Lesson One:
Our Justice System, Or ‘Open Ass – Insert Cock’
Well, I guess an introduction is in order, so that you’ll have a clear picture of ‘that sonofabitch’ as you read this. Let’s see, how do I describe myself...I’m six-foot-three, two hundred pounds of solid muscle...I have Blond hair and Blue eyes (people tell me I look like Brad Pitt)...I’m deeply tanned, and very rich...and the head of my dick strikes sparks as it drags along the pavement.
Isn’t the Internet GREAT?
Actually, I’m a fifty-six year old cigar-smoking housewife with three teeth (one of which is coming loose as I type this), and varicose veins so thick, it appears as if I’m wearing fishnet stockings.
I reiterate: Isn’t the Internet GREAT?
You can keep your life story to yourself, by the way. I know all about you websurfers and the creepy lifestyles you lead. You probably thought this was some sort of bestiality site. You’ll be disappointed to find out there are no pictures of chipmunk buggering here.
Are we through sharing? Then let’s get on with it, shall we?
This is how my column will work. In addition to the uncanny ability to make two dick jokes in a single paragraph, I have other talents. I am an inveterate ‘nice-guy’ loser, in all aspects and facets of life. No matter how polite I am, no matter how kind to strangers of all races, creeds, and colors, I always end up with the Full Rectal Bleed. I’ve been screwed so many times, by so many people, that it actually feels good to me now. I am going to assume you are a novice, ill informed to the ways of this giant sweaty ball sack that we call Earth. Therefore, with many years of sorrow, desperation, rage, and regret behind me, I will be your Confucius. You may listen to me, or you may get the fuck off the mountain. I will relay to you lessons I have learned, and it really would be in your best interest to heed them. The sooner you learn that no one on this planet (with the exception of your family and friends - and not even all of them) gives a rat fuck about you, the better off you’ll be. Hundreds of years from now, in the afterglow of radioactive dust left here, goggle-eyed mutant children will whisper my name in hushed tones over pyres built from human remains. Wouldn’t you like your great-great-great grandchild to be among them?
Of course you would.
First Lesson. I just spent forty dollars to find out something I already knew.
Here’s the deal: I had to take my accountant to court. For the purposes of this column, I will call her Vaginetta. I loaned Vaginetta money on two separate occasions (once to prevent her from being evicted, and once for medicine she needed) and pre-paid her for services through the summer. Why, yes, I am the stupidest motherfucker on the planet, thank you for asking. Did you skip through the column? Pay attention. Well, needless to say, the bitch disappeared like David Copperfield on Smack, fast and shaky. With all my paperwork, no less. Moves, and leaves no forwarding address. Changes her business number. I had to track Vaginetta down through her sister (who’s a friend of mine, so I won’t even mention the fact that she recommended the freak to me in the first place...oops). Well, when it becomes crystal clear to Ray Fucking Charles that she has no intention whatsoever of paying me back, he tells me to get the right thing, baby, and file papers, uh-huh. Costs me forty dollars, and three hours time from work.
Well, the court date approaches, and I feel guiltier by the day. I realize I’m not the bad guy here, but it sure as hell feels that way. I’d given her every opportunity to pay me back, even going so far as saying I’d take ten dollars a week on installment. Never hear from her. Her sister tells me Vaginetta lives in a fantasy world, and thinks this will all just go away. And it would have, if she’d just made the attempt at repayment.
Well, I go to court. I park across the street in a metered space, walk over, and wait an hour before my case is called. Vaginetta doesn’t show, as I had figured. In my hands, I hold three cancelled checks (which indicate that I was loaning money to this criminal), and a note she had written, stating she owed me the money. How she got through writing that without breaking out into hysterical, snorting laughter is beyond me. The judge tells me that she has a prior eviction, and a prior monetary judgement against her. Apparently, when it comes to ripping people off, she some sort of goddamned kung-fu master. This is all more than enough evidence to give me the judgement.
Okay, here’s where the song begins. If any of you know the words, feel free to join in. The rest of you can hum along with the tune.
What does a judgement in my favor mean? Well, in ten days I can go back to the courthouse and tell them I want to try to collect my money. They will serve her with papers, which state that she owes me X amount of dollars.
