It's not often that I get an unexpected knock at the door living out here in the wilds of Canada's North. But there it was.

Knock knock.

Two angry hard raps on my front door. Which meant I'd not only have to run and put a shirt on since I was running about topless but I'd have to pry my arse off my couch. Double damn.

Hastily shoving my arms into the first shirt I noticed (which happened to be lying in a crumpled ball on my bedroom floor) and grimacing as the fabric grazed my nose and the less than delectable odour of day old sweat wafted up my nostrils, I swung open my front door.

Staring back at me was two very over sized and serious looking officers of the law.

"Can I help you?" I politely asked while tugging at the shirt's hem to make sure my jiggling rolls of tummy flab were concealed beneath the fabric.

"Are you Tanis Miller?" the taller of the two male officers inquired sternly.

"Yes, yes I am," I smiled at them, hoping to dazzle them with my pearly whites and distract them from noticing my messy hair, wrinkled shirt and boobs that were swinging free underneath the confines of the stinky wrinkled shirt I was wearing.

"Could you please step outside, ma'am?" the officer ordered while his partner stood silently staring at me with his hand placed firmly on top of his holster; presumably to shoot my arse if I made a run for it.

Noting the less than friendly demeanor of the two cops standing opposite me, I asked, "Can I ask what this is about gentleman?"

"Please step outside ma'am," the officer repeated more firmly and less politely this time.

Knowing that if I didn't do as requested they'd likely just reach inside the open door and yank me out, I took a big breath of air and stepped outside onto our deck, closing the door behind me so my dogs wouldn't make a run for freedom.

"Please turn around and place your hands above your head."

'What the farcklenuts?' I thought to myself as I obediently did as was ordered. I have seen enough episodes of Cops in my time to know that if I didn't do as told they'd likely beat me with their billy clubs and then laugh as they took turns kicking me in the gut with their fancy polished boots.

"I'm sorry Officer, but I think there must be a mistake," I choked out as my voice trembled and tears pricked at my eyes.

As the cop patted my body down in what could have been a decidedly sexy moment but was really rather innocuous (damn it, there goes that sexual fantasy shot to hell) the silent cop finally piped up and snarled, "Do you own the blog Attack of the Redneck Mommy?"

Confusion swamped me as I felt the cold metal bracelets snap shut against my wrists.

"Um, yes. But what is going on?" I demanded in a petulant whiny two year old's voice.

"In accordance to law 429, section 17, subsection b, you are being arrested for your noncompliance with the rules and regulations of the World Wide Web. The blogosphere is pressing charges."

Turning around to face them, I'm sure my eyes were half bugged out of my head as I asked, "What the fuck does that mean?"

(I'm always extremely articulate and polite in situations of extreme distress.)

"It's come to our attention that it has been almost two full weeks since you have posted anything new on your blog," Officer Tall and Burly duly informed me as the silent cop turned around and talked into his shoulder walkie-talkie.

"But there were extenuating circumstances! I can explain!" I half shouted, half plead in desperation.

"Tell it to the judge, lady," the cop said as he tugged on my arm to move me toward his squad car.

Digging my heels in, I reared back and said, "My son was in the hospital! There was no wi-fi at the stupid place! My thumbs started feeling arthritic pecking away on my blackberry!"

"Uh huh," said the cop as he reached for my elbow once again and I jumped to avoid his clutches. Only to find myself squarely up against the front of the other large and silent officer.

"Wait!" I screeched. "My son has been discharged! We're at home now! I can start blogging. Take these cuffs off and I'll go pound out a post right now!"

"I'm sorry ma'am but that is beyond our purview. We're only here to take you in."

"On whose authority?" I demanded.

"The Internet's. BlogHer's. Your readers. Heck, probably everyone who follows your twitter account and can see you tweeted daily yet blatantly avoided updating your site," sneered the now not so silent officer.

"But my computer was broken for most of that time! Have you ever tried blogging on a blackberry? It's akin to being waterboarded!" I protested.

