The correct approach would be to offer the officer in charge monetary compensation and if no money is available the five pounds of crank in your backpack will do. After all it will require years of therapy to undo the damage you’ve done in just ten seconds. He did catch you with your proverbial pants down around your ankles, your withered nether region flapping in the wind. Oh, yes and please shut your trench coat before passing off the bribe, it is a matter of good taste...
Do I remember you? Sure, I remember you. You were the third string quarterback…actually the fourth string quarterback on our high school football team. I remember walking into the locker room and finding you in a very compromising position. It was embarrassing for everyone involved. Really, scratching your football helmet with a screwdriver so people would think you were a hard hitter, that the marks on your helmet were battle scars. Tssk. Tssk.
A friend of a friend in high school told us of your immense cologne collection; by some accounts over 75 bottles. What in the Hell were you thinking? Or weren’t you? Were your senses all clouded by the vapors from the cologne from the little glass antique car? Were you high on cologne when you exposed yourself in front of the
They locked you up and threw away the screwdriver and now you can’t even get your hands on all those bottles or cologne…
6 comments:
That's sad. Like an episode of Cold Case.
hmmm
you tear it up when you write in 1st person. you do it better than most.
high on cologne... now there's a concept.
what a wuss.
Why pretend to be something you're not. tsss
Some people are all image.
Probably a pol by now.
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