White Man's World

© 2013 David Jasmin-Green

“I, constable Norman Phyllis Adolph Ryan, was proceeding in an -”

“Stop there, constable,” the decrepit Judge Harley 'Hang 'em High' Harrison said, pushing his top denture back into place because he had forgotten to apply his denture fixative. “Did you say that one of your middle names is Phyllis?”

“Yes, Your Honour, me old mum wanted a girlie, bless her soul. I thought you was gonna say something about the name Adolph, that raises a few laughs down the station amongst me and the Nazi bovver boys, I'm telling you.”

“Oh no, my son is called Adolph. Proceed, constable.”

“I, constable Norman Phyllis Adolph Ryan, was proceeding in an easterly direction along Turnberry Road WS6 2LJ at two fifteen pm precisely according to my police issue wristwatch which, by the way, is always ten minutes slow. Complained about it 'til I'm blue in the face to my superior officer, I have, but nothing gets bloody well done about it. I had just passed the Paki shop – sorry, Patel's Megastore as I believe it's called, which I didn't enter to purchase a packet of fags and a couple of cans of Kestrel Super whatever the lying Indian toe-rag what runs the place might say to the contrary, and -”

“I have to stop you again,” judge Harrison said. “Are you by any chance a white supremacist, constable Ryan?” Only your comments are peppered with nasty, abusive racist remarks, remarks that I cannot tolerate in this courtroom - you know, the sort of things we only say behind the closed doors of the West Midlands Police social club or over the CB while we're racing our lovely sports caars.....”

“How dare you, Your Honour! I'm not a while supremacist, I'm an out and out fascist, me, just like me swastika tattooed, goose-stepping mum. Well, she can't goose step now, she's too old and frail, but you know what I mean.”

“Oh, I suppose that's all right then..... Carry on, constable.”

“Where was I? Oh yes, I never went in the Pa – the shop, and I never nipped down any alleyway for a crafty smoke and drink whilst on duty, on me mum's life I didn't. Anyway, Your Honour, I spotted the accused, a known felon, emerging from the public footpath which runs between Turnberrry Road and King George's Park and heads towards Bloxwich Hight Street. He was wearing a disgracefully loud pullover in a built-up area -”

“Hang on, hang on! What do you mean, a known felon?”

“He is, the thieving little bastard pinched a tube of Smarties from Tescos when he was two, and his single-parent, work-shy, benefit-grabbing, pissed-up crack-whore of a mother had the audacity to say ''Oo, sorry, you Piggy-wiggy twat, that's what lickle kiddies do'.”

“Ah. And are you aware, constable, that wearing a loud pullover in a built-up area is not a criminal offence?”

“Yeah, of course, Your Honour – what I was about to say was that the accused was wearing a disgracefully loud pullover in a built-up area, and I happened to think it was rather nice, it was a fashion statement, like, and I was gonna ask him if his mum would knit me one.”

“I see..... Do you see the accused in this courtroom, PC Ryan?”

“Yes, Your Honour, that's him standing on a step-ladder in the witness stand, I believe he's a crazed, cat-loving midget with highly dangerous delusions about taking over the world.”

“Hmmm. Carry on, constable.”

“Right, Your Honour. As I said, the crinimale was wearing a disgracefully loud pullover in a built-up area, which I thought was rather nice, so I proceeded to cross the road meaning to ask him if his mumsie would knit me one. At which point the total barstid unexpectedly Kung-fu kicked me in the head, knocking me to the pavement and raining my helpless gonads with a series of sharp, excruciatingly painful kicks. 'Gimme your beer an' fags an' your overstuffed wallet, you fucking pig!' he yelled, though of course I didn't have any beer or fags. At which point, of course, I got me pepper spray out, sprayed it in his eyes and proceeded to beat the living shit out of him with me truncheon, then I handcuffed him and called for a mobile unit to come and take him down the nick for a proper roughing up.”

“And at what point did you see the defendant's mother, constable Ryan?”

“His mother? I don't remember what the accused's mother looks like, Sir, except that she's very very black, and they all look the bloody same to me..... And it's been a while since I arrested him for nicking Smarties in Tesco. Ooh, you must mean that crazy negress that attacked me while I was handcuffing the accused. I dunno, it's awful what drugs do to folk. She hit me over the head with a sodding pushchair, the fat tart, and it bloody well hurt. Luckily, though, the squad car arrived in the nick of time, and my ever faithful colleagues arrested the insane bitch and smacked her up a bit 'cos she wouldn't keep quiet.”

“How old would you say the accused is, constable?”

“Ooh, I dunno, it's hard to tell with these nut-job mixed-race megalomaniac midgets, he could be anything from forty to sixty five.”

“And you wouldn't say that he was around, say, four, by any chance?”

“No no, Your Honour, that's a total lie that's being spread by the accused's master crinimale, racially impure family, total bar stewards, the lot of 'em.”

“Right, that'll do me. Amy Brigit Campbell, I sentence you to twenty five years for being a dirty tart and a smack-head and seriously assaulting a police officer, and Lincoln Johnathan Campbell, I sentence you to a thousand years hard labour for being a nasty brown midget crinimale with illusions of grandeur in a white man's world. Court adjourned!”