"Not really ma'am. Besides, we have it on good authority that there is a generous and awesome dude named Todd who overnighted you a spanky new laptop directly to your son's hospital bed all the way from Saskatchewan, just so you wouldn't be without a computer. He wanted nothing in return other than a few good words churned out by you and yet...nothing," the officer tsked at me with his tongue.

Shame momentarily filled me as I thought of the sparkly new computer sitting on my ottoman that I had been lovingly stroking for the past two weeks as the pimply faced redhead at the Mac store made me dance like a marionette as I waited for my MacBook Pro to get fixed for the tune of 3142.63 Canadian dollars. (Thank bejeepers for extended warranties, y'all.)

"I know! I know! I suck! But I was under a lot of stress!"

"Like we said before ma'am. Tell it to a judge." Suddenly, against my will I was being dragged toward the police car.

"But I've got ideas now! I'm not blog blocked anymore!" I cried out in a harpy shrill voice.

"Uh huh," said the officer as though he had never heard that before.

"My cat had kittens on my bed! I've got pictures and a tweet stream to write about!"

Silence. As though cat cooter was unimpressive to them. Thinking fast I decided to appeal to their more manly instincts.

"I've wrangled a bet between two daddy bloggers over the Ducks-Redwings hockey series! It'll be fantastic and slightly degrading! There will be talk of puck bunnies!" I hastily promised.

"Watch your head ma'am," said the heartless cop as he pushed on the top of my head like my husband does whenever he wants me to give him head. "We wouldn't want you to bump your noggin," he smiled behind my back.

Searching my brain for blog fodder, I landed on what was surely material enough to convince these ogre-like mongrels into releasing me back into the wild where I belong and back on to the net.

Leaning forward I spoke loudly but calmly. "Mother's day is coming up and I need to write a post about my new son and my deceased son and how all of my children keep my heart beating stronger every day! Would you deprive a mother of a chance to revel in the joy of parenthood and sharing it with the Internet? What would your mothers say?"

(Always go for the mother shot when desperate. Most men have mommy issues and it pays to play. Heh.)

The two men sitting in front of the plexiglas divider sighed heavily and looked at one another.

Bingo! I thought to myself. I did it! I knew the mother shot would kill them. Which was good because the handcuffs were starting to chafe my sensitive skin at this point.

The now not so silent officer slowly turned around and looked me dead in the eyes.

I held my breath, ready to celebrate my narrow escape from the law.

"Listen lady. It's like this. We'd love to let you go. Nothing would please us more than to open the doors to the back of the cruiser and set you loose on the Internet. Sounds like you have some good blog fodder ready to go."

"I do! I do!" I exclaimed while nodding my head vigorously.

"But you see ma'am. You pissed off the internet big time when you guest posted over at MamaPop today."

Puzzled, I asked, "What for? People don't approve of Redneck Eyecandy?"

"No honey," said the other taller, burlier cop. "What they don't approve of is you publicly declaring any of the Nickelback singer's hot and then forcing their music down on unsuspecting reader's computers. Apparently some babies have ripped off their ears in protest."

"But it was funny!!! A joke!"

"Too little too late. Tell it to the judge. And way to shoot yourself in the foot, darlin'," he offered not so sympathetically as he turned around to put the car into drive.

The other officer turned around and shook his head at me. "If I were you, not only would I beg for forgiveness from all your readers, but I'd start preparing yourself for a full cavity body search. The Internet can be a damning place."

Certain parts of my anatomy may have puckered at that moment.

"Great. Damn you Nickelback. Damn yoooouuuu!"

Weird coincidence or true love? You decide.

*Dear Internets, please forgive me for my lack of posting and for what passes as my lame humour attempts. I promise things will get back to normal on the blog now that Jumby is all settled in. I swear. There is no need for the rubber glove treatment. Really.*

*And Todd and the crew from E-Z Tech? Big fat redneck smooches to y'all.*