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"Oh oh," Starsky said as he sorted through the department mail that was resting on their desk when they entered that morning.

"What?" asked Hutchinson, his partner.

"There's another nasty-gram from the Deputy Chief."

"What's his beef this time?" asked the blonde as he returned from the coffee pot with two cups, careful to set Starsky's down on the desk top next to the doughnut and away from the current pile of papers.

"He's not happy with the abbreviations that he's seeing on some of the case reports."

"Like what?"

"Oh, he's got a whole list of ones that have pissed him off and he doesn't want us to use them any more."

Hutch sighed in frustration. "Like what?" he asked again.

"He doesn't want to see D.O.A. & S.T.W." Starsky took a bite of his doughnut. "Dead On Arrival and Stayed That Way. What's wrong with that?"

"Starsky, don't tell me you've actually used that," Hutch said around a mouthful of doughnut, too. "What else?"

"W.O.T.A.M."

"Waste Of Time And Money, oh . . . yeah, I guess I see his point, I'm guilty there," Hutch replied with a faint blush. "I suppose he's nixed T.S.T.L.?"

"Yeah, he won't buy Too Stupid To Live, either." Starsky continued reading with a shake of his head. "F.O.L. Full Of Liquor--so what's wrong with that? 'ETOH is evident,' and he doesn't mind that?"

"That's because it really means something normal Gordo . . . alcohol! Any more?"

"Just one, no more. P.I.T.A.P. Guess he doesn't appreciate the Pain In The Ass Precautions, huh? Then he goes on to say, we can't refer to motorcycle riders, police department employees especially, as 'Organ Donors'."

"He's been off the streets too long, he's forgotten," Hutch answered sadly.

"What!!!?" Starsky shouted as his eyebrows shot up under his hairline.

"What, what?" Hutch asked.

"He says when we go to the ER with a suspect, or to follow up on things, we're not supposed to abuse their hospitality."

"What does he mean by that?"

"Damned if I know. He says it doesn't look good for officers to be leaving the ER eating popcorn or potato chips out of bed pans."

"Well, that's what the ER staff is eating out of. They're clean ones," Hutch defended.

"He says he doesn't want to have any more reports of disparaging remarks, either."

"Such as?"

"He cited a case where an officer, who found out the victim had a positive pregnancy test, said that she'd probably call back the next day to see if the hospital could tell her who the father was." Starsky read from the memo with a frown, then looked up at his partner. "That wasn't me. "He also doesn't want to hear of any of his officers making actual monetary bets on blood alcohol levels, and collecting on them in public."

Hutch chuckled at the memory of hearing just such a conversation.

"He said he wants to be sure the rumor he heard most recently, that there was someone writing a book entitled: "Suicide: Getting It Right The First Time," was just that--a rumor, and that no city employee was actually giving suggestions."

"Is that all?" Hutch asked wiping the last of the doughnut crumbs off his mustache.

"Yeah, that and a reminder that he expected a certain level of professionalism at all times and that the aforementioned things will impact this upcoming year's merit review calculations."

"So in other words if we want a raise, knock it off." Hutch answered.

"In a word, yes."