Me Jailed?!
I Didn’t Know!
Did You Know?
Photo Source:
Photo Taken by: Vince Mig
Never thought I’d wind up in jail.
An asylum? Sure. It’s a such crazy world, you’d be nuts not to go insane.
But not jail. Not prison. Not the Big House!
So I found out the hard way that August doesn’t have any legal holidays. None!
Ergo, therefore, thusly, by default, any holiday in August is illegal.
So yeah, I had fun. You know me. I always do.
A friend needed me to ride with him to Fort Lauderdale yesterday, so I did. I took off the entire day. I’m a pal like that.
Had I only taken off half a day, I might’ve just gotten a warning. Or a small, hefty fine.
But instead, I got thrown in the slammer … for taking a day off in August!
My huge, tattooed, muscle-bound cellmate Hank “The Slash” Henderson picked me up by my shirt collar and said in a gravelly voice greatly in need of breath mints: “I Karate-chopped twelve people in half. Whatcha in for?”
As polite as can be, I plopped a breath mint into his mouth.
Must’ve gone down the wrong pipe though, ‘cause he started to cough. Oops!
As he collapsed to the cell floor, I stepped safely aside and said, “I’m a maniac! I had fun in August.”
Slash performed the Heimlich Maneuver on himself and rose to his feet, towering over me. He adopted the armed and ready Karate pose known as: Dragon Scratches an Itch.
He sneered at me and said, “I’m a repeat offender. And I hope to kill again. Real soon.”
I think he meant something sinister by that. But when he gave himself the Heimlich, that Wintergreen breath mint dislodged and spewed out of the cell before it could do him any good.
I kept my cool, looked into his lifeless eyes, which were like a doll’s eyes, and said, “I’m a repeat offender too. I had fun this August. I hope to have fun next August. And the August after that!”
Meanwhile the head guard for our cellblock Chuck Stephens slipped on the breath mint Slash spewed into the hallway.
The guard fell to the floor and conked his head on the concrete. The prisoners who didn’t show consideration for others laughed.
Come to think of it, not one person in jail felt consideration for others, which was how they wound up incarcerated in the first place.
So everyone laughed. Except me. Because that was my breath mint.
And because I’m considerate. Even if it’s only to supermodels and movie producers. And to people giving away free chocolate.
Especially supermodel movie producers giving away free chocolate. But that’s just common sense.
After the head guard went down, three other guards barged into my cell. Slash pointed to me. I shrugged. The guards grabbed at my pockets; and wouldn’t you know it?
More of the exact kind of breath mint that made the head guard slip flew out of my pockets and across the cell. So I got clubbed by two angry guards.
The third guard clubbed me too, but he wasn’t angry. He just liked clubbing.
Now I know how seals feel when Eskimos go clubbing.
I did my best to protect my internal organs by using my face and head to catch the clubs.
Not the best move. Obviously. But after the first two blows, I couldn’t think straight anyway.
I was so delirious, I thought “2-Headed Shark Attack” should win an Academy Award for Best Oceanic Documentary.
The first guard held his club the wrong way and got a blister, so he beat me for that too.
Although wrapped in plaster like a cardboard mummy, following the brutal beating that made that famous cop beating incident that made the national news look like a massage, I became a hero to the other inmates.
I didn’t mean to. But somehow, wherever I go, I become a hero.
But I’m no hero. I was just trying to avoid having to smell Slash’ halitosis. So I did what anyone else with Wintergreen breath mints would do. I offered one to Captain Stinky Breath.
The inmates loved me, the guards hated me; and all I could do while mummified in a full body cast was hum. Somehow that led to my starting a full-fledged prison riot.
With a bruised and battered larynx, I could barely carry a tune. But for some reason, that silly, annoying, highly repetitive Twisted Sister song got stuck in my head, so I hummed “We’re Not Going to Take It!”
That made Cheeky Barone, the inmate orderly who made sure my cast was covered in off-color graffiti, lead a rebellion. “For the sake of Mister Mummy Man who made the head guard fall!”
Obviously the guards were bettered armed, but the prisoners outnumbered them and had at least two chivs apiece.
You’d think a man in a full-sized plaster cast would be safe in such a situation. But no!
I got to play the role of a piece of rope in a brutal game of Tug of War between the guards and the cons.
The plaster started to crack, which meant that with just a little more pressure, I’d be pulled in half.
Or pulled so far I’d be left paralyzed from the eyebrows down.
One side was yanking; the other side was yanking. Both sides were yelling.
It looked like this could be the end.
TO BE CONTINUED … (I hope.)
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