Our thoughts on police officers are certainly no secret, and we always jump at the opportunity to discuss the subject with like-minded individuals. As such, while we were driving along in rural Washington state one day and came across legendary anti-cop crust punk John Rambo, we could not shy away from the chance to pick his brain. Unfortunately, and this is absolutely something we should have anticipated, this guy is really difficult to have a conversation with. Below is what little interview we were able to salvage, but be forewarned that it did not go well.
The Hard Times: Wow, it’s truly an honor to meet you, Mr. Rambo. We’re huge fans!
John Rambo: Hi.
HT: As a crust punk with your history, we presume you have the same feelings about overpolicing as we do, and —
JR: As a what?
HT: Uh, you know, you’re kind of a transient who has problems with authority, which we admire.
JR: Why are you pushing me?
HT: Oh, we’re absolutely not trying to. It’s just that your jacket has a patch on it, and you clearly haven’t showered in a while.
JR: I didn’t know I had to shower for this interview.
HT: We’re not suggesting that. We know what happened last time someone tried to force you to shower and shave, and —
JR: NOBODY FORCES ME TO DO ANYTHING!
It was at that point that Rambo pulled a gigantic serrated knife out of his pocket and stabbed our intern, Caleb, in the leg. He then ran outside our offices, stole a dirtbike off some random guy Grand Theft Auto-style, and rode it off into the woods. The thing is, we’re on a really strict timeline with this piece, and our editor was extremely insistent that we make it happen, so we had no choice but to follow him. Hopefully, we can track him down and get his thoughts on law enforcement, but it’s looking grim.
There are few of us left. Miranda got taken out with an improvised bear trap made of soda machine springs and a broken Descendants record. Dave thought covering himself in mud would help because he was thinking of the wrong movie — Rambo made short work of him. As for me, I’m currently typing from the bottom of one of those concealed pits full of bamboo spikes. They seem to have missed most of my vitals, but I see know way out and I’m getting hungry. In retrospect, I should have asked more questions before stepping on what seemed to be an ordinary pile of leaves in the middle of the office.