Tag: breaking the law

The Motorcycle Fiasco

Since I along with the Rest of the World have a Great Deal more Down Time I have been reflecting on the Past a Bit. Yesterday in Fact I remembered the Story of The Motorcycle Fiasco, and Now I’m going to Tell It.

A Life Time Ago when I was in fucking High School My Two Best Friends where Bluejetski (whom I have Mention Before) and the other was Tuck. Tuck was the first one of Us to Get His Driver’s License and have an Actual Car. Unfortunately Tuck was a Hell of a Mechanic and Great at Starting Projects, but He was also a Procrastinator who Never seemed to Finish whatever He had Started. So While Tuck had a Kick Ass Camaro and a License the Car Remained Inoperable languishing in the Driveway. I wouldn’t be fucking surprised if the very same fucking Camaro is sitting at the Top of the Driveway at Tuck’s Parents House (Tuck I heard indeed up buying His Parents House when They Retired to New Mexico or Some other Cowboy State) to this very fucking Day.

One Day the Three of US were walking Home from some Girl’s House We went to School with who was Friends with Tuck. In the Girl’s Neighborhood there was what was Referred to as “The Biker House” because Not Only were the Owners Die Hard Hardcore Bikers, but so were Their Friends/Associates who there all the time that They might of Well Lived There (and Some more than Likely Did at One Point or Another). One this Particular Day a Buch of the Bikers had taken up Residence on the Front Lawn in Cheap Ass Beach Chairs with a Big Ass Cooler of Beer. Some of the Bikers present were in the Garage with the Door wide Open standing around a Motorcycle while Drinking Beer and Bullshitting.

           

There was also a Generic Looking Motorcycle parked Horizontally on the Lawn for whatever reason. As soon as Tuck laid Eyes on the Parked Motorcycle He became Infatuated with it, and Actually stopped Dead in His Tracks. As We Stood there watching Tuck Staring Intently at the Motorcycle while Middle of the Road One of the Bikers Acknowledged Our Presence and Called Out, and Tuck instantly responded to the Greeting Enthusiastically. Tuck walked up the Drive Way and Started talking to the Bikers congregating in the Garage for a While. Bluejetski and Myself remained standing by the Curb trying to Awkwardly figure out what the fuck Tuck was Up To Exactly. It didn’t take Long before We found Out.

All of a Sudden Tuck laughing shook several of the BIker’s Hands, walked over to the aforementioned Motorcycle, Grabs the Handlebars, Kicks Up the Stand, and Started Walking the Bike dow the Driveway towards Us. Apparently Tuck had inquired about the Motorcycle in Question and had managed to Buy it for a Whopping $50 from One of the Biker’s. No again this Wasn’t a Harley or an Indian nor was it some Asian Crotch Rocket it was just a Simple and Generic Looking Motorcycle. In Fact I don’t recall ever learning what Company did in fact make Tuck’s Motorcycle, but if I had to Guess The Motorcycle was a Small Company Leftover from the 70’s or Early 80’s. Most important of All the Motorcycle Tuck bought was in Fine Work Order and Ran Great so it wasn’t Destined to Sit Next to the Camaro for Eternity.

           

Once We returned to Tuck’s House We asked what He planned to do with His Newly Acquired Motorcycle seeing as it was running, But Not Street Legal by any means. Tuck informed Us He planned to Ride the Motorcycle as a New Hobby though He wasn’t going to get a Legal Motorcycle License, and He wan’t going to get a Insurance since He didn’t deem it Necessary. Lastly He wasn’t going to get a Legal Motorcycle License Plate for it either. When it came to the License Plate Tuck decided to Cut a Motorcycle License Plate Rectangle out of the Top of a Nike Sneakers Box. He then proceeded to make up a Fictitious License Plate Number, and literally Drew it On with a Black Sharpie.

