Almost got arrested by a ham the other night... So, it's dark, a little cold, and there's a light drizzle, but I'm jogging home from work anyway.  Truth be told, jogging in the rain is fun.  Nature's own cool down. I round the curve, and pass a police car sitting on the side of the road.  I'm doing what I like to call my "last, lazy mile".  The one where you're near your destination, but still can't see the finish line.  The one that dips into the double digits.  The one where you're thinking to yourself: "I'm going to conserve energy now, and beat my best time later".  You know the one.  It's something slightly above a brisk walk. I'm still in 'the zone' when I hear the whoop, whoop of the siren.  "I hope whatever that cop car is going after doesn't affect me", I think, as I'm about to reach the next, and last, corner.  I check my watch.  Almost home, and I'm about two minutes below my average time.  Nice!  Keep going.  Keep pushing yourself.  Speed up a... "Hey! You!", it's coming from the police car, "Stop running!" I slow to a walk, then stop, as the car, with lights flashing (but thankfully, no sirens going any more), approaches me. "Come here, please!", barks the occupant.  I do as I'm told, and get my first glimpse of Officer Condishuns.  Seat pulled all the way back, and gut still touching the steering wheel.  The scene resembles what I imagine a first grader's model of 'osmosis in action' would look like. "Why were you running?", he asks.  Slightly angry, sweaty, and out of breath (from... driving?), Constable Bundt Cake's expression makes me think of a bulldog eating mayonnaise. "I... I was jogging.  Jogging home.  From work." I finally answer his question, with my expression of bewilderment likely resembling that of a puppy being shown the basics of quantum mechanics. "Where's work?", he huffs.  I reply, and then he asks me for my ID.  "Am... am I being arrested for jogging?"  After being told to 'watch my smart mouth', and 'go on home', I... well, I do exactly that.  I'm not crazy, or stupid enough, to fuck with police... even Sgt. Butter. Before I round the last corner, I take a glance back at the police car, to see Mr. Protect and Servehimself another slice of pie radioing in his encounter.  I can only imagine it was something like "Suspect was jogging.  Repeat.  Suspect was jogging.  Also, I need another dozen donuts."