BUSTED

The dogs were yapping to ear shattering decibels.

My dumb buddy pulled a Sammy the Bull Tellano on me. Sold me out. Cops were right outside. I opened my flappers and let them know I was in there. Soliloquy nights thinking back on this whole scenario, I should have refused to come out so they'd tear gas this turd sandwich's place for not being able to retrieve his cohones from the cop's back pocket.

My buddy snitching...

ANYWAY... I'll get over it in the next 20 years after his teeth fall out from meth and his trailer gets carried away in a Kansas epic tornado.

I sheepishly came out with my hands up. 

And they threw me to the ground with such force, I exhaled my air. I was 16, mind you. And the bully came out in all of them that used to get sand kicked in their face at the beach. You could have handcuffed me with two cheerios my wrists were so skinny, but they had to put a car boot on them. They were mad they had to chase me around for so long, robbing them of precious Krispy Creme time.

THE DOGS WERE BARRING FANGS 

All up in my ear. The police department was broke because the dogs needed some teeth brushing. I was hauled off to juvenile detention a month short of my goal. Back to sanitary mattresses made by Bob Barker Industries and dumb inmates. Yes, the mattresses were the Price is Right to the white wigged scoundrel. Few outside of prison industries knew Barker was behind the uncomfortable amenities of some prisons. Slave labor behind the others.

Only it's just a myth and another Bob Barker

Dumber and Dumber came up to ream me out -- Mayonnaise and the dust cave probation officer that was too uptight for a date. They came with fingers pointing. Well, I'll help them save face and was as cajoling and ingratiating as I could possibly be. I would have even got the dust out for her. I needed release or my crippled empire would sink like Atlantis in a snowstorm.

I sucked up so much in buttkissry... I ran out of chapstick. 

Mayonaise was dumb. He just kept a "Where did they go, George?" look on his face. And Miss Probation Panties was wooed. She agreed that if my previous caretakers the Hillbillies would take me back, they would release me on probation until I was 18.  She knew this was a tall order at the biggest bar.  I had gotten their house shot up, a party that left them so much vomit and trash you could swim in it, and hated going camping with them.

As if my lips were chapped enough. The hillbillies made their sojourn into the walls of juvy prison. For all intensive purposes, they were the couple from the American Gothic painting. Pitchforks weren't allowed in here, though. After enough butt sucking they allowed me to come back. A few conditions were laid down which I had no intention of abiding by outside of the nod I gave them that I would.

PENALTIES

So the day was approaching. It was up to the judge to sentence to me to juvenile prison until I was 23; One year, or let me go out on probation. I really was optimistic but I had went on the lam. Embarrassed the court officers and junky police department and had three gun charges and two obstruction of justice charges hanging over my fanny.

I walked into the court, doubt creeping in. Malaise Mayonnaise, the Uncle Tom DCFS caseworker was shooting for prison. So the coin was tossed and my charges read off. The speech from the judge began and immediately it was one of those patented letting me go speeches would do no justice to society spiels. I had a penchant for getting in trouble, was a Vice Lord leader. Society would be better off with me behind bars.

Could I run again? In chains. Deputies behind me. I sure had to try before my freedom got flushed like stocks in the 1929 crash... and that's where we'll pick up in two weeks.