Needless to Say one Afternoon while Tuck was out Joy Riding on His Motorcycle found Himself sitting at a Red Light when a Cop pulled Up Behind Him. Instead of figuring He was fucked and Should do whatever was in His best Interest as Far as the Police where concerned made a Different Decision. Tuck decided to say Fuck It, Turned Right, laid into the Accelerator, and Sped Off Down the Street like a motherfucker. The Police turn on Their Lights and Siren and immediately give Chase. It was a short pursuit as Tuck in all due Favor did manage to Outrun the Cop. Tuck drove Home and stashed the Bike out of Sight in the Backyard, and was coming around the Side of the House When He learned a Valuable Lesson. The Lesson was While You can conceivably Out Run a Cop You Can’t Out Run the Police Radio. As Tuck rounded the Side of The House He was greeted by the Two Police Officer’s who had Responded to the Fleeing Suspect Call, and at that point the Jig as They say was Up.

           

Luckily for Tuck the Police wrote the incident off to being Young and Dumb, and it didn’t hurt that one of the Officers was also a Big Time Gearhead. So instead of throwing the Book at Tuck for Running on Them He ended up getting $250 Fine and a Ton of Community Service (We’re talking 100 Hours or More I forget the Exact Number, But I assure You it wasn’t less than 100). The Funniest Part of the Whole Fiasco was at one Point Tuck was given a complete and thorough copy of the Police Report. We ended up reading over it one Night while Drinking 40’s of Crazy Horse Malt Liquor having one hell of a good a Laugh.

Thanks for Reading,

  By Les Sober

The Second Time Isn’t “The Charm”

This is the Tale of My Second Arrest which is exactly the opposite of My First.

My life at that point was utter shit. I was in the grips of of hardcore Drug Addiction. The apartment I was occupying was really quite nice when I moved in, but at this point do to neglect had become a run down hellhole. I spent all my time with my with my asshole neighbor Big Douche desperately scheming and scamming, lying and Cheating, Stealing and Robbing anything for a fucking dollar.

Once we had some cash we’d get drunk as fuck and then go score some crack. Once we smoked up all the crack we went and bought Heroin. This was a endless daily cycle .

In reality I fucking hated Big Douche and would think about killing him in his sleep constantly. He truly was a fucked up fucking asshole of a human being, too fucking damaged to ever be fixed. Big Douche was the definition of a Lost Cause. I’ll digress for now since The Tale of Big Douche will be forthcoming.

So one afternoon we had managed to scrounge up enough cash for a couple of bags of Heroin, and headed out to our usual copping spot.

I’m going to pause here to take a minute to explain exactly where we scored our shit.

I/We lived in a bustling little suburbia that was a short 15 minute drive into the State’s Capital City. Now once a go the Capital City was a rich and prosperous area full of business. Then the businesses left and so did anyone who could fucking afford to. Over the years the City decayed as it hemorrhaged money through failed attempts to improve the City.

A perfect example is the Capital City spent MILLIONS to build a Sports Stadium in the City (rather than on the outskirts) and it was an instant epic failure. See because they built the Stadium IN the city there was INSUFFICIENT PARKING.

This meant Attendees had to park on the street(s) and walk to the Stadium. The only issue with that was NO ONE wanted to walk down said streets especially with their loved ones or kids. The City even tried combating the problem by stationing a Cop on every outlying corner, AND THAT DIDN’T WORK EITHER, but I digress.

We drove through the filthy trash littered streets lined with old decrepit old houses rotting away through the years.

On any given day We’d see the wandering Hookers, Homeless Begging Bums, Gang Bangers, Pimps, Junkies, Poverty, Stray Cats and Dogs, Crackheads, Drug Dealers, and other of life’s rejected throw aways lurking and loitering on the corners or walking between/among them.

On this particular day the streets were completely vacant there wasn’t a single soul in sight. We drove around several different blocks, but it was all the same the streets were all utterly empty.

I had a bad feeling. A Gut Feeling and not a good one.

