What a lovely fantasy world you have created for yourself. Doesn't quite have the mensa male model police officer ring to it though I'm afraid.
I can just picture BF's 'meeting':
He stumbles into the kitchen at his Mum's place in gray tracksuit pants covered in mysterious stains and a singlet that was once white but has now gone the yellow of pus.
Rubbing sleep from his eyes and trying to hide the morning glory he's still sporting, he asks:
"What's for breakfast, Mum?"
"Well, my big boy," she says with enthusiasm she hasn't felt with regards to her son in close to a decade, "I've got good news! You're getting a promotion!"
He picks something from his ear, sniffs it, and flicks it onto the floor. Unperturbed, his Mum continues:
"You've been doing such a good job of keeping your basement tidy and getting all of your wee wee in the toilet that I thought it was time we expanded your role with the... ahem... company".
Inwardly, she is weeping. Her boy, once a bouncing bundle of potential, has amounted to this disappointing nobody. Still, she's determined to drag him kicking and screaming into the real world even if she has to do it inch by inch.
"But I don't WANNA!"
His lip trembles and his eyes are already ringed with tears. She can sense a tantrum coming.
"Now, now poopykins," she quickly reassures him, "You'll like this. You'll get more pocket money and you get to wear a special suit!"
"A cowboy suit?" his tantrum forgotten, his eyes light up and he begins to bounce excitedly like a genius on an excursion.
"Not exactly," she responds, "You'll be wearing a button up shirt and a pair of jeans".
The tears begin. Fifteen minutes passes before he's done pissing himself and kicking things. When he's ready, she speaks again.
"Now, take this piece of very important paper to that building on the corner and the man there will give you your money".
"What's a 'Centrelink?' he asks with vacant eyes and a trickle of dribble running down his unshaven, ugly face.
She pats him on the back and sends him on his way.
I told you Superthreads needed saving, before something happened. You all called me a cranky old man. Well, reap what you have sown, peasants 
