The good cop/bad cop routine is a classic interrogation tactic used in every interrogation room in damn near every police precinct in the world. It’s a simple psychological trick: the "bad cop" goes into the interrogation room and gives the suspect hell, taking a highly aggressive approach, making threats and accusations. Then, the "good cop" goes in, feigning sympathy and respect for the suspect, promising to protect him from the bad cop. Once the good cop gains the suspect’s trust, and the suspect is good and sure they need protection from the bad cop, that’s when they crack.

Cop dancing in the sidewalk

But not always.

Any knuckle-headed crook worth his weight in salt knows the classic good cop/bad cop routine before he even catches his first misdemeanor, and knows better than to fall for it. That’s when I come in. I’m the third cop: tired, horny cop.

I’m not sure what it was that made me ask myself one day while I was trying to crack a suspect, "What if I pretended I was really tired and horny?" I guess I just had a hunch that it would work. I can’t explain the psychology behind it—I guess that’s for doctors and scientists to figure out—all I can tell you is that it works. When the bad cop goes in and yells at the suspect, and then the good cop goes in and is sympathetic, and then I go in, acting really tired and horny at the same time, for some reason that’s when the suspect starts singing like a bird.

People wonder how I’m so good at pretending to be so tired horny at the same time. I don’t have an answer for that. Maybe the suspect feels so uncomfortable being stuck in such a small space with such a horny cop that he confesses—maybe it’s just a torture method in that sense. Or, maybe the suspect gets so sick of hearing the cop talk about how tired he is that he confesses, because the cop seems too tired to care anyway. I do know that it doesn’t work when you do one or the other: you have to be tired and horny. Like I said, I can’t explain why it works, but it does. I really just think that the one-two-three punch of bad cop/good cop/tired, horny cop is so confusing to the suspect that their brains break and they start spilling the beans.

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The exact routine goes like this: after the bad cop sets the stage, but the good cop fails to get any info out of the suspect, the good cop says, "Well, if you won’t talk to me, then you’ll have to talk to my partner. I hate to bring him in, because he’s so tired and horny, but you leave me no choice. Here’s some magazines to read while you wait." Then the good cop leaves a bunch of sexy magazines on the table.

Then, the stage is all set for me.

I come in all yawny and groggy; usually I’ll wear a nightcap in there, instead of my cop hat, as if I’m so tired that I forgot to take my nightcap off that morning. Then I pretend to see the sexy magazines on the table: "Ohhh, me likey!" I say. Then I start ravenously flipping through the magazines, saying things like, "Papa want some o’ that!" or "Ooh ooh, I’m a bad little cop!" I’ll try to drool visibly if I can. Once the suspect is sure that I’m good and horny, and also really tired, then I turn up the heat: I might start trying to make conversation with the suspect, asking about his life, and usually he remains silent, so I go on about how tired I am. "I’m just so tired today," I say. "I got a lot of sleep too, so I don’t know—it’s weird… Just so tired." Then I yawn real big and say, "And I’ve just been so horny lately, I don’t know."

This usually goes on for about an hour or two before they finally crack. No one has ever not cracked.

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People wonder how I’m so good at pretending to be so tired horny at the same time. I don’t have an answer for that, but what I can tell you is that I worry sometimes that I’ve gone too far—that the ol’ "tired, horny cop" routine isn’t a routine anymore…. That I’ve undergone a transformation. When I go home to my wife, she says she doesn’t recognize me anymore. She tells me the job has changed me—that I’m not the man she married; that I’m a lot hornier and more tired now. My kids can’t even look at me. They don’t recognize their own dad anymore. Am I stuck? Like, forever doomed to be tired and horny? I wonder to myself, every single day. I fear the answer is yes.

But in the end, is it worth it?

I’d say that putting all those bad guys in jail, no matter how much of a monster I’ve had to become in order to do it, is something I can be proud of. Whether the horny and tired thing is just an act anymore, I don’t know. All I know is, at the end of the day, I’m a cop, and it’s my job to put the bad guys in jail. And if, for some reason, pretending to be horny and tired in a small, cramped interrogation room with them has a weird psychological effect that makes them confess, then I’m going to keep doing it.

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