COPS -- in St. Louis. Sort of.

So I'm watching the West Wing, trying to figure out which characters are muppets and which are live actors, when I hear a muffled BANG outside. Not unusual -- my neighbors have been pretty rambunctious lately.

Then I saw the flash -- like a burst of lightning and a really loud BOOM. My windows rattled and a car alarm protested the intrusion loudly. I peeked out the window and saw several police officers clustered in front of the house across the street.

They were wearing vests with ST LOUIS POLICE stretched across the back, and wearing various stages of tactical gear and street clothes under their vests.

Apparently, my loud-ass neighbors have been partying a little too hard lately. And inviting many, many friends. And selling party favors. Which really, explains why those brownies they brought over when I moved in tasted funny. And why I carried on a six-hour conversation with my toolshed that night.*

I stared out my window, but I was disappointed; I was hoping for a "Cops" episode - complete with hysterical women, drooling, snarling police dogs and unwashed Kid Rock-lookalikes (who also happen to resemble my neigbors) being dragged kicking and screaming down the sidewalk to the wagon.

No dice. All I got was cops crowding the porch and probing the front yard intently.

At this point, I began reflecting what would have happened if they went to the wrong address and busted in my door and tossed in a flash grenade. In all honesty, I would probably just point upstairs in the general direction of Demond's room and say "Please don't kick in the door." That seems like it would be a safe bet.

But despite the no police chases, no dogs and general mayhem, I'm happy they've carted them off. While I'm not sure, I think they've been selling drugs out of the house, and if they clear the assholes out of my block, I'm perfectly happy for it. This spares me the trouble of dressing up in my costume and cleaning the streets myself.

*Editor's note: Part of this isn't true -- they didn't bring the brownies over; the toolshed, however, is another story.