Tag Archives: crooked cops

CROOKED COPS EPISODE 11

A new blog series, from the Abby Normal Mind of Stan Lerner!

The middle-aged, Maytag repairman stood behind Mona and watched intently as she tried to coax Pester the cat out of the washing machine awaiting his repair expertise.

“Pester you come out of there right now,” demanded Mona, reaching in to try and get a grip on his collar only to be greeted by a swipe of Pester’s claw and a loud hiss. “Oh, that cat when he gets into a bad mood he’s just a terror,” Mona pronounced, with a sense of futility as she withdrew her imperiled hand from harm’s way.

“Ring! Ring!” sounded the phone, which caused Mona to yield her position in front of the washing machine to the repairman.

“I’ll try to get him out,” he offered, obviously unaware of all that could go wrong in the Skinner household.

“Hi Chenoa!” said Mona, cheerfully into the phone—thoughts of trouble with Pester and the washing machine already vacated from her mind.

Richard pulled the squad car to the front of his well manicured, but simply landscaped home. He couldn’t help but to give the Maytag repair van in the driveway a curious look as Larry and he exited their official police vehicle for a not so official on-duty beer at the house. “Mona keeps talking about the washing machine,” he muttered aloud.

“I thought Maytag’s never break down,” Larry questioned, causing Richard and he to share a suspicious glance at each other.

The partners entered the Skinner family home quietly and made their way toward the kitchen, where from which they heard voices, one familiar, one not.

“Oh that’s great!” They heard Mona exclaim.

In the kitchen, Mona now stood in back of the repairman. “Oh my God!” she shouted with genuine excitement.

In the hallway Richard’s face was tense and red as he gave the quiet sign to Larry, so they could continue their assessment of the developing situation.

“Fantastic! Oh that’s fantastic!” They heard Mona shout with glee.

Simultaneously they pulled out their batons and tapped them anxiously against their palms.

“I can’t get enough!” shouted Mona. Continue reading

CROOKED COPS EPISODES 1–10

A new blog series, from the Abby Normal mind of Stan Lerner!

CROOKED COPS EPISODE 1

It was a bright, sunny morning in the suburbs of Los Angeles. And from the Skinner home, a single story ranch-style, emanated rays of happiness, perhaps even more illuminating than those from the big happy face in the sky.

Eight-year-old Joshua ran down the hallway of his family’s modest two-bedroom home. “C’mon Dad were going to be late! Hurry up,” he shouted as he rounded the corner to the living room just before his foot landed on the misplaced Tonka toy.

A skid forward into a tacky twenty-dollar Torchiere lamp, Torchiere lamp tipping over into a 1970’s shag carpet cat tree, filled with a variety of cats, cat tree tipping over sending cats flying, cats attached to living room drapes like magnets to a fridge, one cat landing in fish tank.

The cat known as Pester, a feline with above average human intelligence, looked up from his unexpected good fortune to see that the curtain and its cache of cats were falling down upon him.

“Meow!” said Pester, but in human he was really saying, “Oh F**k!”

While this early morning commotion, was well into motion, Joshua’s dad Richard, a clean-cut, Wonder Bread type of man, in his early thirties, was showering in a bathroom that was quite literally a converted closet. Thinking that something may be amiss, he turned his head to the partly opened door and listened to what sounded like loud crashes and cat cries from the living room.

“Josh what’s going on out there?” yelled Richard, in the most loving and fatherly tone.

“Nothing Dad!” rang back Joshua’s voice, the voice of a precocious youth, not so cleverly disguised as an innocent angel.

In the not yet updated kitchen worked Mona, the beautiful, almost Victoria Secret model, wife and mother. Breakfast was always a challenge, so it was not so unusual that fire had erupted from all four slots of the toaster, in fact Mona hadn’t even noticed due to her several unsuccessful attempts to flip the eggs in the black greasy frying pan. Finally, she did get enough height with her egg toss, but was distracted by the toaster flames, which caused her to miss the catch.

“Oh no toaster fire!” uttered the brunette beauty, as she moved swiftly toward the pantry cupboard, desperately emptying all of its contents onto the floor. “Damn, damn, damn.”

Finally, Mona laid grasp to a box of baking soda purchased in the Brady Bunch times four, super family size. With both arms she heaved its contents towards the toaster covering it completely and extinguishing the flames. The resulting baking soda, mushroom cloud plumed to envelope Mona and the rest of the kitchen. Undeterred, Mona strained to see the eggs through the white fog and then having located them she bent over, in a manner that would have warmed even a dead man’s loins, to scrape the eggs from the floor onto the otherwise empty breakfast plates.

Plates in hand, Mona emptied the charred contents of the toaster onto the eggs sprinkling a little baking soda on top of each for good measure. Cheerfully, she brought the plates to the breakfast room table and set them down atop the red and white-checkered tablecloth.

