The Black Sheep
fro free. m t ..lik he ath e the let wan eo n y gove our r flo or.
Vol. 9, Issue 8
The College Newspaper That's Actually About College
10/9/13 - 10/16/13
d ready pace: armed an
for homecoming weekend BY: Cody Manthei
Here at The Black Sheep, we hate PACE just as much as you do. We think they should either get real jobs, become real cops, or at the very least bike cops. However, it is relatively apparent that none of those things will happen, so we decided to become one with these bums and sit in on their weekly meeting before Homecoming Weekend. We were in luck. The following story is transcribed from the fourteenth meeting of 2013 of PACE “police force” as they prepared for the “bank-breaking score of parking tickets” to be written this weekend (Note: Everyone had a bad mustache.)
downs from the meatheads over at the ELPD.” The container forcefully opens. He begins lining the table with an assortment of weapons in need of much repair. He grabs the first.
“Nonetheless, whoever the culprit is, quit masturbating into the Greek yogurt. Moving on to item eight.”The PACE Monday meeting echoes through the basement of the MSU Police Department.
“Jesus! Sorry, Franklin. This thing is too hard to pull back.” He sets the crossbow down. “Someone set the ‘Last Accident’ sign back to zero. Franklin, come on. Use your other arm, the sign isn’t that high.”
A giant cart is wheeled through the door and placed in front of Deputy Stevens. On the cart is a rusty metal weapons cache from the Civil War era. The officers around the conference table sit up, intrigued by the mystery package.
“Uh, it’s already at zero, Captain,” Franklin says, struggling with the arrow lodged inside him.
“Now let’s talk about item eight. God, the brass has been breaking our balls for months now, and nothing has seemed to change, even after I had a meeting with the sergeant and made it clear to him that we’re on the front lines—we’re PACE officers, dammit!” Stevens slams his fist onto the table. Many officers jump and Private Mallory pees a little. “I’ve told him time and time again that we need to have more firepower, and by that I mean some sort of firepower. I mean, we’re up against an unimaginable beast out there, but there’s still no funding!” Stevens opens the rusty container. “So we’re stuck with these old hand-me-
“Now this here is the Nightwing 4000, better known as a crossbow. This sucker can shoot an arrow 30 feet at speed of almost 10.5 feet per second. That’s almost double the speed of the shitty little sling shots we got now.” He struggles to pull the string back, accidently lets it go and sends an arrow into Private Franklin’s shoulder.
“Well, fuck it.” Stevens picks up the next toy. “Um, okay I guess we have some spears? They’re kind of rusty and the tips are more like Nerf darts. Yeah, they’re basically sticks, but you can still hit some shit with ‘em.” A raised hand appears near the end of the conference table. “Go ahead, Bert.” “What is that?” Bert points to a rope tied to a cinder block. Stevens grabs the rope and drags the cement brick off the table, and it hits the ground with a loud thud. Mallory pees a little more. “This? This looks to be a rope tied to a cinder block. I think the ELPD horse cops used to carry these around to bust through car windows and shit. I
figure we’ll do the same.” He tries swinging the makeshift blackjack, finds it too heavy, and hands the rope to the officer on his right. “Here, take care of this.” Stevens picks up the final contraption. “Sir, can I go to the hospital?” Franklin asks from the back, arrow still sticking out of his shoulder. “I think I’m bleeding out.” “Not until the end of the presentation, Franklin. Grab a tissue or something.” Stevens holds up what appears to be an 1800’s-style minigun. “Now, I know
this thing looks big and tough, but unfortunately it only shoots kernels of corn, which we only have six of, so use them sparingly. Not lethal, but annoying for sure. I figure we can mount this to the top of one of our trucks and bust it out when we have a real issue. Like if some snot nosed kid comes out and claims to have a few minutes left on his meter, shoot a few kernels at him until the meter runs out. Any questions?” Bert raises his hand again. “So, can you get pregnant from the Greek yogurt? Cause I ate like, a lot of it.”
Stevens hangs his head. He looks back up at the group. “Now, everybody grab a weapon and go write some tickets. We’re doing God’s work out there.” The officers begin to disperse. Stevens adds one more thing, “And remember our motto out there, boys: PACE does not spell peace!” The men leave the room expect for Franklin, who with his final breath, switches the “Days Without a Death” sign back to zero.
page 5
page 7
page 10
How to Ruin an Alumni Tailgate
Addressing the Realities of Wangovers
Your TA, The Possible Occult Member
Here’s how to take control from those old farts.
If you don’t know what a wangover is, you’re not living.
Eating bats isn’t a cultural difference, your TA is a worker of Satan.
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