a.m. Overdressed for the occasion, a man who not only lacked the mandatory skanky hoodie but was all spiffed up in a white dress shirt and slacks made an extremely literal beer run at an Alliance Road stop ’n’ rob. That is, he snabbed an 18-pack of The King of Bland Beers and scurried out the door.

Texting Ex’s Vexing Pledges, Dog And Swim Fin Swipe Perplexes – August 24, 2010

5:28 p.m. A dark-haired man with a vestigial sense of style manifest in his scraggly goatee staggered down 13th Street, catching brief naps on the sidewalk along the way. He intermittently careened, with maniacal drunken-zombie resolve, onto northbound Alliance Road, there encountering an officer. Murkily sensing a threat to his way of lifestyle, the man’s limbic system fired erratically under the burden of its synapse-quenching alcohol baste, and then, foregoing further napping, the sodden specimen somehow blundered his bibulous bulk up the trail to the high school. There, he stood out rather strikingly, persisting in his oxen-like migration to nowhere until easily identified, then electrified, then hospitalized, then Pink Housed.

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