“C’mon Guys breakfast is ready!” she shouted as she walked out of the breakfast room into the living room where Josh was having a ferocious tug of war trying to free his gold fish from the mouth of Pester the cat. Both were putting up a good fight, stretching the fish like a rubber band to at least a foot in length. The other cats all rolled around hopelessly entangled in what used to be the drapes. The sight of all this caused Mona to pause, “Josh stop playing with Pester you’re going to be late,” she said putting her hand on her hip, which she was prone to do whenever she felt the need to communicate she had had enough.

With resolve Mona continued down the hallway to the bedroom where without announcing her presence in any kind of way she forcefully opened the door to the very, very small bathroom. Unfortunately, Richard was in the process of shaving with his new straight edge razor when the door hit him from behind causing the razor to lacerate his cheek from top to bottom. Continue reading

CROOKED COPS EPISODE 5

A new blog series, from the Abby Normal mind of Stan Lerner.

GUCCI CLOTHING STORE

Larry followed his wife Chenoa and son Bryant into the very, upscale Gucci Store, already weighed down by several bags from at least five other Rodeo Drive clothing purveyors.

“Don’t you think we’ve bought enough for today?” he asked, thinking that his well conditioned arms might be cramping from the weight of the newly acquired luxury apparel items.

“Just one more outfit,” said Chenoa waving her right index finger in the air. “I’ve been waiting for this one to come in for months.”

Knowing that there was no turning back and that he would definitely be getting some loving later, Larry followed Chenoa and Bryant into the salon area and took a much needed seat—as it turned out next to Stanley O’Neal the former head of Merrill Lynch.

“Mrs. Jacobs, it’s so nice to see you it’s been days!” the snobby sales girl practically shouted, as she ran to the salon to greet the store’s best customer.

“Tell me about it. Time just flies. It feels so good to be back,” responded Chenoa, genuinely excited.

“You look fabulous,” chimed the sales girl, lowering her voice to sound as sincere as possible.

“I’ll look even better if you got my dress in.” Chenoa raised her right eyebrow to signal that she had room on her new card and a husband craving sex.

The sales girl almost jumped out of her pumps. “It’s here, it’s here!” And then for the first time she noticed Larry and Bryant sitting next to the disgraced Wall Street crook, whose money even she felt bad taking. “Can I help you two?”

Chenoa gestured elegantly toward her out of place immediate family. “Oh, I forgot this is my son Bryant and my husband Larry.

The sales girl came to life at hearing this. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Jacobs, I don’t know what you do, but you get my best husband in the world vote.” Her words became still more effusive. “The way you let Mrs. Jacobs shop, if you don’t mind me saying so is an inspiration. All those credit cards, I mean what a freakin turn on!”

Larry smiled uncomfortably. “I just became five times more of a turn on this week, didn’t I honey?”

“You two behave yourselves, while I try on my dress,” warned Chenoa, before leaning over and giving Larry a kiss on the lips. “I’ll take care of you in a little bit,” she whispered before once again straightening her posture.

Larry realizing that a little drool had escaped the corner of his mouth brushed his fingers across his lips then rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Continue reading

CROOKED COPS EPISODE 4

A new blog series, from the Abby Normal mind of Stan Lerner.

The giant Samoan’s fist landed on Richard’s nose like a sledgehammer. FADE TO BLACK Flat on his back Richard stared up at the peaceful blue sky listening to what he thought might be birds chirping. The moment was rudely interrupted by the Samoan beast, who had decided to punctuate Richard’s butt kicking by hoisting him into the air WWF style.

“You got him now Dad!” yelled Richard’s son Josh, just before the Samoan launched Richard head first through the windshield of his car.

Satisfied that Richard had had enough, the Samoan walked past the front of Richard’s car and laughed at the sight of the lower half of Richard’s torso, which comically protruded from the windshield out over the hood.

“You kicked his butt! Good Dad,” chuckled the Samoan’s oversized son, as the Samoan wedged himself back into the cab of the truck.

“A cop without a gun, boy…” mumbled the Samoan, as they exchanged radical-surf signs.

Josh finally summoned the courage to move his hands from in front of his eyes and look at the carnage. “Are you okay, Dad?”

“I’m fine son, I don’t think he’ll be bothering us anymore. Listen, reach in the glove box and take out my cell phone.”

Josh complied with purpose. “Ok what now?”

“Just dial 911,” gasped Richard, the first wave of pain from his injuries washing over him.

Back at the Skinner home, Mona worked to clean up the kitchen, post worse than usual breakfast disaster. Continue reading

CROOKED COPS EPISODE 3

A new blog series from the Abby Normal mind of Stan Lerner

Richard Skinner’s partner, Larry Jacobs, an athletic black man in his late thirties, sat in, what could only be described as, a lavishly appointed kitchen surrounded by bills. One after the other he opened the horrible white envelope’s and shook his head in disgust.