The only reason that the usual degenerates wouldn’t be out pounding the streets (committing various dastardly deeds) was a simple one. Just two simple words: Police Activity.

The Police were the preverbal Lights that when flipped on sends the Rats and Roaches scrambling for cover of any kind.

I told Big Douche that we should bail and come back later because obviously something was going on that was making the Natives Restless if you will. Now Big Douche living up to his name continued to relentlessly circle block after block searching for anyone who might be a Dope Dealer. He was franticly obsessed the way Junkies do when their fiending for a fix.

At last right as Big Douche finally was giving up we drove up on a Bodega and a Large (and rather fat) Guy strode out the door. Big Douche being a Junkie immediately decides this is a person is a drug dealer and signals him as it were.

The Guy signals back. I’m pissed as pissed can get because I couldn’t believe we hadn’t bounced yet, and that Big Douche was being a complete cunt. In some bizarre passive aggressive bullshit I deliberately didn’t look at, talk to or even acknowledged The Guy.

The Guy reaches through the drivers side window and does the exchange. Instead of driving off like a good little junkie Big Douche stops to look at the couple bags of Dope, and notices (again being a good little junkie) that the Heroin looks funny. It looks fake. Fake as a motherfucker.

Big Douche leans over and calls the Guy out stating that the Guy’s dope looks beat as shit. The Guy denies it and keeps trying to brush us off. Big Douche then decides he wants his money back (Yeah thats right he wanted the Drug Dealer to refund his money for selling him fake Heroin) and opens the Driver’s door and stood  between the car and the car door arguing with the Guy.

Eventually like a junkie Big Douche stops arguing and starts begging like a big ass bitch. The Guy doesn’t want to hear a single fucking word about it. Big Douche at last accepts defeat and we start to pull away from the curb.

That’s when I saw it, thats when I knew we were fucked. What I saw was the Guy raising his arm to wave in the Cops who were hiding around the way in. The next thing we knew the Cops had 3 cars pinning us in as other Cops ran up to the car yelling like a bunch a savage assholes.

We get out of the car, handcuffed, and then driven around the corner so the Cops entrapment spot wouldn’t get blown up. They transferred us into additional Cop cars and took us to the Police Station.

Once we got there Big Douche was booked, Processed, and sent to County Jail on a slew of yet undressed charges.

I was a bit luckier since I did;t have any outstanding legal issues I was booked and then released on my own recognizance. I was also given a court date the following day.

Needless to say I didn’t sleep that night. I unplugged the phone because Big Douche keep calling asking for me to help contact people to come bail him out. I could have cared less as I was worried about being locked up the very next day.

Unlike my first arrest there was no time in-between my arrest and my trial. It happened so fast I’m really not sure if I even had a court appointed Lawyer (I don’t remember talking or meeting with one at all). I went to my court date, and I remember sitting alone in the court room as the Judge worked his way down the days docket. He finally gets to me and I remember I stood up and remained standing in the same spot.

I remember this Judge some old nasty bastard who lectured me for what seemed like fucking hours about how Drug Addicts are coming into the City to score their drugs which in turn is destroying the City itself.

BULL-FUCKING-SHIT.

First there THOUSANDS of drug addicts in the Judge’s fantastical City. And the only reason Drug Addicts were coming to his City was due to the fact THATS WHERE THE FUCKING DRUG DEALERS ARE. Also as I mentioned earlier the “Fine City” the Judge spoke of was and still is a Growing, Thriving, and Worsening SHITHOLE.

Once the cranky old cocksucker of a Judge wraps up his bullshit tirade he sentenced me to 90 Days Suspended Sentence. The first time I was arrested I got 3 years Probation with a ton of added conditions (all of which I violated like a motherfucker).

This time I simply had to stay out of trouble (aka Get Arrested Again) for 90 days then I’d be off the legal hook, and the arrest would be expunged from my Police Record.

