Things didn't really work out as well as I expected. Apparently, the wheels of justice only grind long and slow if you are a hardened criminal. If you are a first offender with nothing more on your record than your last ticket for not coming to a full stop at a stop sign back in 1994, you are apparently qualified for the Jet Stream Processing at the City Lock Up. No sooner than the word came down from the Powers that be at the University of Houston that they took offense at the beating of one of their anger management psychologists, than the Houston Police Department showed up at my office with some handy little paperwork in triplicate, and a single pair of hinged handcuffs. THEY had no anxiety and experienced no traumatic disorder at the thought of me beating the shit out of one of them. In fact, it was immediately apparent that this isn't the first time that the anger management professor/guru/victim waiting to happen had been beaten by an enraged student. Apparently, this happens frequently enough that the skids through processing are already greased.
The HPD has reached a new level of technology. They no longer have to use the ink for finger prints. Just place your hands and palms flat against the little window on the machine there, if you please sir. No sir, try and sort of place them inside the outlines of the hands on the glass there. Much better. No sir, please don't tuck your thumb underneath. You what? My apologies, sir. I wasn't aware that you were missing a left thumb. >>Clearly the stupid MF wasn't aware of the magnetic plate holding the top of my skull together, as he leaned forward with his cell phone in one pocket and his little flash disk hanging from his flash disk necklace - you know the ones. Its the in style now to have your flash drive swinging back and forth over your shirt. He'll think twice about wearing it that way again once he tries to pull all of the fingerprint data that he's collected today off that magnetically garbled disk, or tries to pull his 250 person contact list off his damn cell phone.<<
I suppose I should thank all of the bleeding heart liberals for the position I'm in right now. As an incarcerated convict, I'm not only guaranteed the right to an hour of exercise a day (Paris Hilton notwithstanding), I'm also entitled to three square meals a day at the taxpayers expense and one hour of free internet access - which the general public pays monthly for. I'm here for a guaranteed six weeks. As the perpetrator of an assault with intent to maim >>Someone tell me how my public defender let THAT one sneak through without a fight<< I'm not entitled to stay in the White Collar Crime block. No, I get to spend my six weeks in D Block with the other similarly violent offenders. Actually, I'm fucking terrified, but I can't afford to let any of these brainless brutes know it. But my time is up. They're coming to escort me back to my cell, where I'll be allowed a minimum of 30 minutes "limited visitation" with cell doors open to better get to know my fellow convicts. Just long enough for the three pricks that I looked wrong at when I sat down to eat today, to enter my cell and do whatever the hell it is they're going to do to me before they lock us down. My cellmate here doesn't exactly get any positive votes from me, either. I rather expect that he'll be joining in the festivities rather than prevent them. Or he'll look the other way, biding his time until the moment I drop off to sleep before making a move of his own. I'm not very big, physically, and I didn't have weeks to build up for this coming crisis at the gym, due to Speedy and efficient justice. It's going to be a long night, and one that I may not make it through.
22 June 2007
21 June 2007
Other Issues
I have major issues with friends at this point in time. Or folks that I believed were friends. Friends that look for excuses to bail and do exactly the opposite of what they say they are going to. I have to believe that, at this point in time, that I am just about the most naive MF in the world, because for some reason I keep believing that the standards I hold my self to for friendship and otherwise are something that others should be able to reach. Turns out that is a load of childish fantasy, as evidently I am the only one that can live up to my own friendship standards.
People say they're buddies. Yet they will turn the other way as you drop off the face of the earth without a trace, and never once look to see that you've fallen over the edge.
People say they're with you through thick and thin, and yet the first time you challenge something in their world view, they'll brush you out of their sorry little lives without a second thought, on the slim excuse that you just don't fit in anymore.
People say that they're tolerant of their friends shortcomings, yet a single email is enough to send them fleeing for the nearest doorway, without even the common courtesy of explaining why you are no longer worthy of their neurotic little world view.
Yeah, I'm the naive dumbass here, because loyalty and brotherhood have always been tops on my list. Evidently, the military had too much of an influence on me in these matters, because in the Enclosed little world of the average civilian - Civvy's for short, loyalty means less than the fake friendship that they wipe their sorry little asses with.
People say they're buddies. Yet they will turn the other way as you drop off the face of the earth without a trace, and never once look to see that you've fallen over the edge.
