The cop car after the cop car

Have you ever seen the trails left behind from a white supremacist contract your mom took on you to defraud you of your share of commonly ptui!ptui! held real estate? Have you ever? Even you would think it's a hallucination, a series of pinball balls draining their presence into the ethnic gutter common even to the Excelsior State Building when they're in a good mood, but with a piquant twist, a loose Beulah grape fall of distempered but relaxed hair sake' and sushi suits claiming whatever crush had on Lucy Liu originated in her connection to common ptui!ptui! real estate and some Mongol dynasty that simply could spell Japanese, known to their own as Indian winter turncoats, they use use a patrol car to follow another patrol car, whose occupants do consider a small lost pit bull worthy of being found as nobody's brother's business at that. So one is working on a complaint having to explain how the proud owner of two blogs does not run them from her mom's computer, but the computer was hers (mine) in the first place, and these deja vus in a bad 80's French thriller, Parisian, always Parisian, these deja vu operatic nuclear terrorist haircuits with swimming goggles as robocop sunglasses pile out of a car ask if eeverything is okay since I was suspiciously not wearing my combat gear replete w/hand granades, 2 bullet belts crossbreasted, one strapped around my waist, a Kalashnikov and Gucci high heels. They look on as they sway to signify hip import, from left to right, deceiving an imaginary scale away from their actual weight, far too much for their overactive lack of imagination, but then, who's critiquing what?
After the pat answer is delivered with no compunction to engage in comradic banter, they still stand by, trying to simulate how the country has fallen into an insignificant dystopia that has led to their inability to play loco horny Roland with a chocolate six-gun, still in love with his mom, with me, the complainant, since the world needs to be deceived into believing that law as we know it is anything but a ruse, a bait, a weir, a lobster trap to seize us within, until the race is air purified in fir.