Luckily I managed not to get arrested again (in those 90 days and ever again) though I continued to spend my days living the life of a junkie which by definition requires breaking laws left and right.

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober 

Flags, Days, and Ideas

So I do not have any idea how I came across this little tidbit I thought I would share. I find most things on the internet in a very random fashion. I think I was looking up British things, or British slang, or British boys, or text messaging abbreviations or what not.

Well actually it probably was something more like looked at a porn. The guys name was chris. Looked up christmas next. Singing christmas carols to myself. What holiday is today? That timeline is a bit too structure though. Probably was more like hearing lyrics in a song which brought up a random emotion I had to look into.

Law Day????

So yes Happy Law Day! Oh and loyalty day as well. Both holidays which were put into place by President Eisenhower. While the rest of the world has festivities to celebrate International Labour Day, we have Law Day.

Apparantly our president thought that these holidays were communist in nature. The exact reasoning behind this I have no idea, however this is from the party that brought us Freedom Fries, global hatred, and the great depression. So why not try to make us different from the rest of the world??

I mean if we want to get really conservative about things maybe then we shouldn’t really be allies with England. I mean you know we did war against them in the 18th century.

Or maybe we should reverse Jim Crow or teach more intolerance to our children under the guise of religion.

Loyalty Day????

As for Loyality Day, I have nothing against this one. If it means pledge of allegiances to the flag 100 times while standing on one’s head by all means do it.

However I think this holiday is rather dumb and repetitive. Shouldn’t we be loyal everyday of the year? I mean it falls along the same lines as Mother’s Day for me. I cherish and love my mother dearly but do I really need a special day set aside for me by Hallmark to buy her a card and some flowers???? I think it just gives stupid people a reason to be an ass 364 days of the year and then suddenly swoop down in their blazes of glory like some great big hero.

Yeah, hero of the douchebags.

Recommendations

So as my recommendations for this day, there are several. First, if you think the rest of the world is wrong and that today is a communist holiday by all means bust out your law books, dress like that annoying guy in the informecials with the flag shirt on, buy some whiskey, get a mullet, and start a random witch hunt.

However if you think the rest of the world is not wrong, formulate your own minor protest along with me. Break a law. Yes! Break a law!

Please do not break a major law. I don’t need to hear on the 6 o’clock news how some moron with an IQ of 80 raped a pig to teach them a lesson about the swine flu or how some dillweed was told to break the law and decided to piss in the middle of a supermarket (but in the Depends section, I mean that the responsible thing to do).

Minor, minor, minor. Roll through a stop sign going 5. Eat one too many grapes at the grocery store (however many that is). Play your music too loud in the car. Or any other law you deem to be completely stupid that will not get you jail time or a fine.

If you lack the capacity to do this it is okay. But if you do something silly and agree with me that the rest of the world is not celebrating a communist holiday, by all means post your mini infraction here.

I plan to play my music too loud and smoke cigarettes in the car in a town where it is considered illegal to smoke in the car!!! Oh no.

By SpaceDog  

McCoy’s Artistic Chaos

 