People say they're with you through thick and thin, and yet the first time you challenge something in their world view, they'll brush you out of their sorry little lives without a second thought, on the slim excuse that you just don't fit in anymore.
People say that they're tolerant of their friends shortcomings, yet a single email is enough to send them fleeing for the nearest doorway, without even the common courtesy of explaining why you are no longer worthy of their neurotic little world view.
Yeah, I'm the naive dumbass here, because loyalty and brotherhood have always been tops on my list. Evidently, the military had too much of an influence on me in these matters, because in the Enclosed little world of the average civilian - Civvy's for short, loyalty means less than the fake friendship that they wipe their sorry little asses with.
Anger Management
Today isn't a real good day. For a long time, I've had anger issues. My fuse has made short look like the longest yard. After a long time, I decided that maybe a little help was in order. So I signed up for the Anger Management Class at the Houston University Department of Psychology.
I showed up for the first class, brand new books in hand, hoping to find a solution to my dilemma. The first class in the curriculum, it seems, is group therapy. I sat and listened to 15 of the same stupid mF's that drive me nuts every day whine about how the world angers them, and how they feel they need to be empowered to resolve that dilemma without resorting to a temper tantrum.
Jesus God, by the time I got up for my turn, I was ready to kill every one of the whining little bitches.
Each face became a mask as I explained my morning commute, and why each and every road rage incident on my way to work made me want to get out and beat the shit out of the loser drivers in front of me.
They started to move away when I explained that walking in the door to a house full of defiant 6 and 4 year olds, whining like babies and throwing tantrums like a spoiled little three year old made me really wish that I could beat the little attitude out of their smart ass little butts.
The class basically cleared out as I explained to them that someday, my boss and I were going to get into it, and only one of us was going to walk away, whether he was born and raised in South Philly or not.
The Instructor decided to pull an intervention at this point. He asked me to turn to Chapter 3 of Required Course Curriculum Book Number Two, and read out loud the first three paragraphs of the chapter. I counted to three and pulled out the book, taking my time finding the reference as I used the interlude to calm down. Then I started reading aloud,
"Anger is the outlet that subjects with poor self image use to empower......"
That stupid cocksucker was empowered enough to withstand three full roundhouse punches before he hit the ground, looking for a straw to insert into his shattered nose, so he could breathe. I guess he wanted to empower his shnoz to live and breath through the beating, to better improve its worthless self image.
Unfortunately for me, the rest of the empowered little cocksuckers called security. So today isn't a really good day, as I wait to determine whether or not the University will side with him, empowering him to press charges with the Houston Police Department.
Holding my breath, Michael
I showed up for the first class, brand new books in hand, hoping to find a solution to my dilemma. The first class in the curriculum, it seems, is group therapy. I sat and listened to 15 of the same stupid mF's that drive me nuts every day whine about how the world angers them, and how they feel they need to be empowered to resolve that dilemma without resorting to a temper tantrum.
Jesus God, by the time I got up for my turn, I was ready to kill every one of the whining little bitches.
Each face became a mask as I explained my morning commute, and why each and every road rage incident on my way to work made me want to get out and beat the shit out of the loser drivers in front of me.
They started to move away when I explained that walking in the door to a house full of defiant 6 and 4 year olds, whining like babies and throwing tantrums like a spoiled little three year old made me really wish that I could beat the little attitude out of their smart ass little butts.
The class basically cleared out as I explained to them that someday, my boss and I were going to get into it, and only one of us was going to walk away, whether he was born and raised in South Philly or not.
The Instructor decided to pull an intervention at this point. He asked me to turn to Chapter 3 of Required Course Curriculum Book Number Two, and read out loud the first three paragraphs of the chapter. I counted to three and pulled out the book, taking my time finding the reference as I used the interlude to calm down. Then I started reading aloud,
"Anger is the outlet that subjects with poor self image use to empower......"
That stupid cocksucker was empowered enough to withstand three full roundhouse punches before he hit the ground, looking for a straw to insert into his shattered nose, so he could breathe. I guess he wanted to empower his shnoz to live and breath through the beating, to better improve its worthless self image.
Unfortunately for me, the rest of the empowered little cocksuckers called security. So today isn't a really good day, as I wait to determine whether or not the University will side with him, empowering him to press charges with the Houston Police Department.
Holding my breath, Michael
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