The Joy of being a killer of breathalyzers.

So, I get pulled over on Saturday night by a bunch of smiling, super-polite traffic cops.  Do remember that it was past midnight, and anyone who looks that happy at that time of night, without the aid of alcohol, should be dealt with extreme caution.

Anyway, the cops have set up this virtual campsite (and not just a simple barricade), complete with a large bus/camper-type vehicle, with floodlights on its roof.  One smiling peeler taps my window and asks me where I’m coming from. “Dinner”, say I, matching his silly grin. “Really? Then you must have had a drink, sir.”  “Um, yes”, I reply, “but that was a couple of hours ago, and it was only one drink!”

“But sir, you’ve had alcohol, no? Don’t deny it, that’s a nice man. It's quite alright, a drink or two. After all, if you stop drinking, our wine stores will have to shut down. All that lost license fees to the government. Tsk Tsk."

So I sighed, parked my car on the shoulder and stood in line for the breathalyzer test.  I had to wait a bit, because there were at least 10 chaps before me, and only 3 machines.  Finally, I see a free machine and jump the queue.  “Now, sir. Blow hard into this pipe here”.  So I blow, and hope nobody’s taking pictures, because it looks kinda obscene.

And wait.

The machine readout states, “Processing – Please Wait”. Ok, so I’m waiting already, get on with it. The readout stays stuck for another 5 minutes, and the cop’s scratching his head. “It’s probably not working properly”, says he, and resets the machine.  I do the blow thing again, with the same result. Now the cop’s really flummoxed.  So, he calls for a second machine. Same result.

Same problem with the THIRD machine! I now have seven coppers in a circle around me, chuckling and scratching their heads at the same time.  The machines were working fine till now. What the fuck went wrong?

I do the test once more. “Just once more, Sir. For our peace of mind”.  No prizes for guessing what the readout said.  The cops gave up and asked me to leave, and thankyouverymuch for ruining their precious machines, hmph.

This proves that Crowley is a certified alien, or maybe a vampire or something. He can kill high-precision circuitry with a single breath.

Or maybe he needs industrial strength mouthwash. Hmm.