The judge tells me that if she doesn’t have the money (and let’s face it, she doesn’t - if she did, why would she borrow it from me? Excuse me, I meant steal.), chances are I will never see it? Will it affect her credit? Of course it will, Sparky, but that’s not the point. There are ways around bad credit. You can click your radio on at any given point in the day and hear "Criminal Record? Bad credit? No credit? Serial Killer? No problem! If you’ve got a job, you’ve got a Car/House/Boat/Adopted Child!"
The judge asks me if I have any questions. I relay the fact that she still has my paperwork.
"I don’t have that in my folder," says the judge.
"But, when I filed the papers, I told the lady and she gave me another paper to fill out. She put it with the others."
"That may well be, son, but I don’t have it in front of me. What you need to do is file another case. Then, if you can prove she does have your paperwork, we’ll send the sheriff to collect it," He says, smiling as drool collects in the corners of his mouth.
Know what that means? That’s right, forty more dollars to file new papers. You catch on quick, young warrior. You get a smiley sticker. In addition, I’ll be taking the chance that she hasn’t already thrown my paperwork away. But, without my paperwork, I’m SOL. Being a small businessman, this will eliminate any tax write-offs I had in the packages I gave her. Materials, etc. I’ll have to pay full taxes, and eat the loss.
"Good luck," says the judge.
"Thanks, Your Honor. Here’s your penis back."
I just paid forty dollars to find out I’d probably never see my money again. I could have given any one of my friends forty dollars to tell me the same thing. The worst part is that I had been trying to do ‘the right thing’ when I lent her the money. I didn’t want to see her evicted, and I didn’t want to see her in pain. She, on the other hand, didn’t want to see me with all that money.
See, Vaginetta wasn’t living in a fantasy world. No, compared to me, she had reality in a full-nelson. She knew there was nothing I could do to get my money back, so what was the point in going to court just to hear the judge say it? Smart girl, that Vaginetta. I’m sure when she reports back to the Lords of the Netherworld, they’ll all have a good laugh amidst the brimstone and treacle.
So, I go get the necessary paperwork, and head towards my truck, piss-mad at everything and everyone. The next time I see that judge again, he’ll be telling me that I’ll probably never see my paperwork again, and thanks for the forty, G.
Here’s the punch line, so get the drums ready:
There’s a ten-dollar parking ticket on the windshield. THE FUCKING METER HAD EXPIRED WHILE I WAS IN COURT.
The fun never ends! Here’s my ass! Everybody take a shot! It’s like a party in my pants, and the whole world’s invited!
I think that, instead of putting ‘In God We Trust’ on money, the government should print ‘WE WANT THIS BACK’, or ‘DON’T GET TOO ATTACHED’.
I’ve decided to become a master criminal. What the hell, you know? If I get caught, I just won’t show up in court, and nothing will be done about it.
They’ll be too busy sticking it up whoever’s suing me.
So, Praying Mantis, the moral of this lesson is as follows: Lend money to whomever you want. Lend thousands if you have it. Borrow money to lend to someone else, if it suits you. However, never, ever, ever expect to see it again. Crime pays, and pays big, in a court of law. And, really, when you think about it, why should anyone care? We live in a country where no one is ever just plain evil; no, there’s always society, or bad parents, or peer pressure, or too much sugar, or anyone else but yourself to blame. Where you can murder someone in cold blood, in broad daylight, on a crowded street, and you will walk out of jail ten or so years later (with good behavior and it’s easy to behave good after you’ve killed someone) to kill again, if you wish. A country where criminals in jail get more channels – on better televisions – than we do. Where prisoners riot because their fucking steak was underdone, and the pussies running the prisons throw it back on the grill for ‘em. Hell, we live in a country run by (Here’s something political
–First in a series! Collect ‘em all!) one of the biggest and most blatant criminals in history, and everyone seems to turn a blind eye to the crimes committed; therefore, why should smaller criminals even matter at all?
Shorter, different moral: Steal anything and everything you can get your hands on. Hardly anyone is watching, and the ones who are couldn’t care less.
NEXT UP: Love, or Cancer? Which is worse?
FRONTPAGE
