By: Aithne
Fresh off my Midwestern trip home, I landed just in time for a Southern 4th of July bash. The affair kicked off with Detective Inspector O’Neil, commanding officer of the HPD, in dress uniform and a surprisingly short skirt giving a truly rousing speech about the need to self deport if you didn’t like the fact that the police force wastes more money on this bash than it would take to repair half the buildings in Hathian.
Forget the “Stars and Bars” stereotype of the deep south – it was all “Stars and Stripes” today! What I saw at the HPD’s block party, was enough firepower to make Putin weep with envy. Seriously, if we just added a dash of AI, we could probably take over the world with the arsenal on display: automatic weapons galore, “riot control” vehicles that looked like they ate tanks for breakfast, helicopters that looked like they belonged sweeping over the fields of South Vietnam, and police bikes that probably had rocket boosters hidden somewhere. Luckily, these weren’t our local, perpetually clueless peace officers’ daily carry; I’m pretty sure they were just loaners for the day, brought in to impress us common folk.
The patriotic spirit was certainly alive, though mostly in the form of red, white, and blue balloons, confetti, and party favors. Actual human beings? Not so much in the festive wear, myself included, since the party was awkwardly scheduled for July 6th.
But cudos to our very own reporter for the Observer, Venus, and her friend Keyate, who showed up decked out in the Stars and Stripes! They easily snagged the “Best Dressed” award for the day!
Naturally, all the cops who could tear themselves away from their doughnut duties were there, many in their pristine dress uniforms.
But the true star of the show? Charlie’s pet gecko, proudly displayed in his palm. This is the same man who can wield a chainsaw with terrifying skill one day and then melt hearts with a tiny reptile the next. Truly, a man of many talents.
Then came the grand finale: the fireworks. As thousands of dollars literally exploded into pretty lights and loud bangs, I couldn’t help but wonder how many perfectly good lattes could have been bought with that money. Still, I admit, it was an undeniably impressive, sky-splitting display.
Once the aerial display concluded and the heavy artillery trundled off to wherever they store military-grade party props, the crowd began to thin. It had been, by all accounts, a harmless (if ridiculously expensive and showy) display of police might and patriotism.
Or so I thought. My attention was suddenly snagged by a commotion near one of the firearms booths. An impersonated female police officer, later identified as Karigan Hopper (manager of the Gein burger joint), had decided to grace the party in Officer Hughes’ (congrats on the nuptials, Officer Cavenaugh!) uniform. A bit of pushing and shoving ensued, and as I tried to get a closer look, Karigan, used me as a human diversionary prop. I found myself unceremoniously shoved toward a concrete yellow post in front of the station. Cue the cartoon birds circling my head and a swift journey into the land of unconsciousness.
When I finally came to, feeling like I’d just had a particularly aggressive staring contest with a lamppost, I learned Karigan had been apprehended shortly after my unplanned nap. Further investigation, thanks to sources, revealed that Karigan’s questioning led to Officer Hughes’ recovery from the Gein where she had been held, and the subsequent arrest of a complicit cook. Apparently, it was all just a prank, and thankfully, no serious harm came to Officer Hughes. And that, my friends, is how I learned that celebrating America’s independence can sometimes come with a surprising, concrete-induced independence from consciousness. Now to find that sweet bottle of Aspirin.
The Observer Editor adds: Fantastic journalism from Aithne, all I can add are a few extra photos of some savoury and potentially less savoury characters! As ever click to expand!
