They're better than broadsheet writers. They can condense hundreds of words into a pithy short headline that sums up the whole story with humour into a fraction of the space.
Except...no. Are there cannibal cops marauding the country, probably on scramblers, with mohicans and ripped police uniforms modified with leather chaps, war paint and dog collars, terrorising small villages and frightening old ladies as they totter out of the library? I think not.
But let's be honest here. If there were, it would be awesome. You could send in a green young rookie and his jaded old partner who's just about to retire to infiltrate the gang.
"Eat it," growls the gang leader, pointing his sawn off at the rookie who cowers, disgusted, in front of an indeterminate hunk of meat.
Click. Click. The cannibal leader pulls back the hammers on his gun. "Eat it!"
"Seriously, I get heartburn! I can't-"
Blammo! The rookie's partner, who has grown to like and respect him over the past few weeks after initial misgivings about his lily-livered anti-violent nature - shoots the leader through the back. As he sinks to his knees, the undercover cops leap on their scramblers and roar away, chased by a gang of cannibal cops who have now become mutants for some reason.
Then there's a jump over a train, and probably a bit of kung fu with the second-in-command cannibal (who's like, a great big bodybuilder) and the rookie on top of the London Eye and - oh my god, this is great!
Listen, I have to write this now, so I'm off. When I'm rich and famous and win the Oscar for best picture involving kung-fu and cannibal mutant cops, I'll thank the Sun's headline writers for being so rubbish.