Les felt exhilarated and full of self righteousness as he drove as fast as humanly possible towards the freeway. Adrenaline was flowing through his veins like water through a flood gate making his skill feel electrified. His senses were all on high alert. As Less banked a right turn onto the freeway the car to fish tailed slightly. His blue tooth began to ring. Goddamnit Les thought to himself, for he knew it was one of two people. It was either his manager Mortimer, or the goddamn cops, but he’d done a good job at avoiding the police. It’s the goddamn media you can’t out run those vultures constantly circling waiting for tragedy and death to strike. Begrudgingly Les switched his blue tooth on as he felt his undying rage he possessed flare up all over again.
“What do you want?!,” demanded Les angrily.
“Les it’s Mortimer, your agent”
“I know who the hell you are Mort, I sign your goddamn paychecks. Not to mention I pay you to be my MANAGER NOT MY MOTHER. I already have one of those, and I haven’t talked to her in eight years AND COUNTING!” yelled Les at the top of his lungs now enraged that Mortimer has called him in the first place.
“Les your on the news again, thats 5 times this month alone,” Mortimer said in a slow authoritative tone like a teacher or librarian.
“FREE PRESS MORTIMER FREE GODDAMN PRESS!” screamed Les as Les’s driving began to become as erratic as his behavior. Les was preoccupied at that moment punching his steering wheel. This was not at all satisfying Les’s explosive anger. The steering wheel was thin and circular so Les’s fists of fury mostly missed it only fueling Les’s animosity.
“Yes, Les free press is good” replied Mortimer condescendingly as he lost patience for Les’s outrageously unpredictable, temper driven, theatrics.
“Les you’ve really outdone yourself this time. I mean, a hit and run Les? seriously why? Why Les do you feel compelled to create not only fine art but unyielding chaos all around you?”
“DON’T be condescending to me you pion!” Les growled, as emotion started to replace logical thought. “That scum of the Earth deserved what he got, and what he got was hit by a car. I WAS DRIVING! SO WHAT?”
“Les for Christ’s sake you tried to drown a critic in the punch bowl. Then you beat another critic of yours with a lawn jockey. NOW you top it all off with a hit and run. Please do tell why, and how this monstrosity came to be.”demanded Mortimer as he took a long draw from a bottle of Pepto Bismol which he kept in a desk drawer for when dealing specifically with Les.
“I was at my opening Deviants of Art, and Phil Edwards from the New Yorker was there. I over heard Phil telling other patrons that my art is over rated and that this was due to my lack of classical training or some shit.”explained Less occasionally stalling as his mind came up with the words faster than Les’s mouth could say them. “This pompous twit had the gaul to dare criticize my work, my work is goddamn invaluable to the art world. My point, is this Mortimer, art is SUBJECTIVE. If art is SUBJECTIVE, why then do I need CRITICS to comment, judge and condemn, my splendid works? Well, I saw that piece of filth Phil walking to his car, and I jumped into a car the valet had just brought around. I crept up behind him, lined up the front right corner of the car with the back of his leg, pounded the pedal to the metal and clipped him with the car. I wasn’t trying to kill the son of a bitch, though being dead would be his greatest accomplishment. I just clipped him to scare the shit out of him, and send him flying through the air. I figured he’d then land and roll across the asphalt. I cannot turn off the fires of my creative passions just because I’m not painting in my studio, it’s not my fault that my artist passion doesn’t translate in real life.”
“You have a good point Les BUT the way you make it leaves a lot to be desired AND NOW you tell me in spite of the already bad situation that you ALSO STOLE A CAR.,” quipped Mortimer like a peeved off parent. “Well, Les what are we going to do about this? You’ve gone to far. I already called in Art Management’s legal team.”
“Fire them for all I care I detest lawyers they’re the art critics of the legal world. Your right Mortimer I’m done with this shit, the art, the openings, the critics. I’ve decided it is time to retire.” Les said sounding rather insane.
“Retire! I don’t care. I’d live longer if you did,” responded Mortimer “But your in real trouble Les. Assault is one thing. Grand theft auto and attempted vehicular homicide is a totally different animal all together.”
“I DON’T CARE Mortimer I’m headed for the Florida Keys. The police can just TRY and locate me in a chain of 1,400 islands. I’m not a moron I’m not going to the obvious spots like KeyWest or KeyLargo or whatever. I’m going to buy one of the little unknown islands to retire to” ranted Les with growing intensity.
“Well, then it was a pleasure, of sorts anyway, working for you and while you are an artist you need to learn to control your artists passions outside of your studio.” Mortimer said in honesty
“Thanks Mortimer for putting up with all my shit and bailing me out countless times,” said Les ambivalently “It’s five o’clock somewhere and thats where you’ll find me.”