Dark Humor Thread

[Snattlerake]

The “Ouch” tattoo.

One of the prisoners we had in the jail was a white male about 35 years old with very rough facial features as if he had lived a hard life. He had long hair past his shoulders and tattoos all over. After he had finished his one armed pushups in his cell, I noticed one tattoo in particular over what looked like a big scar on the guy’s rock hard abdomen. It was the word “OUCH!” with an arrow pointing to the scar. I asked him what it was and he said laughing, “I was a punk kid in Wichita and got pulled over by the cops. I pointed a gun at em and they shot me with a shotgun. I was in the hospital for 7 months then spent 8 years in prison. I got the tat in prison.”

 

[Fyrtwuck]

I was at the station one day and my mother called and asked if I had responded to a heart attack call at her favorite bingo hall. My shift had not, but after checking the station log book, one of the other shifts did.

It seems that they had responded to a full arrest and an elderly lady was transported by ambulance to the hospital. They worked the code and pronounced her in the ER. She was then transported to the M.E.’s office for autopsy.

She was waiting her turn for autopsy and woke up in the morgue.

The next day there was a sign posted near the window at the snack bar.

“MICROWAVE OVEN IN USE”

Apparently she was close enough to the snack bar that the microwave had interrupted the signal to her pacemaker.

 

[Firpo]

 

[Fyrtwuck]

One of the other threads reminded me of an incident not long before I retired.

It was near the end of my day and I was sitting at an intersection waiting for the light to change. A Mexican food truck came through the intersection in front of me and hit a small dip. The truck bounced a little and live coals from a BBQ grill mounted on the rear hit the ground in front of me and bounced up with a shower of embers.

I flipped on the red lights and followed him over the exchange bridge and he finally looked in the mirror and stopped. He was getting ready to pull into the driveway leading to the propane company to get his tanks refilled. When he opened the side door on his truck he also had a five gallon gas can with an open spout sitting inside the front passenger area.

I called my Chief and she came to the scene and couldn’t believe someone could be that stupid. I told her that, that was why I had called her.

We had a talk with him about the possible consequences if he’d made it near the propane dock with a live BBQ on the back of his truck.

I wrote a few tickets and he had to extinguish his BBQ and hand carry his tanks to be refilled from the street to the refill exchange.

 

[turkeyrun]

Working nights in refinery, about 3 am alarm goes off. I had a trainee with me, I told him to drive the breathing air truck.

We pull up on scene, he parks and is leaning on the steering wheel, watching the firefighters scramble.

We star laughing when an operator is on the ground, moving forward, spraying a garden hose at the fire on the 4th floor.

I tell Mark to look towards his left shoulder. He slowly turns. Looking at the bullet end of a 5000 gal propane tank.

He ducks his head, slowly rolls up the door window of the truck and sets back, "whew, that could have been bad."

 

[BillM]

Veterans, first responders, medical pros, ranchers, and all the rest of you deranged assholes get in here and do your thing!! 😁

I did five years at Nellis AFB, NV. 1978-1983. As a still photographer. During the war in Vietnam somebody noticed that most of the USAF pilots lost died flying their first ten missions. Navy had similar results. They started their Top Gun competitions in San Diego, and the USAF started RED FLAG exercises at Nellis.

Got there in mid-May, out on my 1st aircraft accident there in mid-June. An F-100 flown by an Illinois ANG veteran pilot hit just below the crest of a hill at about 400kts. Pilot had 4000+ hours in the airframe, and 3 combat tours in Nam. Ejection seat fired. Seat belt about cut him in half, and his head hit the edge of the only partially open canopy and removed the top of his skull...
Accident board was having a really hard time figuring out what happened. There was a crater full of debris, but a lot of debris also flew over the top of the hill and scattered nearly a mile down the back side of the hill. For a while, there was a suggestion on the chalk board that we hold a seance and ask the pilot what happened...

Several weeks after the accident we found a piece of the pilot's skull in a bush. I carried it back to the base hospital in a zip lock bag I had in my camera bag.