“Damn that woman can spend money. Bloomingdale’s, Barneys, Tiffany, Gucci, five hundred channels?” Larry was in the middle of saying out loud to himself, only to have his thought interrupted by the entrance of his wife, Chenoa, dressed head to toe in Gucci—revealing a body so hot that it made fire jealous!

“Ta Da! Do you like it?” asked Chenoa doing a spin. “It’s right off the runway in Paris.”

“Baby you look fine, but I think you look great in jeans and a T-shirt.”

“You want to put this body in jeans and a T-shirt?” asked Chenoa gesticulating with her hand along the length of her fine curves. “You know what baby? Maybe you just need it a little less so you appreciate it a little more.”

Larry felt his resolve melt like ice in a microwave. “Baby I appreciate it,” he pleaded pulling her to a seat on his lap. “It’s just these bills, I mean do we really need five hundred cable stations?”

“Would you rather have little Bryant home watching cable or out running the streets?” asked Chenoa with just the right mixture of sass and sex in her tone. “Besides, I’ll be able to help out soon.”

This news raised Larry’s brow. “Oh really now?”

“I will. I’m working on something.” Chenoa ran her finger down the side of her man’s face. It wasn’t so much different than the guitar she learned to play as a teenager—just pluck the right strings and it would play any tune she wanted.

“Honey, buying five hundred lottery tickets a week isn’t a plan,” quipped Larry, lowering his voice to the end of its baritone range.

“I’ve got something even better than that. I’m going into business with Mona, but I can’t say what. It’s a surprise and don’t you tell Richard.” She punctuated this warning with a sharp jab to his chest, and then quickly closed in with a deep open mouth kiss and some ear bighting for good measure.

Larry had completely forgotten about the family’s financial problems at this point and was in the process of one sweeping arm gesture needed to clear the table of its paper clutter when their eight-year-old son Bryant walked in dressed in head to toe Tommy Hilfeiger.

“Knock it off you guys, the stores open in twenty minutes.”

Chenoa jumped off of Larry’s lap and pulled him straight to his feet, still in an “almost had sex” daze. “All right baby, I got five new credit cards this week, let’s put them to work. Chenoa leaned closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Than we’ll come home and you can put me to work.”

Through the haze of his raging testosterone he was able to understand the important implications of his next words, which he needed to choose, oh so carefully.

“Let’s go,” he managed to say loudly and with considerable enthusiasm.

Thankfully, Josh had spotted a couple of prime parking spaces still vacant in the parking lot closest to the movie theater.

Richard checking to see that the coast was clear flipped an illegal u-turn, hardly noticing the truck he had just cut off as he pulled to the gate at precisely the wrong angle to easily pull the ticket. Continue reading

CROOKED COPS EPISODE 1

A new blog series, from the Abby Normal mind of Stan Lerner!

It was a bright, sunny morning in the suburbs of Los Angeles. And from the Skinner home, a single story ranch-style, emanated rays of happiness, perhaps even more illuminating than those from the big happy face in the sky.

Eight-year-old Joshua ran down the hallway of his family’s modest two-bedroom home. “C’mon Dad were going to be late! Hurry up,” he shouted as he rounded the corner to the living room just before his foot landed on the misplaced Tonka toy.

A skid forward into a tacky twenty-dollar Torchiere lamp, Torchiere lamp tipping over into a 1970’s shag carpet cat tree, filled with a variety of cats, cat tree tipping over sending cats flying, cats attached to living room drapes like magnets to a fridge, one cat landing in fish tank.

The cat known as Pester, a feline with above average human intelligence, looked up from his unexpected good fortune to see that the curtain and its cache of cats were falling down upon him.

“Meow!” said Pester, but in human he was really saying, “Oh F**k!”

While this early morning commotion, was well into motion, Joshua’s dad Richard, a clean-cut, Wonder Bread type of man, in his early thirties, was showering in a bathroom that was quite literally a converted closet. Thinking that something may be amiss, he turned his head to the partly opened door and listened to what sounded like loud crashes and cat cries from the living room.

“Josh what’s going on out there?” yelled Richard, in the most loving and fatherly tone.

“Nothing Dad!” rang back Joshua’s voice, the voice of a precocious youth, not so cleverly disguised as an innocent angel.

In the not yet updated kitchen worked Mona, the beautiful, almost Victoria Secret model, wife and mother. Breakfast was always a challenge, so it was not so unusual that fire had erupted from all four slots of the toaster, in fact Mona hadn’t even noticed due to her several unsuccessful attempts to flip the eggs in the black greasy frying pan. Finally, she did get enough height with her egg toss, but was distracted by the toaster flames, which caused her to miss the catch.

“Oh no toaster fire!” uttered the brunette beauty, as she moved swiftly toward the pantry cupboard, desperately emptying all of its contents onto the floor. Continue reading