ON THE RUN AGAIN

So I'm stuffed in the dresser...

The cops swarm into the room. Not because they thought I was there... I happen to have some really stupid people in the Vice Lords that were also on the run but thought it was party time.

So Mushroom and her boyfriend Cotton Swab Head(because his fro looked like a cotton swab) wanted to hang out and be loud. Some were on the run for other crimes, or had no fear that they'd get in trouble. They would stuff Mushroom's Aunt, that was raising her, in her room.. Lock her in!!! Then they would crack the door open and poke her with a broomstick like some savage dog needing to be tamed. She was old as mildewed dirt. I would never had allowed that, but I was concerned about avoiding her aunt from seeing me.

The Vice Lords Weren't Respecting Me...

Because I hadn't brought organization back. Enforcers from Chicago or enforcers nearby. Didn't have weapons. And everyone was trying to eliminate me from my rank.

So Mushroom's aunt gets the neighbors the next door over to call the police. Vice Lords hid on the roof or ran. I hid in the dresser. They came in looking around, I could see them from the dresser through a small crack.

My heart was beating drum hard. If I got caught, I was going to juvenile to have my soap embroidered with my initials and would be released five years later for stabbing Bubba and have the titular name Brandy.

HOMEY AIN'T PLAYING THAT

They swept into the closet, under the bed, looked out the windows, approached the dresser -- but they weren't looking for a person folded up like as a shirt. Little did they know I was a folded up person in contortionist form. Which also wasn't good if I had to go to prison and I was so limber. I would have made every Bubba's fantasy list.

They walked out

Now I had to get out of this place from a pack of Vice Lords that needed to read Chicken Soup for the Stupid.

Now was finding a more suitable place to lie my head and hump my girlfriend.  My black family invited me to stay over. They were the Kirkwoods from the backwoods. Missouri. I came and stayed in a bunk bed.

Things were great for a few weeks, except the stench of chitlins. I loved the neck-bone stew.  Even greens to a point. BBQ was so good Ronald McDonald lost his life eating it. But couldn't dig the chitlins.  Their son was my first enforcer and was big as the moon's satellite. He was a bubbly guy with a smile, but vicious when it came to his chief's protection. They have forever called me their adopted white son.

CALLING IN THE MUSCLE

Then I ended up trying to put the crew together. Setting up a meeting with a big 5-Star Universal in Chicago that talked in the 70's vernacular that a honky is not gong to understand.

It went a little sumpfin like this... hit it invisible DJ that's playing no music in my blog...

You need to get a c-note for a heater to have to swell on the block so you can lamp at my crib with a g-pack. Gotta go, I'm in the wind. Hit me on the horn when you ready.

My response was huh? And the phone almost came off the hook from his invectives blowing out at me. I wasn't going to piss this guy off or I'd be found in the street with a sewer lid splitting my head in two.

YELLOW STAIN ON WHITE TOILET PAPER

I had to weed through the Vice Lords and know which ones were trustworthy and who wasn't. One yellow stained Vice Lord was trying to get my woman. He had buck teeth and his eyes stunk like urine on a urinal. If he knew where I was hiding out -- there would be an anonymous quarter getting dropped just to get my girlfriend.

And that's exactly what happened. I got a knock while all of us Kirkwoods were listening to Bone-Thugs-In-Harmony. My enforcer was closest to the door, he cracked it open just in case it was the cops. It was. I was in the living room right in eyeline view of the cracked door. Bear's hand did a shoo-away fashion. I got up and ran down the hallway to the back bedroom.

It was my idiocy this time. That's when the detective saw me. He, and a gang of cops plowed Bear over, despite being a wall of impenetrable flesh. They chased me down.

I ran to the window, looked three stories down. I would snap like a twig if I jumped. I dangled one foot out of the window as the door behind me speared open. It was jump or be arrested.

I... -- yes, that's right.  Next week, or the week after if I'm lazy you'll receive the answer.


Reach out to me at,,,

www.brandonwyse.com

Twitter @1brandonwyse

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SUBTERRANEAN SUBTERFUGE

The jagged drill bit was about to be planted in the neck of the counselor taking me to court to be sentenced. Why his neck? Because he wouldn't be capable of hunting me down with blood spurting from his neck.

But that never happened.

Didn't have to. Because I valued human life that was worth something more than the flesh they're printed on. This counselor may have been a pretentious lapdog for the system. But he was plowing for an honest check trying to help dishonest punks like me. A family man, probably with a long haired dog that looked like a dirty mop that could slobber-hump the mailman's leg in two-seconds -- but he wasn't under the maxims of street life -- you live by the sword, you die by that sucker.

Since I was so cool to disarm him with my sincerity, we proceeded to the courthouse. I had him under my cerebral vortex spell. He was mine until I was under the wig-wearing judges. Wait, this wasn't Britain. The dress wearing judge reside here, but still, I didn't want the turd scoopers judging me.

Courthouse of Covetousness

Once I was in the courthouse, the sign out front should have read like Dante's Inferno: Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter here.

It was cold out. I wanted a postponement and wasn't going to wait for the judge to give it to me. I would take my own leave of absence. I went to the window and saw my girlfriend and her slutty cousin pulling up outside of the courthouse in the Flintstone station wagon her mom drove.

There's my sign. I left my coat to placate his confidence in me. Told the counselor with me that I was going to the bathroom. He turned his back on me to the window -- fully trusting. And I was gone. Went for the bathroom and left down the stairs.

Duplicity Committee

When I ran outside, there was my girlfriend and slutty McGillicuty. They were shocked I was there. I thought they were there to meet me -- nope. They were coincidentally there for a court date for their mom. What???!!! I found I wasn't the center of the universe in their universes.

