I’ve heard of a pedo-bear, but thanks to the Houston fuzz, we’ve got a new one: Podi-bear.
Because this 26-year-old foot fetishist Texan cop just got charged with “official oppression” (first time I’ve heard that term before) for pulling over a pothead chick, and going all Jigsaw wanna-play-a-game-or-go-to-jail on her with the most convoluted sextortion I’ve ever heard of. (For a routine traffic stop, anyway). While the story seems to be missing direct quotes from the victim detailing what he said, based on the deets, I’ll accept nada but that the following transcript transpired until I hear otherwise:
“Ah, I see you have marijuana here! Mmmyeah… So, here’s how this is gonna go: I want to smell your feet. But if you don’t want me to smell your feet, I’ll accept your underwear. But here’s the kicker (get it? Kicker? Feet? Ah?!) If I do smell your feet, I’ll probably lick them. Just sayin’. So there’s that. I’ll give you a moment to decide in the quiescence of your car and brain which is likely wondering if this is all a dream. Oh, and if you fail to choose, you get to go to jail. Because: drugs. And ‘cause I’ll be bitter about going home with empty nostrils.”
“It gets lonely out here. Piggy wants them piggies, gurrrl.”
When she offered up her drawers, Dr. Scholl patrol suddenly about-faced.
After saying, “Forget about it”, he left.
I wonder why?
Which is funny because at first, my “ahh, no one’s really like that are they?” part of my brain had trouble believing this was even real – that he wasn’t put up to this, Super Trooper style. But the larger part knows better. Mayhaps he got that sixth-sense feeling we all get some days while out nature gazing and suddenly thinking, “I’m being watched…” (except he thought he was being watched by a hidden iphone). Why else would he keep reneging on the parameters of his own extortion terms? And then walk away halfway through getting what he wanted? Or is the mind game part of it more of a turn on? That’d make sense. Especially given the profession he chose – knowing you can have something if you want it sometimes is the game in and of itself. Like when I throw a bunch of merch into my Nordstrom’s basket. And then set the full cart in a corner. And then leave the store empty handed. Except, as a cop, you’re finding this in different ways every day when you subdue unassuming civilians who are so terrified of you to begin with that everyone just starts getting on their knees and taking out their chewing whenever they see your ilk approaching.
And speaking of professions, the presenter I first heard telling this story asked the same question I’d been thinking up until he asked it: “Why not have just become a podiatrist instead? Who moonlights at Laundromats?” (for the panties?) . And at first I was like, “yeah, man!” But when I put myself in podi-bear’s boots (which I bet he sniffs for at least fifteen minutes apiece when he gets home after a long day), I think, “If I like making people do things they don’t wanna for sexual thrills, those other jobs would respectively be too easy and too boring.” The end game of ankle wanking and tonguing toes isn’t the only objective. If I’m a police pervo, half the fun is gonna be the psych-win aspect of it.
And if I’m the pothead chick he stops, half the fun is gonna be wondering:
“Not sure if that just happened…. Or still high on wee-wee-weeed.”
All the way home.