[bad bois]: When Cops was syndicated in Sweden at the turn of the decade, the song was released as a single there in 1991 and quickly reached #1. Soon it was a hit in many other European countries. It was not until 1993 when the song was issued as a single in the US.

 

The House God Has Forgotten Part 17: Everyone Loves A Bad Boy

He sits in the middle of his tiny cell and looks around, no one is watching, but he slowly looks over his shoulder anyway. He wonders, he contemplates and his hand moves under the cardboard food container and he throws it at the door and the fish from dinner ends up dripping down.

Did he not like what the kitchen had prepared for the evening? It is a mystery we will never figure out in The House That God Has Forgotten.

Babies do the same thing. Not like their mashed potatoes that sit on their little plastic plate that has bears on it. They have their little plastic spoons and sippy cups from IKEA next to them and they will all in one swift move end up on the floor below them.

“But you liked this last time you ate it?” the father will say to the little baby.

Maybe this guy in his cell did not like this one a second time like the baby did.

He is a little tired of having the cuisine in The House That God Has Forgotten. He is tired of getting fish and sausage. He wants something more pleasing for his fine tuned taste buds.

You see, before he was in The House That God Had Forgotten, he was a culinary expert for the kebab and hamburger served at the hamburger place in the neighbourhood.

The guards will walk in his room and stomp and slide in the fish sauce and vegetables getting their boots covered below.

This is not a five star restaurant. This is The House That God Has Forgotten.

His little white card by the door will have in bright red text “FINGER FOOD”

The guy down the hall thinks his thermos has too much hot water. They fill it wish boiling hot water that make it impossible to drink his morning coffee. He throws it on the floor and lets the water run out and drip from his desk. The water drops slow from the wooden edge and makes puddles on his floor.

He never thought about mixing it with cold water to make it warm.

Now his water is gone and he is not a happy camper. There will be no coffee for him until dinnertime.

He is a connoisseur of coffee, grinding only the finest beans in his home down the way.

He looks around his cell in like someone is looking over his shoulder and he grabs his thermos and bangs it on the wall over and over again until one of the guards come over and tell him to stop or they will take his thermos away.

He doesn’t and the guards walk in the room sloshing in the water that he has decided in frustration to throw on the floor from his sink. Boots squeaking and hands reaching for the thermos as he sits on the bed.

This is not Starbucks. This is The House That God Has Forgotten.

His little white card by the door will have in bright red text “NO THERMOS”.

On the floor below the guy did not like the film that was playing on the TV that day. Nothing was on, only Housewife from whatever and Snooker on the sports channel. Even the films were bad here, all romantic comedies on the television, nothing he liked really.

He was a film connoisseur, and preferred action and violence.

He took his television from the shelf and threw it on the floor, stepping on it with his white velcro tennis shoes.

Pieces of plastic flew on the floor like a spectrum filled with colours.

The guards heard a crash on the floor and ran to his cell. They tried talking to him, but all they could see were the pieces of plastic lying on the floor.

They make a phone call and are told to move him out of the room as soon as possible. A gang of five men meet his at the door and carry him away.

This is not the movie show. This is The House That God Has Forgotten.

His little white card by the door will have in bright red text “NO TV”.

This guy hates the glass windows in The House That God Has Forgotten, and there are a lot of them there.

Each time he gets into a room, he kicks one like it is a soccer ball causing the window to crack like a glass that has fallen to the floor, but is not in pieces.

He is a connoisseur of dark and cold rooms underground where you can only have the light shining on you at your preference.

The guards make the dreaded call and ask: “What should we do?”

A gang of five men meet him at the door and make him take a trip down stairs in the elevator to another cell.

This is not a hotel room. This is The House That God Has Forgotten.

In little black letters in the break room on the white board it has his room number and the text “reinforced window”.

This guy does not think his toilet flushes good enough so he fills it with paper and flushes over and over again like a stream by a lake on a forrest walkway.

He is a connoisseur of fine porcelain toilets, not the silver ones here.

The floor fills with water as the guards see it slowly spill into the corridor.

Now they will shut off his water and only let him use it when he needs to, and  will need to have a towel placed in front of the door.

There is not space for all that text by the side of the door so they will attach one to it. Meticulously checking how he is doing when he needs it.

This is not your house, you do not get your own special toilet. This is The House God Has Forgotten.

One in a million guys like to do everything and a little extra, they like to write the scripture in their cells.

In their excrement.

They must have forgotten to ask for that pen and paper in the evening before. They write lots of things on those walls in their cells.

Where they are from, or even little cave man artwork.  They love to do that little extra and urinate on the door, break the television and flood the toilet.

Maybe they have not approved of the service here at The House That God Has Forgotten. That the staff was not to his standards, or maybe he had nothing left to loose.

They will call in the white helmets now. The white helmets with their black clothing and face visors.  You will not see who the white helmets are as the walk down the corridor to the room of the artist.

You will take the next elevator when you see them in one already.

Some bright eyed new kid will want to be one of them, like a little boy that dreams of being a firefighter when he is small.

Yes, they are the firefighters of The House That God Has Forgotten.

“It’s time to do a move” they will be told as they drop everything around them and go to the elevator.

One by one they will walk to that little room hidden behind a glass door that lies someone only a few of us have paid attention to find.

The firefighters will change into their gear a little slower than the real ones.

They have time to kill. This guy is locked in a room. They slide their black boots on their feet and tie them carefully. You would not want the laces to come undone in the middle of all of that madness that lies on the floor.

They talk a little about what they are going to do. Some tells them what is happening and they make a well thought plan, but you never know for sure until you get there.

They will pack themselves like sardines in the elevator while everyone tries to guess who it is.

“Is it him, or is it that guy with the blonde hair?” they will walk by the discussions that they have soon left behind.

The will walk into the corridor and ask everyone but a few people to leave and stay out of the way.

Hand attached to hip and a giant plastic riot shield they slosh and step on our guests urine that flows like a river onto the floor from the inside of the door.

That shield flies out of the room as fast as it comes in.

And it takes little time for the white helmets to grab the man and take him to the elevator. All the way down you can here the man screaming at the top of his lungs:

“I am never going to shop at this store again!”

They take him to his room in The Corridor That God Has Forgotten and they take off his clothes and leave him some new ones to put on to put on later.

One by one the white helmets will hop out of the room like backwards rabbits and the door will shut behind them as they fade away into the corridor and back to their little room.

There is nothing in this room to keep him entertained, and there will be nothing to put in red on the little white card by the door because he will not get anything anyway.

At least not for a few days…

In The House That God Has Forgotten.

 

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