"My Arrested Development" part 3

"Anything in your truck that we should know about?"
"Yes. The nine-year-old under the driver's seat..."
I thought this was hilarious, officer compassionate disagreed...
"Oh yeah? And how'd that work out for ya?"
"Oh you know. Pretty well at first, but the femur was difficult with just a hack saw..."
(Damn it Dane. Stop talking...)




I watch as a second squad car pulls up and, the officer driving, helps tear apart my truck. Awesome.

"What's this?"
I look up, from my very humbling position in the back seat of the police vehicle, to see my best friend in the world, holding two little zip-lock sandwich baggies with white powder in them.
"Oh, hahaha, that's protein powder!"
"Protein powder? Right.... You're sure it's not Cocaine?"

Okay. First of all, if I had two baggies that at one point carried that much cocaine would I be driving this broke down piece of crap truck" I mean honestly?? Second of all, do I look, in any way, disabled in the brain? It can be hard to tell these days, I agree, but it would take a new breed of stupid to have that much coke in such an obvious placings as the floor of my car.... Would you like to rethink you're question?

"Um... yeah... I'm not so much into the coke..."
"No drug charges on your record?"
"Yeah no.... you can taste the powder... it's vanilla and it's delicious!"
"Should I taste it Sarge?"
"I wouldn't... it could be Anthrax..."

Hold the phone!

ANTHRAX?!?! ARE YOU BEING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW!?! Honestly, don't lie to me! If you're joking you tell me... you tell me, right now! Because if you're serious I'm worried for you and it's probably for the best that you don't reproduce...

At this point, I'm so beyond "done talking for fear of conversing with fools" that they just close up the police car and we call it an evening.

Besides, I've got a hot date with the Intake Officer at the King County Jailhouse...I hear she's a looker...

After a very quick date with Intake, I'm put into a small changing room and asked to strip naked... yes naked... with another man right outside a measly curtain. Needless to say, I'm not too keen on this situation. Once I've dressed myself down to my "birthday suit" I'm handed in my new attire.... Socks that make me want to rip my feet off, scratchy "whitey tighties," a shirt that you only wear if you're very proud of your belly, and pants. The pants? Well, they were exquisite! They were flamboyant, comfortable, and boy, were they roomy!

I asked to take them home, but they declined...

We, now, find me in a holding cell with several other gentlemen who seem to have less than stellar attitudes.

And then.... we meet "6-7."
Yes.
He is known as "6-7," most likely because he is 6 foot-seven, but then "his type" have really clever nick-names so who knows.

After getting my mugshot taken, I take my place back in the holding cell and sit down, next to a napping "6-7" who has taken it upon himself to take up most of one bench with his overwhelming self...

"You kicked me boy."
"What?"
"You just kicked me with your foot!"
Well I would hope it was my foot... it be rather unsettling to see someone be kicked with anything other than a foot..
"No.. I don't believe I did..."
"Yes. You just kicked me in the head! Stop kicking me before I knock the cowboy s*** out your a**!"
Wow... YES SIR! I've always wanted to be a cowboy though...

Five hours later, I'm put on what's called "the chain" (basically inmate jargon for "heavily armored bus") to the Kent Regional Jailing Center, or "Kent RJC"....

(to be continued.... yes, again...)