The Busted Party: A Mistaken Case Of Domestic Abuse
Since the 1960’s, a long standing and often hostile relationship has existed between college students and police authorities. The radicalism that fueled the 60’s and 70’s gave way to a new approach by which the cops now control the youth of this nation. The radical movements are gone, and with no real war to fight, the pigs are still seeking their thrills.
It was a Thursday night. The five of us — Scotty, Bridgett, Roberto, Jane, and myself – were in no mood for the bar scene. We were held up in a small apartment off campus, and things were going haywire. We were 5 drunken monkeys with no qualms about tearing the place to shreds. Long bouts of drinking games had turned us raving wild.
During the madness we had failed to recognize that Scotty and Jane had disappeared. The door to the back bedroom was closed and locked and from the noise coming through the other side we knew all too well what was going on.
The two had succumbed to lust and had called it a night far too early for our taste. Roberto and I had no intention of letting the two slip away into the night. When knocking and hollering for them to come out didn’t work, we resorted to new tactics. A volley of condiments from the refrigerator was our answer. The door to the bedroom began to be coated in a thin layer of ketchup, mustard and chocolate syrup. When they failed to produce themselves, we decided that a forced entry was our only answer. We used the empty shell of a keg to ram the bedroom door. Charge after charge we bludgeoned the portal, to no avail. The lovers kept shagging without missing a beat.
Roberto had given it his all to keep the gathering alive, but was now finished. He grabbed Bridgett, and the two escaped into another room to do the nasty.
I was all alone now. I was stuck in the middle of a goddamn brothel with nothing to keep me occupied except a bottle of vodka. Needless to say, I was unhappy that everyone had abandoned me. It was only 10:30 p.m. The house was in shambles and everyone was in the throes of an illustrious sex session. I had no option; I was forced to the couch to pass out.
Within seconds there was a knock on the door. Assuming that it was a neighbor coming to see what the commotion had been, I casually unlocked the door.
Before I could even get the door open, it was kicked in my face and a flurry of blue suits flooded into the apartment. “Freeze!” they screamed. As one of them grabbed me and firmly pressed me against the wall, a parade of 10 cops filled the flat. From the windows I could tell that at least 4 other cops were outside, shining their light in. A battalion had surrounded us.
Needless to say, I was confused. There was no reason for such force, especially for what I assumed was your average neighborly noise complaint. Within minutes, it became obvious that this was not your everyday police bust of a party.
The cop that had me began shouting “where are the women!?”, “where are the women!?” I pointed to the back bedroom.
Like something you’d see in a Hollywood movie, they began clearing the house. In the first room, Bridgett and Roberto were waiting. A women cop was the first to enter. I heard the shrieks from Bridgett. The cop had walked in on their love making. “Get up!” screamed the lady cop, a command she would certainly regret. She withdrew herself from the room when Roberto got up and began drunkenly stumbling towards her, dick in hand. She ordered him to cloth himself, but the bastard would not submit.
The cop, who had yet to release his grip of me, began questioning. It quickly became evident why the cops were invading the home. It appeared that the combination of loud sex and the commotion of partying had frightened the neighbors so bad, they assumed a domestic abuse case was unraveling next store. It didn’t help that the apartment looked like a crack den.
There was only one room left to search. The surrealistic nightmare waiting behind the door was more than any of us could ever fathom. The cops couldn’t have asked for a more perfect scene if they dreamt it.
The cops busted down the door and within minutes I knew something was horribly wrong. “We need an ambulance!” cried one of the officers. The whole flat came alive with the bustle of cops.
And then we saw it. As they pulled Jane from the room, she was covered in blood. The cops began examining her, but they could not find wounds. The bewildered look on her face gave away the fact that she had no idea why she was bleeding either.
Once it was settled that the blood covering Jane was not her own, they brought Scotty out from the room. He looked like he had bathed in blood. With his hands cuffed behind his back and shirt unbuttoned, he resembled Charles Manson. His nose was pouring blood.
It was at this moment, we all connected the dots. No one had said it, but we knew what had happened. The two in the backroom had been having the most foul and sadistic of sex that somewhere in the commotion, Scotty had busted his nose. In their drunken state, neither had noticed the obscene amount of blood they were rolling around in.
Of course how does one explain this to the police, who are hell bent on making this the next big news story? You simply try, and with a bit of luck they’ll believe this was all an act of fun.
The damn fools wouldn’t take that for an answer. They went through the whole gag. Were we drug addicts or pimps running a prostitution ring? No amount of explanation would ever be good enough for them. Their tones were hostile and with every passing minute, we were brutality threatened with being hauled off to jail.
An hour passed as they pressed us for an answer. I will never be sure what they were looking for, but we all knew they were looking for someone to take the fall. This we knew all too well. Even though they were aware no crime had been committed, they needed fresh blood. They pressed on into the night, until the entire scene snapped.
Fortunately, Scotty stepped up to the plate. Coyly, he looked up at the lady cop and uttered “nice fucking bun.” She was enraged about the hair comment, and forcefully escorted him outside. The herd pounced, glad to finally get their rock off. The rest of us were let off with a warning that night, but Scotty didn’t fare so well.
College kids are prime pickings for the police; more so than drug junkies, and blue and white collar criminals. In the minds of cops there is no better pleasure than showing the punks whose boss, and they do. There is undoubtedly a need to keep social order, but at what cost does civility need to go out the window?
Category: Drinks and Jungle Juice, Featured, Uncategorized