Also, we kept finding tufts of coarse gray fire all over. Including in the crater. Eventually figured out he crashed on a poor innocent coyote out minding its own business. The informal result was phrased as "The pilot had his fangs out down to his navel." He was leaning forward and twisted around watching the bombs go off on the target he'd just hit, and unaware of how close he was to the ground.

This was in the desert, and the area was covered in mesquite bushes, most about 3' in diameter and height. He was apparently thinking they were trees of 30' to 40' in diameter and height, and so unaware of how close he was to the rising ground...

I was there five years and around 100 aircraft accidents. I don't remember meeting him, but was also involved in the investigation Capt. Sullenberger helped investigate and described in his book, Highest Duty. He mentions his friend Mark Postai, and Mark's wife, Linda, who was a photographer with me when I met her. And I did some of the photography in the accident that killed him, and made her a widow. And of the fatal accident that also killed a couple guys he'd worked and flown with on an aircraft he'd had problems with and written up the day of their fatal accident.

I got out of the photography biz in 1985, did another dozen years in satellite communications before retiring, and I've been retired for closing on 27 years. STILL do mostly black humor. Sometimes the choices are laugh or cry. I refuse to cry.

 

[Snattlerake]

533 N Beebe Wichita, Ks
On the first night, I rode with a Wichita PD friend of mine I worked with at the Army Reserve center, We had the hoot-owl shift. We no sooner went 10-8 when we received a call to go to 533 N Bebe to act as perimeter security for the crime scene unit and detectives. I remember the address as if it were yesterday. All of the officers kept talking about the "Orchard" and "Orchardites" I later found out the area was called the Orchard because of the street names and the area was well known to the cops. Officer Joe and I drove to the scene and were instructed to keep the teenage kids away from the house and the property in general. I met several of the detectives while there and had great conversations with them. One of them mentioned it was a good thing I wore blue to ride along as I had my grey slacks and a blue sport coat. I thought that was funny because at that time, WPD wore tan and green.

Long story short, the owner of the property had the typical wife and 3 kids 10 years ago. He caught his wife coming home after stepping out on him, killed her with a tire iron, buried her in the backyard next to the garage and planted roses. He reported her missing within the respectable time frame and everyone assumed she had just left her family and abandoned her kids.

The guy remarries after a few years and again he has the typical family in America, wife and kids.
After about 10 years, the new wife wants to redo the rose garden so while he’s at work, she yanks out the roses and finds a skeleton. She freaks and calls her husband at work. He drives home and comes clean about his first wife and they both agree to not say any more about it.

He goes back to work and she calls the cops and burns him. She didn’t want to be number two I guess.

They spent hours exhuming momma and I got to see the process in stages as it happened. Bagging and tagging her clothes, handbag, contents of the bag, sketches and measurements and photographs out the wazoo. It was early morning when we were relieved by another unit and we were starving so we went to breakfast with most of the detectives.

The next night out was a crazy night. Officer Joe kept looking at his watch. He said, “It’s 9 oclock, about time for all of the armed robberies to start.” He no sooner said that and , “BEEP BEEP BEEP, Wichita attention all officers, robbery in progress . . .”

About 2 am he looked at his watch again, “Now is when all the bars close and the domestics start. “Wichita 453. 453, domestic at . . .”

It was also the first time I checked alleys at 45 mph to keep from getting shot.

Fun times!

 

[GorillaG]

I remember in the Joseph Wambaugh book The Choirboys, Rosco Rues was a he-man cop in LA. He was at an accident scene one rainy night and was waiting on a particular car to drive by rubbernekkin. He would teach them. It had to be a woman with out-of-state plates so they are most likely not to report him. Just then, the perfect car drives up and the out-of-state woman driver rolls down the window, "Anybody hurt?"

Rosco holds up a severed head by the bloody hair and said, "This one got banged up a bit."

The screams from the car faded as fast as the car accelerated away.