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/
No comments:
Post a Comment