Nevermind that. Slutty tried to talk me into doing my time. I should have reached back like a pimp and smacked the garden utensil. I went and hid in my girlfriend mom's car. In case Slutty would snitch on me, I hid also by a dumpster watching the Flintstone mobile for the coppers.

When the coast was clear, she drove away with her feet on the pavement like Fred Flintstone and sped me over to stay at Slutty's for the night. Unbenknownest to me, the Vice Lords were indulging in everything from drug use, to letting everything go with rivals talking trash. The cat was away and the Vice Lords were playing and Nero was about to fiddle on their Rome -- Nero being me..

First step would be finding a headquarters and regaining control. This would not be an easy thing because I was vulnerable to the mob, the law, and interneicine struggles at the places I was staying at not wanting a fugitive there.

MUSHROOM HIDEOUT

So I stayed at a Vice Lord sister's house who wore her hair like a bowl mushroom. I had to break out the second drawer in her three tier dresser that was hunched in a corner. This way I could finagle my skinny buns into the first drawer on the bottom drawer and use the empty second drawer to hide. Who in their right mind would check in a small dresser for a live person? I knocked off the drawer part of the second drawer where I could hold up the empty drawer up with two nails. So it looked like a full dresser, but was empty inside.  Where I'd hide.

I just had to stay out until my 17th Birthday. Then I would go to adult jail, pay a bond, and be legally free to do illegal stuff.

I thought nobody would find me in the dresser -- until the cops showed up.

Reach out to me at,,,

www.brandonwyse.com

Twitter @1brandonwyse

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10 MILES AND RUNNING

The only cure for irreversible ignorance is death.

I was ignorant, but was on the curve to learning how to deal with the system. Shoot me now. I never did learn how to deal with a fallible system that was stacked against you like four decks at Caesar's Palace. KA-BOOM goes  the gun.

I managed to avoid going to the brainwash youth facility but things were about to get worse.  My probation officer and DCFS worker Mayonnaise Head were out for dismemberment, chopping me away from society. They admonished me that they already had another residential facility lined up and it could be my last before going to juvenile prison for my non-cooperative behavior. Did I mention they looked like the best side of curdled milk?

These red-nosed butt sniffers had dropped the gauntlet and thought they were doing me a favor by getting me to acquiesce to a residential facility..

FARRISVILLE LUST FARM

So Mayonnaise came to get me solo in his Uncle Tom tricked out ghetto mobile. We drove for an hour and a half in his usual effete silence. Me, I was riding inviolable to this turd's attempts to stifle or wear me down with his contradictory nature of being black but working for the man.

We showed up at the facility. It looked like some Marxist work-camp languishing in 120 degree temperature.  Dudes, poles and no holes.... So I thought.

I went inside with Mayonnaise as he went to talk to the admittance coordinator who might as well been chewing on a straw and whistling Dixie to some dicks.

So I was going to use my newly patented murder/suicide spiel to get out of this place. Why not?

It's in the Middle of the Country!!!

I can't get back to my empire if I'm in the middle of the country strumming a banjo. So as I'm waiting, a gang of hot girls plod in. And they weren't shy about what they wanted to do with the daddy. They told me this is a co-ed facility, and my facility would get lots of turns after hours when girls and boys get down on the farm in the shed...

SIGN ME UP, COACH!!!!!!

I'm all in at the Playboy farm. When I got called into the admittance office I was peaches and cream. Mayonnaise's mouth hung open like a glider. I had conformed in ten minutes and was ready to go on the straight and narrow. I answered every question, even offered to solve the calculations of special relativity if I could stay. My premature abstinence for a kid burning with lust in the loins was only hindered by the state while in their custody.

I was excused. Keeping my fingers crossed so hard they needed a splint from breaking.

Ten minutes later Mayonnaise came out with a sour look. I was turned down because of my status as a gang leader. They couldn't risk me controlling the institution and recruiting. Only my third leg was going to do the recruiting round these parts, nom sayin' yee haw?


ULTIMATUM issued by the decree of toilet bowl.

I had one last chance to get accepted and if not, I was going to juvenile prison. The last place up was Peoria Youth Farm. The rowdiest place in Illinois before prison. It was a gladiator school.

I got there. It was predominately black and Latino. Cool.  I was cool with the intake dude after going to chow and being greeted by the Vice Lords. I instantly was given control of the Lords because of my rank, which was astonishing for a young white guy.

I was accepted. Fights were daily. And at the lame therapy missions I quickly garnered the counselors confidence.

ESCAPE

My freedom is synonymous with escape. I heisted a drill bit from shop class. Made a call back home, gave my court date, and told my girlfriend to be there -- I was going to escape if I had to stab the counselor. I was not going to spend 9 months in this place with people jockeying for my position while gone on the outside. I was going to go on the lam.

The counselor was so enthralled with my sudden desire to change that he didn't read my inscrutable poker face of murder and mayhem. He didn't even handcuff is how much I snowblowed his toupee into believing my three-week transformation. Who's a afraid of 128 pound skeleton with a bobble sized head? Not this burly dude. I even gave my ninja suit to a fat kid.

We drove 35 minutes to the courthouse and he seemed so relaxed that I didn't think I needed to stab him. So I didn't at that moment. And at the same time I was seeing if I could get out without physical harm which would add another charge onto me.

We made it to the last light before the courthouse -- last chance at the Brandon Corral before going before the state to get sentenced to complete residential treatment for 9 months. Last chance to escape...

I went to unlock the door -- the counselor looked over as I was pulling the drill bit from my sock -- and BLAM!!!

You'll have to wait until next week or two weeks to see what happened. It's called a cliffhanger and a good one at that.


Reach out to me at,,,

www.brandonwyse.com

Twitter @1brandonwyse

https://pro-labs.imdb.com/name/nm3609775/