..As I was about to extricate myself from the police's authority...
I positioned my 9mm in-between my legs, used my right hand to grab onto the door handle. Swung the door open -- what I didn't know was that there was a second squad car that had perched behind the first one. The other cop was sidling up to the passenger side door as I was about to unfold my plan to shoot myself out of this situation.
As soon as the cop saw my shoulder jumping out, my head CRUNCHED IN MASSIVE PAIN.
A supernova of twinkling, blazing blown-up stars ricocheted around in my head. The rest was hard to piece together outside of some psyche head-shrinker helping me out of the repressed memory zone. I come to later find out that I had been clubbed with a flashlight that was as big as King Kong's phallus. The Mt. Everest sized lump on my head could have had its own zip code.
I was booked in juvenile detention
The noblesse oblige of it all, was that the burden of what all the other guys did under me was going to fall on me like the sharpest axe wanting to be ground into something. That something was the white idiot that was Brandon. Laws were changing, and now the leaders were always to blame.
Now, since I was already fighting the previous gun cases, and now this one, they weren't talking foster care any longer, they were talking Residential facilities for youth offenders, or juvenile prison for a few calendars of life.
How in a Christmas Grape Salad was I going to get out of this one?
Maybe I should have asked the third-arm lump that cop gave me on my head. It probably had more smarts than my dumbass had. Juvy prison was butt rape central, and group homes had you coming out a conformed patsy for the man, opening and closing doors for people, talking like you had some alien chip in your head that gave you manners. Thank you. No, maam. Yes, sir. Would you like me to trim your bushes for you? MANNERS!!!! Me thinks not as the rebellious youth I was.
The worst one of all was a place called Arrow-Head. I saw what kind of mutants it turned former collegiate friends from crime university. They went in with a vocabulary like George Carlin, Eddie Murphy, and Keven Hart combined on dirty stand-up nights, and came out missing their nuts, talking like an orderly Mrs. Doubtfire. No, thank you.
I plotted and pondered when my DCFS caseworker I named Mayonnaise. (Note to anyone reading. I spent five minutes trying to get spellchecker to spell Mayonnaise correctly for me. There's no point in using spellchecker if you end up spelling it right by trial and error before it spells it right.)
DOOMSDAY TUESDAY
Anyway... I was assigned a court appointed probation officer and I wasn't even on probation. It didn't happen on Tuesday, either -- I just thought it was a cool title.
They gave me the "I'm in trouble and better cooperate" spiel. Since I conveniently had two middle fingers, I politely gave them both one of them. How nice of me? I wasn't snitching. Not a gang leader. I enjoyed my cumbersome superiority in the streets.
The female DCFS worker, Mayonnaise, stormed from the room. He was putting on a show. I called him a female because the chick probation officer didn't bat an eyelash. She had dealt with my kind on many levels and was not intimidated by my crassness. She leaned forward and with icy calm and said, "You'll fit in just fine in Arrow Head." My manhoods curled up inside of me with prideful doom...
How am I going to get out of this mess!!!
Reach out to me at,,,
www.brandonwyse.com
Twitter @1brandonwyse
https://pro-labs.imdb.com/name/nm3609775/
