I’m not asking you if you were driving drunk because I need confirmation. The ethanol pouring out of your mouth that you call breath is proof enough for me. Well that, and the car with the wheels pointing toward the sky. I’m asking you because your inability to provide me with a logical answer is amusing me. In other words, you’re a bad liar, and unlike with your dates appearance, alcohol isn’t helping you.

Was lowering your companions inhibitions worth losing a piece of your body? Go ahead and have a seat and wait for the ambulance, I’ll go look for your ear, or at least the part that’s missing. I can’t promise anything since the car is such a mess. I would concentrate my search wherever I see blood, but that covers just about the entire front of the car. It doesn’t look too bad though, I’m sure they’ll be able to fix it. I said it doesn’t look that bad. I SAID IT DOESN’T LOOk..oh, never mind. I SAID NEVER MIND.



Seeing you answer the door naked wasn’t exactly the highlight of my day either. You might be upset that I woke you up at the ridiculously early hour of 6 am, but I’m upset that the last thing I saw before my weekend started was your junk. Believe me, I wanted to turn my flashlight off. The last thing I wanted to do was illuminate your package, but you were acting like such a tool I needed to see what was going on.

I appreciate you putting on a pair of shorts. Why you couldn’t have taken the extra three seconds to do that before you answered the door is beyond me. I’m not even holding the flashlight up to help me see anymore. I’m holding it up because I’m going to feed it to you if you make one aggressive move. Despite how big your mouth is, I don’t think it’ll fit, but damn if I’m not gonna give it my best effort. Open wide.


Trust me, missing a couple of teeth is the least of your problems. I had enough trouble finding your license plate across the 60 feet you spread the front of your car. If you’d let us know you were coming we could have pulled up the freeway bumpers and you wouldn’t have ended up in the gutter.

I have a feeling the inside of your car was a complete mess even before you stumbled out of the club and decided driving was a good choice. There was enough lingerie strewn about to hold a Victoria’s Secret fashion show. Of course, all of the blood on it might be a turn off, but I think there’s a market for that, not that I would know.

I have more bad news for you. I couldn’t find the goldfish either that I assume were inside those plastic platform heels at one point. If you really want them back, you’ll probably find your teeth embedded somewhere in the dashboard. After your fractured face heels, and you get out of jail, you can get your car back from the tow yard and search for them. I don’t think the pile of singles I collected at the crash is going to cover the tow fees though.

Look at the bright side, you have a new place for some guy to stick a dollar bill while you’re hanging from a pole.


It’s irrelevant how well you were doing on probation. I’m sure you attended every meeting. I have no doubt you walk three extra miles to work each day just so you don’t have to pass by a drinking establishment. I’ll bet you could stand in the middle of a gymnasium during a high school pep rally and pee in a plastic cup on demand without the slightest hint of stage fright.

Your philanthropic pursuits are commendable. They’re worthless now, but still commendable. You made them worthless when you decided to break into a school to steal computer equipment. You made them pointless when you tried to flee from the cops in your car. You made them count for nothing when you crashed into that law abiding citizen’s yard.

It’s very big of you to say you’ll take responsibility for your actions. In other words, you’re pissed you got caught. Luckily for you they need philanthropists in prison.


Being a mother doesn’t make you a moral and ethical person. It takes more than squirting out a few kids to be a moral and ethical person. It takes more than wearing a cross around your neck to be a moral and ethical person. It takes more than baby sitting your hooker’s four year old while she turns a trick to be a moral and ethical person.

Telling the presiding judge that requiring you to register as a sex offender is going to ruin your life is a tad ignorant. Saying that during your sentencing is a bit ill-timed. Telling him that in court, on the record, while you can’t stand still because, by your own admission, you’re high on meth is just stupid.

Ethical and moral people not only understand right and wrong, but choose to live right as well. You’re not a moral and ethical person, you’re a pimp. I understand it’s a fine line, but most people are able to decipher it. Time to register.


Telling me you don’t understand my language isn’t going to make things easier for you. I’m not asking you to recite the Preamble to the US Constitution, I just want to know where you live. I already know you can say, “I don’t speak English.” There’s no way you made it this far into my country without learning how to ask where the bathroom is, and I’m pretty sure it’s mandatory to be able to say, “Where can I score a dime-bag of methamphetamine,” before you enter America illegally.

I’m not going to just throw my hands up in the air and let you walk away because you say, “I don’t understand,” each time I ask you a question. We’re prepared for your type around here. I know people who can speak your language, and they’re more than willing to help me out.

I have some advice for you. If you really want me to believe you don’t speak English, stop answering my questions before they’re even translated for you. Watch your step. Weird, you just looked at your feet. This time watch your head.


I can think of a few different ways to gain respect, and vandalism isn’t one of them. Come to think of it, neither is burglary. I know, I know, I’m a little unconventional, but I can’t help it. It’s just the way I’m wired. I tend to believe hard work and perseverance are the ways to earn it.

By “earn” I mean you aren’t going to get it right away. I understand that’s a foreign concept to your generation. If you have to wait eight seconds for your Chalupa you’re demanding to talk to the manager, and if it takes him more than six seconds to respond to the counter you’re already filing a lawsuit because dammit, you deserve respect.

Here’s an idea; why don’t you try showing some respect. In my experience, that’s a great way to earn it. Don’t get me wrong, your way might be just as effective. I’m sure the fourth graders that show up to school tomorrow to find your message sprayed on the wall of their classroom will never forget it.


Things to do today:
1. Ingest a concoction of crystalized poison that will eventually melt your face – Check
2. Find a house in a quiet neighborhood with an open garage door – Check
3. Grab as many power tools as one man can possibly carry and run down the street – Check
4. Remember how to get out of the neighborhood – Crap
5. Don’t acknowledge the police officer trying to get your attention – Check
6. Remember the logical story you made up in case you got caught with stolen property – Crap
7. Repeat the same ridiculous story over and over if you forget the good one – Check
8. Call the cop a jerk if he won’t cite and release you – Check
9. Cry – check


How your kids get to school in the morning isn’t my problem. That’s something you should have thought about before you drank enough champagne to float the Titanic. Besides, they have to be there in less than four hours. Four hours from now you will have only improved to incredibly intoxicated. They’d be safer riding Razor scooters down the middle of the street blindfolded than getting in a car with you. I don’t think you’ll even be sober enough to drive them to school tomorrow. I’m sure even they know that all the solid and dashed lines in the road are there for a reason. They could probably also teach you a thing or two about responsibility. The way I see it, I saved more than just your life tonight, I saved your kids as well. That’s how I sleep at night, thank you for asking.


I’m allowed to do things you’re not, because I’m capable of making choices you’re not. I’m allowed to have a beer after a long day at work. I’m allowed to have a casual conversation with a known felon. I’m allowed to walk down the street with someone who appears to be a gang member. I’m allowed to keep firearms hidden all over my house. I’m allowed to be in places where children are likely to congregate.

I’m allowed to do these things because I make good life choices. My actions haven’t caught the negative attention of law enforcement. The courts haven’t deemed my decision making process poor enough to take notice. I don’t need another adult to monitor my actions in an attempt to help me become a productive member of society.

It is fair that I’m allowed to do things that you’re not. You’ve proven that, like a child, you need extra rules to keep you out of trouble, and here I go again, holding people accountable for their actions. Put the beer down, get out of the dumpster, and leave the magazine behind. It’s time to go to a place where they’ll make all of your decisions for you.