Kei­th An­der­son

I was look­ing at the ceil­ing when I heard a crash­ing sound. Fear gripped me as I col­lect­ed my roy­al jew­els and pulled a sheet to cov­er my naked­ness. I thought it was ban­dits, but it was po­lice. They showed me a pa­per with some cra­paud-foot writin', while I sur­veyed the dam­age to my new­ly-pur­chased door. I said: "Gen­tle­men, how can I help?" An of­fi­cer with a fun­ny name, dressed in kha­ki said: "We are from the An­ti Cor­rup­tion Bu­reau and we are try­ing to find the sauce of a leak.

"What leak?" I shot back, keep­ing my com­po­sure. "Our in­for­ma­tion is that you can help us find the sauce, as we in­quire in­to the leak at the In­tegri­ty Com­mis­sion." I said: "Gen­tle­men, how I get in that? "I am just a sim­ple writer and a de­cent cit­i­zen be­cause I bathe of­ten, and pay my tax­es. I said if they want bac­cha­nal, is bac­cha­nal they will get be­cause I am a bac­cha­nal­ist. The door looked kilk­i­tay as it hung on one hinge. Very re­spect­ful­ly, I said: "Gen­tle­men, you didn't have to break down the door. It wasn't re­al­ly closed.

"We doh know dat," re­turned an of­fi­cer who looked like he was wear­ing a size 16 shoe. The se­nior of­fi­cer apol­o­gised and said what they were do­ing was 21st cen­tu­ry polic­ing. I shook my head in dis­be­lief. I told them I wasn't leav­ing my bro­ken door so, and called Com­mis­sion­er Gibbs on the phone. I know I was spin­ning top in mud be­cause he backs his men...right or wrong.

Gibbs' phone rang. I ex­changed pleas­antries and told him what his men had done. He said that was 21st cen­tu­ry polic­ing and hung up on me. I thought about call­ing Pres­i­dent Max, but he was out par­ty­ing. I thought about call­ing the talk­a­tive At­tor­ney Gen­er­al Anand Ram­lo­gan, but he want­ed noth­ing to do with the An­ti Cor­rup­tion Bu­reau. I con­tem­plat­ed my predica­ment-a bro­ken door and po­lice look­ing for a sauce.

I said if is sauce they want, is sauce they will get...with some stale hops bread. I went in­to the fridge and brought out some chick­en foot sauce, and a bot­tle of gar­lic sauce. One of­fi­cer in gruff tones said: "You stu­pid or what, that is not the sauce we talk­ing about." I knew they were talk­ing about my source, but an ex­pe­ri­enced jour­nal­ist does not give out his source.

Pre­tend­ing to be a beh-beh, I said: "Gen­tle­men, you can get some pig-foot sauce if you want." I fur­ther stat­ed: "You can take away the pot if you want." One of­fi­cer an­gri­ly said: "You can't tell we what to do, we is po­lice." I caught an of­fi­cer look­ing in­to the pot of chick­en foot sauce. I could tell he was hun­gry as he an­nounced: "I am seiz­ing this sauce pend­ing fur­ther in­ves­ti­ga­tion." I smiled. These men by­passed (or is it passed by?) my lap­top, but left with a pot of pig foot sauce, and a pot of chick­en foot sauce. I didn't re­al­ly mind, I was go­ing to throw it away. You see me, I gone.

I thought about call­ing Pres­i­dent Max but he was out par­ty­ing. I thought about call­ing the talk­a­tive At­tor­ney Gen­er­al Anand Ram­lo­gan, but he want­ed to noth­ing to do with the An­ti Cor­rup­tion Bu­reau. I con­tem­plat­ed my predica­ment-a bro­ken door and po­lice look­ing for a sauce.