Male chauvinists, the Massachusetts State Police want you!

Could you use a good job at a good wage?

Have you ever considered signing up for the Massachusetts State Police?

The troopers are looking for a few good male chauvinist pigs.

If you think you despise women enough, give the MSP a call.

The State Police are not for everyone. If your IQ is above 90 – forget about it. You won’t fit in.

But if you move your lips when you read, and you’re an embittered, low-rent townie from some wretched backwater burg, you may soon be wearing a Smoky the Bear hat and stealing hot stoves with the best of ‘em, and then coming back for the smoke.

To Protect and Steal – that’s the motto of the MSP.

But the most important question for any MSP aspirant to answer is this: are you fed up with these uppity broads who don’t want to be railroaded into prison for crimes they didn’t commit?

If so, the State Police could be your ticket — no heavy lifting, and all you do is sit around the barracks all day long picking your nose and waiting for the latest vile, misogynist texts from skinhead Trooper Michael “Chip” Proctor to land on your phone.

Do you like to grab some chick’s cell phone and start scrolling through it for some naked pictures? Be sure to keep all your knucklehead trooper pals in the loop about how the search is coming along – “so far no nudes.”

And if Trooper Proctor sends you a comment that’s rotten enough, text back at him with a big smile emoji. How dare any woman object to being framed!

Do you like enjoy having female defendants endlessly slurred, with the c-word and the r-word. You can chuckle to yourself as Trooper Proctor makes sport of a woman’s disease, her accent, her derriere, calls her a whack job and generally purports himself like a proud Democrat in the tradition of Joe Biden, Ted Kennedy and Bill Clinton?

Do you have the right stuff to become a Massachusetts state trooper?

Thanks to the FBI’s investigation of the rampant corruption in the Norfolk County district attorney’s office, we’ve known for a while just how much Proctor loathes women, or at least the one woman he was looking so forward to arresting… and then collecting the “tip” for his fine services to the McAlbert clan in his hillbilly hometown of Canton.

What we didn’t know until Monday was how many other state troopers were in on his disgusting text chats about Karen Read.

On cross examination, Proctor listed which of his fellow MSP millionaires he had shared his obsessive hatred of women with.

From the witness stand, Proctor was directed to read the list of state cops he’d been texting his unbridled hate speech to. Below are their names, rank and how much money Proctor’s pals made last year. The number is a total of their salary, overtime and what’s listed as “other” on the state comptroller’s payroll.

These were the bent cops receiving texts from Proctor, who himself made $146,050 last year.

Click below for the salaries of the Fab Five, as listed by Proctor in the Dedham courthouse Monday:

The head of the State Police detective unit in the Norfolk County district attorney’s office is Lt. Brian Tully, expected to be a witness today in Dedham after Chip’s demolition is complete.

Tully made $214,640 last year.

Here’s the thing about the Fab Five (and Tully). Proctor was asked if he’d ever been reprimanded, or anything, by anyone in the State Police for any of his vile texts.

“Not that I can recall,” he said.

Apparently none of the cops thought there was anything wrong with Proctor’s sexist screeds. They were just hoping Proctor would get lucky after he texted them the sad news about Karen Read’s cell phone – “so far no nudes.”

Proctor will be back on the witness stand Wednesday morning, as his cross-examination by defense attorney Alan Jackson continues.

As devastating as Monday’s testimony by Proctor was for the state’s attempt to frame Karen Read, it’s likely going to get even worse today.

One thing we know from the opening arguments is that Proctor also texted his buddies how much he hoped that Karen Read would kill herself.

Think about that. Suicide was exactly what J. Edgar Hoover recommended that Martin Luther King Jr. do back in the 1960s. The FBI bugged King’s hotel rooms. Then Hoover anonymously sent King audio tapes of his extramarital dalliances and suggested that the only way out was… to kill himself.

Another of Proctor’s investigative techniques he’s sure to be asked today about is the trick of misspelling the names of all the witnesses, most of whom have slithered out of the same inbred alcoholic cesspool of Canton.

If you’re employed by the defense, your searches into the prior public records of witnesses don’t get very far if the cops give you fake names.

You know who else was into that misspelling racket – everyone who worked for Anthony Fauci. They misspelled everything to foil those pesky Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) demands for documents relating to the Red Chinese-engineered panic of 2020.

One last point: guess who’s a delegate to the Democrat National Convention in Chicago in August?

None other than the employer of Proctor, Bukhenik, et al. That’s right, the grotesquely bloated district attorney of Norfolk County, Michael “Meatball” Morrissey, the ex-officio head of the Courthouse He-Man Woman-Hating Club.

He’s in the same delegation with such noted feminists as Ayanna Pressley, Maura Healey and the Fake Indian. Wonder if they appreciate his employment of a guy who uses the c-word to describe an innocent woman he’s trying to railroad into prison.

I tweeted out the story about Meatball’s impending junket and the reaction was instantaneous.

“How does he even fit on a plane?” one tweeted back at me.

“Of course he’s going,” said another. “They have free buffets at conventions.”

Back in the old days, whenever Billy Bulger ran into a rotund hack who was all jammed up, he had a standard line for them.

“It’s so nice to see,” Bulger would say, “that you’re not letting your travails affect your appetite in the slightest.”

With his pal Proctor back on cross-examination, this could a long morning for Meatball Morrissey – at least three, maybe even five crullers.

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