“You boys have been found guilty of being incredibly frickin’ stupid.”
“I hereby sentence you little dumbasses to be friends for life…”
“I don’t want to go to prison!” *Sob* *SOB* *S.O.B.* “My daddy always said I had a butt that would make a black woman jealous…”
Our partner in crime was mostly assuredly dead, and my father’s racist and sexist commentary on my body image was only serving to egg on my worst-case-scenario imagination…
Oh, hello! I didn’t see you there! You maybe wondering what I’m going on about, and in that case you definitely need to take moment to check my previous musings, Introducing: Pony Boy and the Treehouse of Prison Time (as always, I’ll wait).
…
Ok, so now it makes sense right? My bro, 1SJ, my cuz, Pony Boy, and the new kid in town, NKOTB, had just been abandoned by my classmate and fellow posse member, Etu Brute, who wanted no part in our scheme to break into an unoccupied house in hopes of stealing any random items we might find inside. And thanks for reminding us all that the average of our Ring of Thieves was right around 11 years old–a key point of context, indeed.
So last I left you, us older idiots had sent NKOTB to break in through a window on the second floor of this house–which he had done successfully–and we had been waiting waaaaaaay too long for him to come downstairs and let us, his accomplices, in through the back door.
Fearing that gangly little ----- had managed to kill himself in the process, I was internally melting down at the prospect of, at only the ripe age of 9, being charged with murder, seeing as how it would be a death that occurred during the commission of a crime.
Oooooh…you can just taste the tension in the air…
“Um, guys, I kinda got lost trying to find the back door. I mean, I made it downstairs, at least…”
At the 6-minute mark, he popped his scraggly-toothed head out the same window he had entered through, and left us dumbfounded with the news of his failure.
It can’t help bring to mind the “You had one job” genre of memes, such as this one taken from the credits of Jurassic Park:
…
There was a moment of dead silence before we all busted out laughing. We simply couldn’t resist the temptation to drag his ass for another good five minutes over the fact…um, the fact that…well, just how exactly does one get lost in a 2-story, 3 bedroom house?!? It wasn’t exactly a labyrinthine chateau that he was working with here, amiright? Who let this dumbass into our group anyways?
“Okay, you just stay there,” Pony Boy called up. “We’ll come to you.”
Unfortunately, the back door was locked.
Even more unfortunate was that the front door was not locked, and therefore when we went around front and tried the knob, we were able to waltz right in…
“Man, there ain’t jack-sh*t in here!” You could definitely hear the disgust mixed with disappointment in Pony Boy’s voice.
I guess he was really looking forward to his acts of petty thievery–hopes which were quickly dashed when-surprise, surprise-the house was empty as vacant houses are wont to be.
The rest of us weren’t quite as vested in the whole endeavor, and quickly shrugged it off, taking the opportunity to explore the house like a bunch of curious kittens instead.
It was much to our chagrin, then, when we came back down the stairs, only to be greeted by the lone cop in Rolla. At his side was Sorg, the busy-bodied troll-looking middle-aged man who lived next door, and apparently had been watching us from his porch as we broke into the house.
“Oh, sh*t.” We collectively gasped, acknowledging that we were collectively screwed…
From that point, things were kind of a blur. What I remember so vividly was the all-encompassing sinking feeling of regret that leaves one questioning their life choices.
I also remember waiting outside with the Po-po for our parents and guardians to come, and guess who comes pedaling up on his bike to see what all the hub-bub was about? That’s right, the one person in our group with an ounce of sense in his brain, Etu Brute.
“Haha, you dummies! I told you it was a bad idea!” And then off he pedaled, enjoying the feeling of freedom breeze through his little 90’s bowl-cut, while we were left to sit and ruminate upon the ass-whoopings we were indubitably about to receive.
The real highlight though, was when NKOTB‘s mom showed up–and she was soooooo pissed…
…at the cop.
But not because he had arrested her poor baby. Nope. She was absolutely livid that NKOTB appeared to still be able to enjoy the liberties of a non-criminal.
“What the hell are you doing? Put his ass in handcuffs! Teach that little shit a valuable life lesson…”
“Ma’am, your son is only 8. I don’t think that is either appropriate or necessary. We just–“
“I don’t care what you think! You need to scare his little thuggy ass straight! CUFFS. NOW.”
Sadly for her, she never got her wish. Instead of getting thrown in jail for the high crime of walking through an unlocked door to an empty house, we all just had to go down to the laughably-named “police station”–the back room of the lone hardware store in town–to be interrogated the next day.
Believe you me, that was the longest night of 1SJ’s and my little lives. Sure, Dad was pretty pissed in his own right–I mean, he cancelled all of our “Town Days” for the remaining few weeks of summer, and yes it sure sucked cornballs to have to go labor in the fields for the rest of our vacation.
But, still, knowing that you’re going to have to face the long tall shadow of the law when you wake up the next morning? Nothing like wondering if you’re going to be spending the rest of your life trying not to drop the soap in the shower to keep you up all night with ulcers, amiright?
Looking back, our “interrogations” kinda make me chuckle, but in the moment it was pretty traumatizing. I mean, the copper went through the trouble of separating us, and then–and I don’t why this is what really struck fear in my heart–he recorded the whole interview on tape.
He hit us with hard-ball questions like “Do you know who even owns that house?” and…and…and, um, that’s actually the only question I specifically remember (oh, what I would give to get my hands on those tapes now!).
In the end he was just like “Go, and sin no more.”
Well, he didn’t say that literally. It was more like, “All right you little sh*ts, don’t be going uninvited into other peoples’ house, you hear? It’s a waste of my time, and besides, I don’t really care to be publicly berated for not using handcuffs on minors…”
The point of the story is, first and foremost, even if you’re a kid, there’s no excuse for surrounding yourself by–and taking advice fro–shady characters with names like Pony Boy. Dammit, L’il Mee-Jay,1So that’s the tentative nickname for myself, whenever all my youthful escapades eventually get turned to an animated series: “The Many Shenanigans of L’il Mee-Jay”…has a nice ring to it, no? that nickname should have been your first clue that he was nothing but trouble…
But second and aft-most, if you want to forge a lasting friendship or two, all you need to do is engage in some mild larceny or other milquetoast act of criminal disobedience with some loose acquaintances.
You see, years later when I returned to Rolla to go to high school, that scraggle-tooted mother ----- we call NKOTB, with the little help of braces, blossomed into my high school bestie…also known as none other than the one, the only, Phillip K. Ballz, ladies and gentlemen!
And Etu Brute? You may know him from recent stories surrounding the events of The Crazy-Ass Summer of ’99–that’s right, ’tis The Bard!
Fuzzy feel-good life-lessons aside, in the end though, I can’t get help but always be reminded of this “headline” from the parody news website, The Onion, which pretty much sums it all up:
Content created on: 25 /26 September & 1 October 2021 (Sat/Sun/Fri)
Footnotes & References:
Leave a Reply