Donal was not amused. Once again, someone in the Guest Care office (Mrs. Cooks!) thought it would be funny to Photoshop his head onto a drawing. Of Donald Duck. Because that never got old.
Once again, someone in the Guest Care office (Mrs. Cooks!) thought it would be funny to Photoshop his head onto a drawing of Donald Duck, because frankly, that never got old. Donal was not amused.
He sat patiently, hands still lightly gripping his steering wheel. “Twelve and two”, he smirked inwardly as he waited. Three squad cars and the S.W.A.T. team flashed their semaphore behind him. The show of force afforded Donal some importance.
“They should see this, then they’d know not to laugh”, he thought, his hands clearly visible.
An officer approached on either side of his vehicle, pistols drawn as Donal’s breathing remained slow and rhythmic. He pressed the button on his power window, as it lowered fully open. Donal smiled.
“Problem officers?” he cracked, but the patrolman was far from playful.
“Get out of the car, Scumbag, and keep your hands where I can see them!” the cop shouted at Donal as the officer’s partner rounded the front of the car, revolver still trained on Donal’s chest.
He slowly pushed his door opened and stepped out into the crisp morning air, closing the door behind him. Officer Creedy and Patrolman Habib rushed the calm assailant, harshly pressing his face against the dust encrusted glass of his passenger window. Habib gave his handcuffs an extra twist as he slapped them around Donal’s wrists.
The two took turns shoving Donal toward their squad car. But at one point, Donal hardened his stance, glancing back at his car.
He knew he would always remember that smile as he entered the police car harshly. In his mind, it would never get old.