I usually do not travel very deep into Virginia. This past weekend was the exception. I was answering the distress call of a friend who needed another set of hands to move into his new house.
QR Code Link to This Post
Saturday was a beautiful day for heavy lifting and a couple of bottles of suds for two guys who just finished a pretty substantial move. We proceed to the local watering hole to regale the guys about how much we moved and try to get a little sleazy with some local women.
About 4 beers and two shots into it the two young ladies that I am speaking to want to head to their house for some more partying. I proceed with wit on my tongue and fire in my pants. In the back parking lot I realized that I had left the bar without draining the snake. Being the classy guy that I am I decided to retreat to the dumpster behind the bar to take care of this and get back to my Budweiser maidens.
I tend to pee freely. With a song in my heart and my dick in my hand I proceed to power wash the dumpster. With torrent still in mid flow I felt a masculine hand on my shoulder. Thinking it was my friend from the bar I grabbed said hand and gave it a playful “stop fucking with me I am pissing” yank.
Officer if I knew it was you I swear I would not have given you that yank. I am sure if I had the time to explain that would have prevented your nightstick from wrapping around my neck in a Kung Fu style choke hold.
We danced. I enjoyed it. I would have preferred your knee staying out of my back but one can not always get what they hope for.
I felt we shared a moment on the way to the Loudon County jail. You assured me that this was only an in and out visit. I believed you. Possibly from the lack of oxygen or maybe magic was in the air. Your car smelled of cinnamon.
I enjoyed the “special treatment” you gave me when we arrived at the jail. You were right the cell was not crowded and I did have a place to sleep. Me, all nestled under a metal bench by the community toilet with my back to the bars. I agree, 25 other inmates to three cells is cozy. It felt like home and smelt like justice.
Oh and if you were wondering, they welcomed me with open arms in the morning. With “who the fuck is this pretty white bitch” on their breath and one hand on my shitty jail breakfast they invited me to join their community meeting.
I have not been to heaven. But I must say the song sung by these men must be a tune of the angels. Some of the highlights: “I am a Katrina victim bitch, now gimme your sausage”. “Motha Fucka you eat too much why you gotta shit?” and one of my favorites “I punched that cop because he deserved it”
I have to say it was the timeliness of this establishment that impressed me the most. The twelve hours that it took me to get my official charges and paperwork really let me get to know my new friends. I have no idea how one could type the words “disorderly conduct” onto a piece of paper in that short amount of time!
You know 24 hours later my new friends were very sad to see me go. That is why they wanted a keepsake to remember me by. They felt that I should “pony up with the flip flops bitch!” but then I would have nothing to frame or give my grandkids.
We parted in our own special way. You wouldn’t understand. It broke my heart to have to donkey punch my footwear fetish having friend. It was clear from the tears in his eyes that I will be remembered.
I too shall remember my wonderful day at your fine establishment. Every time I am in a small room with 25 violent men who do not shower because of fear of assault I will think of you. When I see Washington women walking along flipity flop I will smile. If I see sausage I will think of that poor unfortunate Katrina victim who had stars in his eyes for mine.
I know that when I drive with my windows down and the breeze running through my hair if I listen very carefully… it will whisper. “why you gotta shittttttttt?”